Standing Out

[Sam]

Horse The True Nut
Jockey Sam Lettington
Purpose Normal exercise routine and getting ready for the Breeder's Cup (Breeder's Cup Filly & Mare Turf to be exact)

Golden hid gleamed dully in the little sunlight. The early morning rays rubbed along the filly's flanks. The thick fog rolled along, trying and successfully to steal most of the warm rays. The cool air brushed down our bodies sweeping away some of the heat built up from the warm up.

My little Nut seemed to dance. Her beat uneven and in her own mind. Though she seemed off-beat and all over the place to the outside world, to the filly she was perfectly on beat and organized. She was lethal if you only knew her true mind.

I held tight and let the filly work out her kinks. Her muscles warmed under the constant movement, getting ready to take on more impact and building constant strength and endurance. With a small kiss and a shift of the leg, the muscles moved the legs into a three beated gait. They moved in the same order, as natural and graceful as always.

For a while we simply cantered, gathering ourselves ready. The filly had no antics today. For a moment, I wondered if she may be sick until she blew out a large snort at the thick fog. No, she must only be concerned of the fog. She never did like running blind.

We slowed to a stop at the ten furlong marker. This was typically our usual. She was use to running her max. Running her heart out, if you will.

Last year we only had reached second place. We were so close. We could smell the win. Then that colt took it right out from under our nose. Literally. We had lost by a nose. She was only a grade five horse back then, nearly in grade four. I should have been happy to have gotten second place in a race with the greatest grade one racers.

This is going to be our year, I told Nut. Won't it girl? I let the words hang in the air. A serious air came about us. This was quite rare for the filly. She stood still, listening, waiting. Perhaps she was thinking back as well. She couldn't know what race was coming up, but she could know it was a big one by how anxious I always got. She could tell how frizzed up I was.

One ear stayed cemented on me while the other scanned forwards. I gave a small pat on her neck before leaning into position. In no time at all, the filly burst forth, as if she was sent out of the gate, the bell still buzzing in her ears.

The thunder of hooves echoed around us, as if other horses were galloping and racing beside us. Of course there was none, only an echo. It seemed to have fooled Nut though. She held onto the bit as if she was begging for more speed, but she knew. The speed was always the same, her legs always fell into the proper stride and rhythm. It was simply natural now.

Down the back stretch we went, our speed simply unchanging. The beat in her head going in sic with my own and her hooves. Always on perfect beat and tempo. Always on time and never late.

Her speed stayed the same, her stride always large as we expertly went around the corner. Her head dipping slightly as she got more into it. She seemed to love the sudden rush into the stretch just as much as I did. Her black, velvet mouth pulled against the mild iron bit. (She hated anything any harsher then a snaffle, though she should require a tougher bit for any other rider. I knew how to control her without one though, so I was content with leaving her at a normal snaffle that any school horse should have.) I kept her steady though but she continued to ask and beg, never fight though. She never wasted energy in doing so now. She knew I never caved in, despite how often I wanted to just gallop.

Finally the stretch opened up. My hands flew forwards and her head quickly dipped, pulling her body faster. Her legs flew out, almost at random at first before they too found their flow. They became organized, lethal if you will. Her muscles bunched, tensed, and then stretching to their max so her legs could get the biggest stride possible as her hind legs pushed her forwards as fast as the basic laws of science would allow them.

Her breathes rolled out of her lungs, in the same beat as her legs. Just as quick and swift, it made me wonder how she could catch enough oxygen breathing that fast. She continued to sprint, her legs digging deep into the green turf with incredible force and will power.

The wire passed over us in a matter of moments.
The stretch was always too fast for me, especially on Nut.

Word Count: 833