Never To Be Outdone

[Sam]

Horse Tempered Passion
Jockey Sam Lettington
Purpose Getting ready for the Manila Stakes and normal workout


The colt snorted, eager to go. He chomped at the bit, dipping his head in an elegant way to try and escape the pressure of the bit that held him back. A smooth, thin coating of summer hair covered his lean, growing muscles.

It was rumored that his twin brother was getting the pressure on. Tim simply could not be out done. The race was not against his brother, I told myself. It's simply a colt with the very likeness of him. Right down to the blood.

The stallion under me threw his head in pure annoyance, prancing slightly as he yanked at the bit. I smiled. Of course, he could never be like Tim. He more of his father in him, rather that was good or bad, I couldn't tell. For the stable hands who often had to avoid his snappy teeth and flying hooves, it was bad. For the competitors in his race, it was bad. For the ones that bet against him, it was bad

But for me, I simply wouldn't have it any other way.

Without even a push or a nudge, or any kind of encouragement, but simply letting the colt have a little bit of slack, he picked up a swift trot. His legs bounded, showing his wish to hurry up and gallop down the track, to sprint and simply let his heart loose so it could race down the track without the drag down of his mortal body.

Again, I seemed to be the only thing the held him back from bolting down the track. He kept a steady pull on the bit, showing his constant, undying eagerness to simply go.

After several minutes of trotting, his muscles were finally warmed up for more impact. Yet again, I allowed the colt a bit more slack, and he picked up the canter. Every now and then he would spontaneously switch his lead, as if he was unbalanced, though in all honesty I believed the colt was simply showing his excitement this way. Or perhaps he was bored of this exercise and wanted to spice things up a bit. Either one seemed likely for the hyper colt.

Moments passed and we were ready for the mock race I always did before we ran a big race. I would always have the horse run the distance as if we were in a race a week or so before the actual race. The Manila Stakes was nine furlongs long on turf, as usual, a good distance for Tim, who ran his very best at eight furlongs.

I steadied him as we cantered along the inner rail, passing markers and counting down for the nine furlong marker to come along. Twelve furlongs, I pulled back in a half halt, balancing Tim. Eleven furlongs, Tim started to grow impatient. Ten furlongs, I forced him to slow his canter.

Nine furlongs and I released the pressure on his bit. He flew forwards without a question asked. His legs flung at almost random will, as if he was didn't exactly know the correct motion for the gallop. His hooves seemed frantic to get to the pace. Finally his legs got organized and he gave powerful, meaningful strides. I held him steady, making sure he didn't go too fast and tire himself out before we got to the stretch.

The back stretch disappeared quickly and the corner came, nearly too fast. The colt awkwardly took it, having me help him balance around it with an expert hand. He tried to pick up the pace, but the corner made him keep the regular pace and be careful.

Finally the stretch came. He didn't need the encouragement of my hand, or the slight tap of my whip to tell him that he needed to go. He was bred to go, he was raised to go, all he really wanted to do was go. So he went.

He flew forwards, his legs organized and moving naturally. His hooves took good traction on the green turf. His nose, flaring nostrils and foamy mouth, dived towards the finish with every powerful, distance eating stride.

His muscles rippled and his breathes came quickly, loudly. His body moved fluidly and with pure purpose. He knew where he wanted to go. Nothing, not even a bomb exploding right over him could seem to stop his run.

And finally it was done and over, despite the colt's protest. The wire flew overhead and the mock race was complete.

Word Count 750