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Post by Sam on Oct 4, 2009 12:32:11 GMT -5
Horse Tempered Passion
Rider/Jockey Sam Lettington
Purpose Normal exercise and practice for the Azalea Cup
The colt seemed average from any bystander who didn’t see him run. In all honesty, I wasn’t use to this. Normally people know my horse from a great distance. Well at least one horse they know from a great distance. Nut was something else and her whole body seemed to scream it. For Tim it was different.
Tim always showed off. It was as if the colt’s body felt as if there was no need to showcase him. Tim was an honest horse. He would show off whatever you did. If you were a horrible rider, everyone will know. If you are a good rider, everyone will know. He’ll find a way to tell the whole story and with nothing but the truth.
His neck curved delicately over the bit. His shoulders powered forwards like a steamboat working with the current. The muscles rippled under his skin in accordance to his command. His breathing was even, despite how we were nearly done with the long warm ups I put the horses through. It was good for them and kept the worry of a lame leg or a pulled muscle far away. Many horses would be slightly winded but his lungs did not strain to steal oxygen from the air. Inside his chest, his heart barely sped up, if it had at all.
I gave him a small pat as he continued to trot down the track, his shoulders still rolling and powering forwards. With a small kiss, his bay body was rolling into a large strided canter, just as powerful as his demeanor
For a while we simply cantered. Then we made a large half circle to the inner rail. We cantered down the rail, though I had to give half-halts to keep him from bolting- he was always ready to run. I waited until the seven furlong marker before I released him onto the track.
Tim didn’t hesitate to take the rein I gave and run with it. He powered forward for several strides until he found his average pace. His long legs ate up the ground while his hinds pushed him forwards down the backstretch. His head bobbed in rhythm with his stride.
He was one win away from becoming a grade four racer. (It seemed that every race was just taunting us, only getting second after second. He just barely lost the win.) It was a long way to go but he would get to the top soon enough. I was patient, though Tim never really is. He thought he was on top, and that was good enough for me.
Around the corner he went, his stride shortening ever so slightly to keep close to the rail and not become off balanced. He started to become excited as the corner opened up to the stretch. I held him back now, knowing he would spurt off too early and lose the race.
Finally the stretch opened up. I let him go. He tore down the turf track. His hind legs slammed down onto the ground, powering him forwards. His front legs never left the air for long, making the stride as long as he could manage.
His breathes became labored. Sweat lathered upon his neck, turning it a sickly white. Still he pressed on until his nares were flaring for more oxygen but still the colt didn’t stop.
It seemed as if he wouldn’t stop until his heart couldn’t take any more. It was as if he threw his heart over the wire and he was racing to catch it. He wanted to go and there was no stopping him.
I could only encourage him, a small knowing smile on my lips that I had a true champion in my hands. It would only be a matter of time before he would show the rest his true colors.
The wire flew over our heads and the colt took a few more strides before slowing gradually.
Word Count: 659
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