Post by Dante on Sept 11, 2011 13:51:03 GMT -5
-------------------------
FORD MODEL T
workout with
TOBIAS LANCASTER[/b]
-------------------------
[/center]
One mind was focused. The other mind? Probably thinking about oats and hay and cookies and fillies and ohmahgod was that a balloon some kid ha-oh look a shiny. Ford wouldn't stand still in the gate, prancing from foot to foot as though there wasn't a rider on top of him. Not that there was a much of a rider. Tobias Lancaster, though a supreme jockey, was light as a feather - 81 pounds today, he'd weighed himself this very morning. He was a fully grown man nowhere near five feet, and never having weighed more than 90 pounds. It was no wonder Ford felt as though nothing was there, until Tobias decided to try and collect his mind, giving the light chestnut colt a talking to. Ford wasn't scared, he was just ADHD all over the place. He needed to collect his wits. The jockey knew the horse could collect himself and run, but his mind needed a little work. That was why the slender man was on him.[/color][/b]
"It's thinking time, Fordy-Ford." Tobias mumbled. Eight furlongs, turf. Just a starter-upper for the year, something he knew the colt could do. On the sidelines, as he always was, Skylark was waiting. Pity one did not make a crowd. Ford was so much more focused in front of a crowd, when people were watching him. Ego problem in the making? Perhaps. He settled himself in the saddle, despite the motions of Ford, and looked at the light, then at the track ahead, green in the distance, railings white. There wasn't a hint of nervousness or emotion on the jockey's face, but Ford's nostrils flared, his eyes rolled, he snorted and stamped. He didn't have long to wait.
For a moment, silence. Then, the snap of the gates opening, the bell, and they were off to the races, one light chestnut horse against a phantom field around him. True to his nature, Ford bolted off right away, trying to take the front of this imaginary field. Tobias held him steady and kept him in a line. Ford was a funky one sometimes, not running in a proper line. Another reason for the brain work. About halfway through, Tobias took more charge, making Ford run from about a quarter of the way from the inside rail right into it, giving him the stick and rein as he did so, making him speed up and run diagonal. The colt's ears flicked every which way, but he responded with a good, strong motion and he did so quickly. They were gaining ground, in training and in literal terms. Ford wasn't a car, but he felt like one, pulling and mustering and going. Tobias made Ford go right up to the rail. He could see it out of his peripheral vision, a white streak almost under his stirrup. If he fell, it would be curtains, but that wasn't on his mind. It was the final furlong and Tobias asked Ford to give some more. The colt could run a good distance more than 8, after all; it was just now a test of how much he could give in a single furlong.
Each hoofbeat was like a piston, each breath the like rev of a car, the heart the engine, and Tobias was merely the steering wheel. Ford accelerated, and was still accelerating as he crossed the line, signaling the end of the race. Ford kept on going, however, and Tobias let the cold run for a little more, before slowing back down and looping around to Skylark, who was writing upon his clipboard. With the numerical results, but Tobias was pleased with the run before he even saw the times.
-----------------------
WORKOUT STATS
words| 615
workout surface| turf
distance| 8 furlongs
horse| Ford Model T
jockey| Tobias Lancaster
type| closed workout (do not reply)
[/blockquote][/blockquote]
