Post by Dante on Sept 16, 2011 15:15:26 GMT -5
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FORD MODEL T
workout with
TOBIAS LANCASTER[/b]
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Nine furlongs. One more than the last time they had run, but still on the turf, in preparation for yet another race. Ford was looking pretty in the sun, light chestnut appearing almost palomino as his ears darted left and right and back and forwards, as he looked everywhere and swatted flies away. “Somebody’s eager.” Tobias laughed as he held the horse. It was evening, but not yet dusk – plenty of light left in the way, and this time, there was no need for a Red Bull; which was nice. Red Bulls had calories. Tobias could only consume a limited number of those to keep his place as such a lightweight jockey. He’d get to have something else, instead. Tobias pondered his meal plan in earnest before Skylark arrives and gave him a leg up, and then it was all business from there.[/color][/b]
ADHD as he always was, Ford pranced and stomped and chews on the bit to the point where he was drooling foam. He’d placed not-so-good in his last race, but that had been against mostly G5 racers, without the unknown breeding that he had. But breeding could be overcome and the G5’s were missing in this strictly maiden race. Training was their best bet, and train they would. The muscly colt would get more muscle, better cardio, and become more and more one with Tobias, however cheesy that sounded. Every member of Prison Hill Stables, human, equine or bovine (Miss May wasn’t well known on the racing circuit, but her milk was good) wanted to bring their stable the big league. With that common goal and the urge to win, nothing was going to be too hard. After all – Fords had raced before, though they were usually in the “horseless carriage” category.
“Let’s do this, Fordy-Ford.” Tobias said, feeling a light, warm breeze on his face. Ah, the summer. How he relished it. And So did Ford Model T. He trotted with a spring to his step to the gate, ready for another good run, right in the middle of his distance range. Not too short, not too long. Just right. Tobias wouldn’t have to push like he had with sprints. As they entered the gate, Tobias worked out his plan; they’d go easy for the first couple furlongs. Two, many three at an easy pace. It might infuriate Ford, who preferred to run at the front, but everyone held for the first couple furlongs anyways. In a race, Tobias would be holding him at 2nd or 3rd at first, near the front, then he’d left Ford go a little more, up until the middle, where he’d ask for the speed and the taking of first. Ford was well and capable of that plan running wise. He’d be all caught up in the running and the horses, though. Thinking was where the jockey came in.
Tobias gave a last adjustment to the chin strap of his helmet and a thumbs up to Skylark, readying his balance and looking ahead. Nine furlongs, upon the turf. Time for some horsepower. 22 Horsepower, if you wanted to think in terms of the automobile model T. The snap of the gates almost drowned out the bell of them opening, and they were off to the races. Ford felt limber, like a well-oiled machine, as he tore up the turf. His dark eyes were large, nostrils flared, and almost frustrated he wasn’t allowed to get going right away. To Tobias, it felt he was winding a spring as he steered Ford in a light curve (sometime Ford needed nudging on that – sometimes he didn’t even concentrate on following the track), and it was only a matter of time before he let it go.
Three furlongs later, the tiny man did. He gave Ford a little more of what he wanted. He held, but released some of the pent up power and felt the results almost instantly. He accelerated and pulled on the bit more, asking and asking for more permission to give it more, and upon passing six furlongs, Tobias let him go. He gave the reins and the stick, and Ford lengthened his stride, pulling himself to full speed and going for broke. This was what the colt lived for, the run. The run, the sprint, the fix to his ADHD, at least when he was going all out. When he went all for it, Tobias had a lot less to worry about, as the colt could focus fairly well then.
The duo crossed the line and slowed down, both rider and horse catching their breath. Skylark, his shorts showing off prosthetic legs, nodded as he looked up from the stopwatch. “Solid run.” He confirmed Tobias’ own thoughts. “I’m satisfied.”
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WORKOUT STATS
words| 791
workout surface| Turf
distance| 9 furlongs
horse| Ford Model T
jockey| Tobias Lancaster
type| closed workout (do not reply)
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