Post by Dante on Oct 8, 2011 12:11:29 GMT -5
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LADY OPHELIA
workout with
ERIN TRUBELL[/b]
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A trot was not a gallop. Most people understood this. Most horses understood this. Did Lady Ophelia? Oh no. No, not at all. The ginger jockey on her back was doing everything in her power to keep herself and her madhorse in check as they waited for Connor, the trainer, to get organized. Given how he looked severely hungover, Erin was better that was not going to be fast, and Ophelia wanted to go fast. The large cremello filly pranced and tried to buck, leaving Erin nothing to do but pilot her in circles to keep her slow. In theory, a downright insane horse made sense on the track. A horse that would stop at nothing, ever, to get her butt into first place. A horse that would be more likely to hunt the wolves back, sort of horse. Ophelia was that sort of horse.[/color][/b]
Controlling that sort of horse, though? That took some power. Power, and size, and that was her trademark. She was tall but light enough, she could shift her weight and had muscle smaller jockeys lacked. Tobias, after all, couldn't be more than 85 pounds - he was probably closer to 80. That limited his strength considerably. Ophelia would eat him. Only not literally.
"A'right, a'right." Connor mumbled. "Eight furlongs, dirt. You know the drill." His voice was still slightly slurred, but he walked in a straight line to his position as Erin piloted the cremello filly to the gates. She threw her head up and whinnied something major as they were put in the gate, more spirited than the colts. Erin was again thankful she did not live at home anymore. Her twin brothers, now 12, did not need the sort of language she put out. But she knew Ophelia would get better. It was all a matter of training. She might never be sane, but she could improve. Erin tightened the chinstrap of her helmet, shortened her reins and ran her fingers ever so slightly on the grip of her stick. It was go time. Ophelia settled into the gate...and then...
Bam! They were off! And what a start they had. Ophelia definitely ran in the front, and strong. She was the sort of horse that did distance well, and so Erin let her go. A strong, full0out run for the front in an eight furlong race was a mental game with the other jockies, too. They wouldn't know what she was up to; but for Ophelia, 8 furlongs was the shortest distance she ran. She had stamina and speed for much more. She needed all the time she could to accelerate into the run, but she could maintain it well.
Erin would have smiled on the track, if that wouldn't have meant getting dirt and possibly bugs in her mouth. The terror-horse of pre-race waiting was gone, and in the mid morning sun, what remained was a shining (though slowly getting dirt covered) filly with the heart to win. The real Ophelia, or at least the real horse one. Her hooves tossed up dirt and threw it behind her, and under her legs, Erin could feel every muscle moving in her flank. Nothing felt sore, everything in working order. Erin brought Ophelia closer to the rail once they passed five furlongs, and gave her the stick even more. The filly pinned her ears but obliged with enthusiasm, giving it another go that Erin felt, in a tug at her reins, which Erin gave. With the sound of stomping hooves in her ears, and colors running together in a blur her peripheral vision, the jockey couldn't be happier. Ophelia was a pain sometimes, but riding her in a race, even a mock one, was a thrill.
The passed the big red eight furlong marker, and Erin brought Ophelia back down. Of course, the filly protested, but she was outmatched by her rider, who brought her back at a trot to Connor. "So?" She asked him.
"So, we did great." Connor held up the stopwatch. "But she seriously needs less oats..." He trailed off as Erin went to doing circles again, hearing a breathless 'indeed, la!' from the ginger jockey.
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WORKOUT STATS
words| 695
workout surface| Dirt
distance| 8 furlongs
horse| Lady Ophelia
jockey| Erin Trubell
type| closed workout (do not reply)
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