Post by Dante on Oct 8, 2011 14:01:15 GMT -5
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LADY OPHELIA
workout with
ERIN TRUBELL[/b]
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Yesterday had been a day of circles for Lady Ophelia and Erin Trubell. Today, not as much. Sensing a run was ahead, Ophelia was only prancing, not trying to gallop a tiny circle. That was good news for Erin. It was barely 6 AM, and she just wanted to go back to bed, though she now fully understood why Tobias has a mini-fridge of redbulls in the jockey's lounge. As PHS got bigger, they'd need it.[/color][/b]
"You ready up there?" Skylark rubbed an eye as he looked at her. He was still in pajamas pants, and a wifebeater top.
"Way to look sophisticated. Great representation of Prison Hill." Erin laughed, but nodded. Lady Ophelia took the slightly motion atop her as a cue to try and barrel forwards, and Skylark skittered out of the way.
"Then get going." Skylark said,as he flipped to the correct paper on the clipboard. "Same drill as yesterday." Eight furlongs, dirt. There was a reason for this, one Erin knew well as she trotted Ophelia to the gates. There was a race soon, of those specifications. And it was a big field. Even for a front runner, a big field was something to look intently at. The more work they did with her, the better. She'd have to be in peak shape for this; she was already ready to run her heart out, but she needed the work, what with her personality. A couple more exercises than usual for a maiden race of this caliber wouldn't hurt her by any means. Yesterday's was to gauge. Today, now that Ophelia was thinking a bit better, was to train, to strategize, to get their odds at the betting booth as high as they could. The filly had promise. Now it was time to capitalize upon it, and make it count for something. Polish it.
Lady Ophelia, in an unladylike show, whinnied and screeched as she was loaded into the gate, but there was none of the head-tossing of yesterday, which was grand. Between her size and Erin's, messing about in the gate could be lethal to them both. Erin reached up and tucked a stray strand of bright red hair away, and rolled her shoulder a few times. In a few moments, it would again be go time. She licked her lips and examined the track before her. No one had used it this morning yet; it was exactly how the track groomers had left it this morning. Untouched, unsoiled. Still. Not even an animal track of footprint. It wouldn't remain that way for long, but it sure did look picturesque. Maybe one day she'd attach a camera to her helmet and video the world as she saw it atop a horse.
The stillness all jockies knew lasted only a blink longer, then the jarring ring of the bell and metallic snap of the gates ended it. Ophelia got off to a stunning start, and was off along the middle of the track (they had chosen a middle gate), but immediately started for inwards. Erin held her to the outside for now, pulling her back. The two-year-old was a frontrunner, yes, but cutting in too soon in a big field meant getting boxed in, front or not. Being boxed in as a front was also more dangerous than it would be for a midrunner or preceder, as it could easily screw up the horse's mindset and running style. She wasn't sure if it would do the same to Ophelia, being the creature she was, but Erin wasn't going to risk it and cost a race.
The ginger jockey shifted a bit in her position as they rounded a curve about six furlongs in, feeling Ophelia adjust easily beneath her. Corning wasn't too much of a worry, moreso given Erin could use herself as a counterbalance to some extent. She let Ophelia go for broke as soon as they got most of the way around, giving her the stick and cutting her in to the rail before giving her her head at last. The cremello filly responded and picked up the pace even more, accelerating with ease. Erin gave a closed mouth smile as she saw the seven furlong marker pass, and gave Ophelia another strong set of urging. Faster, faster, faster. One final furlong - -it was time to go, go, go! And go she went. Eight furlongs was long for a sprinter, but for Ophelia, it was a walk in the park; even with an intensive training schedule, Erin could feel the filly had plenty of energy; Ophelia wanted more.
The creamy yellow mane and tail streamed about behind the filly in the early morning light as they passed that red marker signalling the end of the race. They gradually slowed down and looped back to Skylark, who was writing on his clipboard.
"We have improvement." He said as they came up to him on the outside rail. "We have good improvement, too." He didn't look up from his writing. "Go hose her down, Erin. Give her a cookie - she deserves it, too. I'll meet you back there in a couple minutes. But if I may ask...why did Connor write "indeed, la" on the jockey comments section?"
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WORKOUT STATS
words| 872
workout surface| Dirt
distance| 8 furlongs
horse| Lady Ophelia
jockey| Erin Trubell
type| closed workout (do not reply)
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