Post by Dante on Nov 2, 2011 15:02:24 GMT -5
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RUNAWAY ONELEG
workout with
MOSES LANCASTER[/b]
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Moses felt like a failure. All of his brother's horses, and Erin's, were doing well. But Solo? Solo was running as well as could be expected - but he'd gotten injured. His frustration was evident as he sulked up to Connor, who was sitting on a fence. Solo was standing nearby. Rare was the two your old thoroughbred that would ground tie on grass and just stand there. Solo, bless her soul, was one of those. "What's your problem?" Connor snorted. "Gotten injured again?"
"No, bug off, Connor." Moses growled.
"Oh, I see, it's the durn Egyptians. Have they not let your people go?" Connor laughed, taking pleasure in the jockey's annoyance. "Well, Moses, give us the miracle Solo deserves and ride her, will you? We're going eight furlongs, on the turf. Think you can handle that?" He got a nod and a glare as a response, and Connor laughed again. "Oooooh, a plague upon me! Kill my firstborn, turn my water to blood, Bible-boy!"
"I'm Jewish." Moses said with a shake of the head. Connor had no comeback to say to that one, but 'Really? Is Tobias a Jew, too?' to which Moses nodded, and Connor just slunk away, leaving Moses with Runaway Oneleg, named after a horse from a cursed stable. She looked at him, eyes soft. She nickered, and Moses felt irritation melt away. She didn't care she'd been off to a rocky start. She didn't care she was possibly cursed. She just wanted to run, and, it seemed. He hopped on from the hence, and trotted to the gate. The bay filly was calm in the gate, almost lesson-horse like. He had to grin. If only Solo knew just how good she really was.
"I'm ready, I hope you are." He whispered to the filly, giving her a pat on the shoulder before taking up his reins firmly and waiting for that clang on the gates. It game shortly thereafter, and they burst from the gates. Solo ran smoothly, going from zero to, well, fast, in almost no time at all. They'd hang around at the back for the first five furlongs, then pull ahead. Closing was a good way to stay forgotten until the second you made your move, a good way to trick the competition. Besides, it also let Moses examine the race, and decide if he should bring Solo to the front early or not. That was the good thing about this filly. She was adaptable with her positioning. She didn't like to run the other positions as much as close, but she could do it, and do it well. And with every time they ran, she'd get better. She was already getting better. It was only a matter of time before they got a ribbon, and half of it was due to the fact Solo just made Moses feel good; when he felt good, he rode better, and she felt better, and so the cycle went on. His belief in the calm bay filly never once wavered. She could do it. And he'd try his best to get here there.
That was the funny thing about racing - it was the journey that made the destination what you wanted to be, so which was it about? The journey, or the destination? To him, it was all the journey. They kept somewhat slow, staying near the back of the imaginary race. Eight furlongs. They could do it. They had to do it. It was easy. It was what they'd done last time. Eight furlongs, upon the turf. He could feel her - she knew what she was doing. He could feel her muscle, almost feel her heartbeat, almost see her nostrils flare, her gentle eyes alight. She was a fluid, graceful horse. Now she just had to get quicker.
They passed the six furlong mark, and with that, Moses made her go. And go she did. She sped forwards, doing better than last time, and the two let their worries and thoughts go - they just ran. They just gave it everything they had, and then some. Go, go, go. Faster, stronger, better. He was just an average jockey, but she was so much more than an average horse.
Moses almost missed the eight furlong marker, they flew by it so fast, and they slowed down, their make-believe race over as they looped back, at a canter, to Connor.
"Okay." He said, and pulled a piece of paper off a clipboard. "Let me draw how she's been doing." Connor drew a dot. "That's her in the beginning." He then drew an upwards arrow. "That's how she's been going. We'll get there yet."
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WORKOUT STATS
words| 779
workout surface| Turf
distance| 8 furlongs
horse| Runaway Oneleg
jockey| Moses Lancaster
type| closed workout (do not reply)
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