Post by Dante on Nov 16, 2011 15:24:26 GMT -5
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LADY OPHELIA
workout with
ERIN TRUBELL[/b]
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The thing about Ophelia is that she did not calm down. Even compared to a "fiery redhead", she was insane. Her namesake might have been fairly innocent and pure, but this Ophelia was a she-demon. Not that that was a bad thing on the track, but when a soul was trying to mount her it was. A string of curses was already polluting the air around Erin, who eventually had to pin Lady Ophelia next to a fence to get on her. Once the tall, but extremely thing jockey was on her, Ophelia calmed a bit.[/color][/b]
Taking advantage of the moment of calm, Erin looked up at the sky. The clouds were already here. Moses had just gotten off the turf track, and Skylark had just gotten to the gates of the dirt one, and already it looked like the heavens were going to open above them. Erin doubted Ophelia would have an issue with running in the rain, if it did happen, but she had to feel for the groom. The cremello filly ran on dirt best. In the rain, she'd run on some degree of mud. Even on a good day, after the track, she looked like she'd gone and turned into a paint. The jockey couldn't help but chuckle at what Lady Ophelia might look like after this, but her main concern, as they took off to the gate, was how she was going to run.
Ten furlongs, on the dirt. This was going to be piece of cake. Unlike plenty (she'd venture to say a good 60%) of horses at Green Horse Fields, Ophelia was built for distance. Eight furlongs was this filly's idea of a sprint. Ten furlongs was a good distance for her, though Erin wouldn't be surprised if she could go up to 14, or 15 furlongs if such a race existed in the area.
The filly tossed her head as they approached the gate, eyeing Skylark as she did so, head held high. For her age, the filly was big, and projected to get to nearly draft height, if not proportions. Erin brought her head back down to an acceptable level, and nodded to Skylark as they were loaded into the gate, something Ophelia had a fit over.
More causes and growling later, once in the gate, Erin pulled down her goggles and shifted in the saddle. She thought she could see raindrops, but the dark sky and greyish grandstands didn't offer a good viewing for them. Besides, in a second, raindrops would be the least of her-
BANG.
-worries.
Lady Ophelia sprung from the gate as they opened with tremendous power. Erin couldn't have been more grateful for her size and weight. She was on the bigger end for a jockey, but she needed every once of it to keep this horse in check. Anyone on the average size would never keep her in control. Erin had to struggle a little to keep Ophelia at a steady pace, but let her go fairly fast from the outset. While this looked like a silly move to some, going for the front about three seconds in, it wasn't silly on Ophelia. The horse was a strong front, with the endurance to match. If she stayed in the front, she'd bait the preceders up with her. As most GHF horses found ten furlongs nearing their top end, rather than closer to the low end of what they ran, they'd tire before Ophelia. And if the preceders were baited up, the whole pack would have to follow save for the very strongest closers. It was like a twisted-around game of cat and mouse. Besides, staying at the front would mean that no one was about to box her in.
The dirt was churned up and flew every which way in Ophelia's wake, dusting her creamy-colored legs with brown flecks, and even kicking some up onto Erin. Early into the race, it was nothing more than normal, but soon Erin's blue and silver (the PHS colors) jockey silks got a little bit muddy. It was drizzling, just a little. Ophelia hardly seemed to notice, or if she did notice, she didn't give a lick about it.
They passed five furlongs, the halfway point, and Ophelia was showing little sign of fatigue. She was calmer, yes, but not tired. Tired would come later on. Workouts tended to calm, or tire, her out, for at least a little bit. Or maybe they tamed her. Each time they did a workout, Ophelia's sanity did improve little by little. Or something. Erin was not a horse head-doctor.
They rounded the corner and Erin leaned to the outside a little, keeping the massive filly balanced as they thundered around the curve. It half occurred to Erin she could probably reach out and hit other jockeys with her stick, given the side of her horse and the length of her arm, and she would have smiled at the silliness of this, if mud wouldn't have gone flying into her mouth. She reached up and swapped to the next set of goggles at they passed seven furlongs, feeling Ophelia still going strong. She wasn't running on silliness at this point, she was running with more decisive, collected motions. Good. Because in a moment, Erin would use that to channel it into a place in the winner's circle.
At eight furlongs, Erin gave Ophelia the stick, and almost all of her head. Only almost, so that Erin could regain control of her later on. They charged ahead, two girls on a mission, until they crossed the finish line, where it was one girl on a mission to slow down, and another to keep running. The ginger one won out, and they slowed to a trot in time, coming to a halt before Skylark.
"The groom won't be pleased, but you should be."He said, as he showed her the time recorded. "That's her best yet, and look, she's still for once."
"Until they give her oats." Erin said with a laugh.
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WORKOUT STATS
words| 1,006
workout surface| Dirt
distance| 10 furlongs
horse| Lady Ophelia
jockey| Erin Trubell
type| closed workout (do not reply)
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