Post by Cavallo on May 20, 2012 23:31:03 GMT -5
Yearling exposure - work-out when she is 2yrs old
The two were quite a pair. In a rage, Atalanta stood raising her challenge to the younger novice filly. Five years her senior, Atalanta had the advantage of experience and tested grit, Nightshade on the other hand the the tenacity to match the ill tempered mare's and the addition of youth...but this youth was also her weakness.
It was uncanny the physical similarity the two had, both stood at an impressive 17.1 hands, but where Attie was more of a muscular build, Atropa had a sleeker form about her.
Kyle get your dang mare under control, today isn't about her. Michael challenged his cousin, while mounted on his own thunderstorm. Kyle shot Michael a glare as he whispered softly to the spirited mare...at his voice she stood still long enough for him to swing up and jockey into his seat.
Ready Princess? Kyle shot back as he nudged Attie toward the gate. Her ears flattened as she passed Atropa who responded likewise with a clacking of teeth and the crunch of her bit. Not willing to be passed, Atropa grabbed her bit briefly and began to move swiftly following her mentor.
Her big debut race was quickly approaching. They'd been training her for months, breaking her in...finding what type of ground she liked best..did she need blinders?...a companion...what position she liked...where she ran best on the inside...all of this work to prepare her for the beginning of her shining career. They weren't expecting a fist place every time, but they were expecting an overall greatness from the young filly.
They saw it best to match younger horses with the more experienced. In this method, the young were tried and met their match in the battle-scarred victors. The older horses pushed the younger to not just run on their youth, but to sharpen their minds, their instincts and to not be intimidated by older and better competition. The older horses stayed sharp and the younger horses grew...it was a win-win.
Side by side the dark duos made their swift approach to the starting gates, the turf firm and springy beneath the horses daggers. Both were beautiful Augusto and War Admiral influenced fillies, and had the same ferocious drive to run, win and conquer. Atalanta more on the hot-headed side loaded briefly after throwing her crown in a blatant challenge, seeking to intimidate the younger horse...she smelled Atropa's scent knowing that it carried the same flavor as her own, her nares flared in excitement and expectation.
Atropa easily slid into her slot, eye to eye with her intimidating opponent and steely met Attie's stare, her body shaking with the foretasted release of the gates. Kyle glanced to Michael and both smiled. Alright, now this is her Maiden...it's 10 furlongs...with her style your going to want to make sure she gets a clean, quick break and let her run with the leaders..don't let her make her bid until the mile marker. That'll leave you two furlongs for you to rally her and secure a front position, the pace setters often don't have the time then to rally to a closing style, but you have to make sure that during the race she doesn't taker her head until you give it to her. Atropa has amazing stamina, she's a distance runner, so really the key is making sure that on the break she gets to the front and maintains. Others will come close and eyeball her, maybe even starting gaining and inching her. It will drive her nuts and she'll want to challenge, but hold her head and maintain with the leaders...at the end use her added frustration to fuel her fire... Kyle paused and smiled. There is nothing like riding a scorned Augusto lined horse..they take it personal, so hold on for your life at the end. Michael nodded an eager grin on his face...
This would be an interesting run.
Both horses quieted and looked out ahead, each rider felt the eagerness in their mounts, their mouths dry with excitement. This what you lived for in racing, the thrill of the fast break..
The gates swung open. Atalanta broke out like a bat out of hell. Years of training and conditioning made her like a locomotive. Her long legs extended quickly as she ate up the distance, Kyle smiled...in his mind there was no ride that could equal his Attie, but Atropa might be a close second. He wasn't surprised to see the black bay filly right on Attie's heels, her head parallel to her rump. A good clean break.
Michael held Atropa. He knew she could easily close the mild gap and was tempted to quickly allow it, but remembered Kyle's advice...Save it for the finish girl..
The thunder of hooves filled the air and turf flew like a waking spray, around the track they went like sleek panthers and Atropa didn't let Attie gain an inch... The 7th furlong passed...one more girl...one more.. Right before the 8th, Kyle gave Attie her head and like a volcano, her legs began to pump bursting forth a powerful stride. Michael cursed...Kyle had said nothing about giving Attie her head...this was to build Atropa's confidence...Attie had that already in spades. We can't afford the gap... Michael said a prayer and gave the filly the desire of her heart...her head. There was no tap of the crop..no spoken plea, only an immediate response of speed.
Atropa's eyes were deadly fixated on her prey and she was not to be dissuaded. Legs began to churn like the pistons of a train and the already speeding Attie slowly began to draw closer...there was two furlongs now left to go...I've already given her her head...so much for the last minute response.. He grimaced, but suddenly he felt Atropa shift again...The frustration irrupted within her, how dare this horse taunt her with her backside? and so she raced to scorn the one who dared to try and scorn her. The gap miraculously closed... her head by her hind...then middle... One furlong left... then Attie's neck...then the finish.
Head to head, they crossed...each horse furious that there was no clear winner and each rider thrilled with the results.
You big fat liar...that burst from Attie wasn't part of the training... Michael accused his cousin while looping Atropa back in a brisk trot, the filly's head tossing in the air, nares flared as air rushed into her capable cavernous lungs.
Kyle smiled wryly as he kicked Attie in the other direction at a canter to cool off her hot head. As the gap between the two increased Kyle yelled back over his shoulder..Best learn now my brother...racing never really sticks entirely to a plan...when it comes down to it.. you simply have to trust your horse!
Michael laughed and then smiled quietly to himself as he let Atropa pick up her pace ... Yes he had learned a great deal today and so had Atropa... Always trust your horse.
