Post by Deleted on Jul 30, 2012 10:54:42 GMT -5
The chestnut colt had grown into a fine young animal, a creature of power and speed. He was crafted to sprint, crafted to be the best. He had already proven himself a powerful racer, with a win and a place in his two starts, and he had the potential to go on to great things. As soon as he was on the track he was focussed and ready to go. He wanted to run. He wanted to win. The passion of the colt was clear, and it was easily matched by his jockey - Mitch Evans. The combination of the two determined males had definitely been a good one.
Their next race would see them racing against older horses, something which they were a little wary of, but they felt he was ready. His twin sister had already ran against older equines to victory, and Sanguis was just as capable as her. Even if she had nosed him out in their first race, it was in their blood to be great sprinters. Their father had been amazing on the track and, while she had been unraced, their mother had been a good dam to them in their younger years.
In order to prepare him for the race, Mitch was to gallop him over a three furlong stretch. Short, concise, and leaving the colt with more than enough energy for the race ahead of him. Mitch knew that they were ready to prove themselves against the best, and this was the next step. The Boulder Cup, against a field of five other horses. Quite a large field for a youngster, but they had faith in his ability to remain calm during the race.
Gating was a quick, easy process. The colt did not freak about the contraption but handled it with calm precision. He knew the gate was necessary, that it led to the race and the moment when he would be able to gallop to his heart's content. He loved the feeling of the wind in his mane, the turf beneath his hooves, and Mitch knew this all too well. The shutters were closed and a silence fell, broken only when the buzzer sounded.
The colt moved well beneath him, exiting the gates at a relatively slow pace. Mitch urged him forwards and the colt responded well, quickly moving his pace up as they moved swiftly over the turf. The equine's limbs moved, powerful, beneath him and each stride powered them further up the track. Two furlongs passed quickly, and only one furlongs remained. Mitch tucked himself low to the colt and truly drove, cracking the crop twice across the colt's rump and continuing on a powerful burst of speed.
As a closer, the colt truly knew how to accelerate when the moment come. He threw his all into it, his stride shortening as he made his way up the final furlong. Stride by stride, moment by moment. Mitch closed his eyes, driving the colt, and as he opened them again he realised just how close they were to the post. Soaring past, the jockey grinned. It was a good work, but was it good enough?
Their next race would see them racing against older horses, something which they were a little wary of, but they felt he was ready. His twin sister had already ran against older equines to victory, and Sanguis was just as capable as her. Even if she had nosed him out in their first race, it was in their blood to be great sprinters. Their father had been amazing on the track and, while she had been unraced, their mother had been a good dam to them in their younger years.
In order to prepare him for the race, Mitch was to gallop him over a three furlong stretch. Short, concise, and leaving the colt with more than enough energy for the race ahead of him. Mitch knew that they were ready to prove themselves against the best, and this was the next step. The Boulder Cup, against a field of five other horses. Quite a large field for a youngster, but they had faith in his ability to remain calm during the race.
Gating was a quick, easy process. The colt did not freak about the contraption but handled it with calm precision. He knew the gate was necessary, that it led to the race and the moment when he would be able to gallop to his heart's content. He loved the feeling of the wind in his mane, the turf beneath his hooves, and Mitch knew this all too well. The shutters were closed and a silence fell, broken only when the buzzer sounded.
The colt moved well beneath him, exiting the gates at a relatively slow pace. Mitch urged him forwards and the colt responded well, quickly moving his pace up as they moved swiftly over the turf. The equine's limbs moved, powerful, beneath him and each stride powered them further up the track. Two furlongs passed quickly, and only one furlongs remained. Mitch tucked himself low to the colt and truly drove, cracking the crop twice across the colt's rump and continuing on a powerful burst of speed.
As a closer, the colt truly knew how to accelerate when the moment come. He threw his all into it, his stride shortening as he made his way up the final furlong. Stride by stride, moment by moment. Mitch closed his eyes, driving the colt, and as he opened them again he realised just how close they were to the post. Soaring past, the jockey grinned. It was a good work, but was it good enough?