Post by Dante on Aug 16, 2012 1:29:15 GMT -5
-------------------------
C'EST IMPOSSIBLE
workout with
ERIN TRUBELL[/b]
-------------------------
[/center]
[/color][/b]
Okay, so the start had been slow. But the start was only the start. The beginning of the story wasn't always the end, though sometimes they were. If the beginning of the story ended with a death, that was, and both Erin Trubell and her filly C'est Impossible were still standing on two and four legs, respectively. They just needed polishing, that was all. And polish they would. It had been a few races, and now it was time to hit the track again. C'est Impossible was very smart, after all. She might be slow to start but the bay showed no signs of being slow in the head, and that was what Erin cared about. The redhead had a short temper, and she didn't need more things to set it off than Connor had already done so today, with a jibe about a certain dead person that Erin knew. So now it was the almost unseen Miles Muse that would be timing her and her filly. Miles Muse was her top boss, the owner of PHS, and very rarely seen.
It was almost surreal, therefore, that he was right there in front of her, holding the stopwatch. "Well," He began, "You know her better than I do, Erin. What do we need to do."
"Just give her a schooling down the track. Six furlongs." Erin replied. "Refine out her style, she's still looking for it, and I'm still working at it, too." Mr. Muse said nothing else, but only nodded and walked away, leaving Erin to hop on the filly and start for the gates.
Getting Imp into the gate wasn't the easiest of tasks, either. She was still a bit fresh to them, and a little prancy and dancy. As a result, they didn't keep her in them long - almost as soon as they were in, they were out again, to keep her from panicking and losing those valuable wits of hers.
The bay filly burst out of the gates, and Erin moved her out a little, near the middle to the back of the imaginary pack. Not quite closer-back, but far back for a middle. It kept her focused, oddly enough. Erin was still working it out, as she had said, but it seemed that Imp liked to chase more than lead, and it motivated her on. So far, she'd always ended up chasing the top three. Not appalling results, but no ribbons yet. But nothing was impossible when your name was It's Impossible - very little, after all, was really in a name.
Three furlongs blew by over the dirt, flinging it up in their faces and in their wake. In an actual race, Erin would be pulling down dirty goggles through the whole race, even if Imp only did short distances. But if it meant better results, she hardly cared. At four furlongs, though, it was time to act and Imp began taking the dirt, throwing herself forwards along the outside. Erin kept most of the rein but gave plenty of the stick, telling her to accelerate but keeping control of the green racers head, should anything arise. This was important in big races, where she'd be passing horses she didn't know the temperament of, and until everything was worked out, Erin rather not be thrown under the hooves of racehorses, thanks.
The run seemed over faster than it started, but Erin knew that was all in her head. Imp was just speedy, it was a matter of making it work in races. After all, you had to preform, and for Erin everything came back to that. Performance. And if Imp failed, people would look at her first, and say 'well, you have a six foot jockey on the filly', and Erin hated that. Besides, she had every intention of helping Imp, not the other way around! It was all a matter of polishing. Bit by bit. They'd inch up. The racing career of a horse was sort of like one big race, and at the start of a race, Imp hung back, the burst forwards. It was just a matter of time before they hit that burst, in her opinion.
It was coming. And they'd be ready for it.-----------------------
WORKOUT STATS
words| 706
workout surface| Dirt
distance| 6 furlongs
horse| C'est Impossible
jockey| Erin Trubell
[/blockquote][/blockquote]
