let it f l y

The chestnut filly was headstrong today. She pulled impatiently on the reins and widened her stride whenever I refused to cooperate. This made the ride a bit strange, and I had been letting her control the pace to avoid the discomfort. Then again, the cool air that greeted us warranted a heavy workout for the filly. Even I knew that a good workout was necessary. Two days ago Onya had taken the flat racing Grand National and become a grade three. She had beaten three of the most notable horses these days; Once Upon A Dream, Striking Motion, and Gorgeous George. My pride for her knew no bounds, but I needed to get her working. Plans had changed, and the filly was headed for the Turf Triple Crown.

The bounce in Onya's step heightened as we stepped onto the grass trail. She pulled like a train and tried to take off, no matter how narrow the beginning of this trail ride was. With experience I held her in hand, refusing to let her go, and sat the half-trot she was doing. We were only supposed to be walking, and she wasn't warming up properly. It was around a bend in the trail when a sign came up; Trail Divide, One Mile. I grinned. This was a good time to let the chestnut three year old warm up.

I simply let go of the reins and let her enter her smooth, flowing trot. When Onya trotted it was like she was floating. Her strides seemed to swim through imaginary water gracefully, and she left no signs of her presence except a tinge of the glory surrounding her now. For her two year old season she had suffered at the hands of her four top rivals; Royal Assault, Striking Motion, The True Nut, and Once Upon A Dream. But when she turned three, Royal Assault retired, and she beat her other three rivals in separate races. I was surprised and both proud at her new grain of determination, and I bet she had been trying to become a female version of Impressario, the stable's current star.

The forest was quiet today, quiet except for the small crinkling noise of us trotting. I let myself mentally relax, but physically I had to hold Onya like she was a starving lion who had spotted prey. We had about a half mile before the trail divide, and I took my time going along. We cantered with a quarter mile left, the change of pace distinct and swift, but smooth as always.

When we hit the trail divide I pulled up the reins and observed the trails. I was looking for the most strenuous one. Onya suddenly nickered and began to pull towards a meadow visible alongside one trail. I glanced at the sign; this trail was the Mountain Pass trail. A grin crossed my face. Mountain Pass meant a steep climb up, and then a perilous climb down. It would be a good workout for Onya, and would strengthen her legs. With a quick nudge, I sent my powerhouse off in that direction.

The filly's agile legs ate up the ground at the trot we were going at, but I was saving her strength when she began to insist at least a gallop on the flat ground. We would be cantering the majority of the trail, which was a couple miles long. She needed her strength, even though she could race a maximum of two miles. We eventually passed another curve in the trail, and I saw the first hill rising out of the forest and up into open sky. Instantly my legs clapped against her sides, and we began a good stamina canter up the first hill.

Onya took is easily, leaning forward slightly and throwing her weight into the task. We made the hill in good time and were greeted with five feet of open ground before the next. This next one was a small hump in the ground, nothing really, but it was just a prelude to what was coming. Onya lengthened her stride again, her breathing speeding up to her distance running tempo, and her legs easily guided her up the slope. Her smooth movement was becoming rougher, as it always did during a workout.

This slope led up to an even steeper incline. Now Onya began to slow, her strength faltering, but before I could ask she pushed her legs forward and slowly crested the hill. I guessed we were one mile in based on the tempo of her breathing and the light sheen of sweat darkening her normally bright chestnut coat.

The sun beat down relentlessly, and the sweat began to pour off of the filly as we crested yet another hill. Her muscles, however, were only too used to hard running, seeing as Onya ran distances a mile or more. They came through for her, flexing and tensing as she pulled herself up this hill. Her breathing was strong and steady, and even though sweat was everywhere on her she set a steady pace and kept going. I knew her eyes would be gleaming with determination, because that was Onya's way. Ever since Ario and others had been beating her a new spark had been lit, a spark that had entered her into the ranks of the grade threes. And she could go farther, at her young age of three years.

We were greeted with flat ground, and Onya took advantage. Even though we were going at a hearty canter she wanted more. We had now annihilated two miles, and still she wanted more. I decided to let her feel the consequences of what she could think as a very simple decision, and let the reins loose. We raced up into a speedy gallop, and just like that the next line of hills was going to greet us. I knew that this time, though, Onya might tire. We still had two miles left to us of the four mile trail, and she was already tired halfway through. Today she would be stretched to the limits of her stamina.

The first hill disappeared, and then the next. Strain went through Onya, but she refused to ask if she could slow down. Her pride did not allow weakness, but even the best of racehorses would have been tired by now. Only cross country or steeplechasing horses would be fresh and full of energy. Perhaps Onya would, in the future, be a cross country runner. But for now, racing was her calling, and racing was what she enjoyed and had been trained to do.

The scenery around us was becoming more beautiful by the furlong. Green, exotic plants used to higher altitudes appeared, and mountain-dwelling flowers bloomed on the side of the path. Exhilaration shot through me, and also through my mount. Her chestnut coat had darkened to a coat that bays had, but energy still coursed through her.

We mounted the last mountain and I saw with relief the descent. I let the reins loose, and together we flew down the slope. There was approximately half a mile of flatland before the stables, and I slowed the galloping filly to a canter, then a trot. Her racing heartbeat and sweating body were proof of how hard she had worked, and I was proud of her. We were headed to bigger and better things at the rate she was going.