SHOW // t h e m

[S u N f r O s T ~]

He was five now, but his speed was unhampered. He was still a beautiful chestnut who had great things hidden within him, great things that were just waiting for release. At three he had won the Breeder's Cup Sprint; at four he had been second to Flying Colours. Now that he was five years old I had the intention to make sure he won it once more before retirement. With A Snap could sprint; he just needed to prove it. And I was confident that he could.

The dashing chestnut stallion toe danced through the dirt, pulling at the reins and eager to be off. I let him run his high spirits out, keeping my rein length firm. His trot increased in tempo as he struggled to canter under my tight hold. That was him; always ready to go. His dancing and prancing was warming up his muscles, so I put him on the inside and we lapped the track. His begging deepened and increased in strength; eventually I had to let him canter or he would hurt his mouth. I would let him go at this pace until the middle of the backstretch; then we would breeze down to the wire and end our workout there.

The first turn arrived. He used the curve of the turn to angle his neck uncomfortably away from me and try to coax rein from my left hand. I held as firm as I could, unwilling to fall into Snapple's tricks. We were midway through the turn when he finally settled down with a quiet snort, focusing on his work and stopping his pull of the reins. I kept my hands tightly closed around the reins none the less; these horses could be tricky.

We reached the backstretch at an excellent working canter. His rocking motion was fast and bumpier then others, but he still harbored great speed. His head bent as he worked, breath flowing in and out through his wide nostrils smoothly, ears perked and waiting for instructions. The backstretch was three furlongs long; the whole track was a full mile, with three to the final stretch and the backstretch and a full furlong on each turn [which, when added together, totaled eight furlongs/one mile]. I would let him go for one and a half, galloping him in preparation through the final half, and then we would start our fast breeze. I would ask for everything in the stretch run, of course.

One furlong passed quickly, because Snapple was starting to get excited again. He had reason to; my leg muscles were tensing, and then I let out rein and dropped my heels to support my crouch. My calf muscles tensed to hold my body weight and drop it into putting my heels down. He took a huge reach with his front legs and then pushed off with his hind, and we were off in a nice working gallop which was slower then breezing but faster then a normal, non-pressured gallop.

We beat it through the half. Snapple knew he would be given his head soon and waited eagerly for that moment. When it came I let out two inches of rein and crouched lower over his neck. Now he accelerated, pushing off with his hind legs first and then reaching wider. We were breezing now in a gear just off top speed. Snapple's breath still came in and out in a very smooth matter. The workout wasn't taking much out of him, but it was just a tune up for the sprints yet to come this season.

Snapple let a furlong pass at the blistering pace, then a half, so that we were careening around the turn when he tugged the reins. My hands had loosened their hold, and I wasn't prepared. I was going to pay for this, because his neck reached completely forward and he got the bit in his teeth. Now my aids had no effect on him. The results was astonishing; he took off, and he went to a pace yet unknown, a pace I was unaware of on Breeder's Cup Sprint day. It was a pace that, had I known about it, would have made him win. But, as always, Snapple liked to surprise me.

We flew through the turn as if it was only a foot of annoying space. We reached the stretch. His time to the wire was one and a half furlongs. Since I could do nothing to stop him I simply encouraged him, kneading my hands along his neck to ask for more. He didn't respond; either this was the speed he had or he was going to show me next time.

We were in the final furlong now. Snapple's breath was steadily coming in and out a bit faster, and sweat was darkening his neck. He was well conditioned to not have sweated sooner. I could just imagine how he looked; light chestnut coat gleaming in the sunlight, muscles rippling along it with every stride, my hands far up his neck in an effort to stay on, the steady determined glint to his dark eyes......

Snapple and I flew under the wire as if we had sprouted wings. I wasn't sure how to stop him now. He showed every intention of continuing. Thinking quickly, I sat back in the saddle - a move that nearly blew my off - and pressured my inside leg against his rib cage. He felt the pressure and went sideways, rounding into a small circle which greatly reduced his speed. Through the unexpected move the bit was no longer in his teeth, and I quickly but gently pulled it back to the correct place. Now I had control. He whinnied his displeasure but listened when I signaled a canter, then a trot.

Sweat darkened his neck, but he breathed regularly. It had been a good tune up for him, a good workout. My hand found a not too sweaty part of the neck and I stroked him gently as we rode off the track. We were one hundred percent ready for his next race, whenever it would be.