T O G E T H E R / / as * o N e

[S u N f r O s T ~]

I rode out atop the chestnut filly. Her slender legs moved forward in a way that was smooth yet ground eating. Like so many of my horses, On To The Spotlight was a turfer, and she was promising as well. It didn't matter that she had been fourth to her biggest rivals in the Breeder's Cup Juvenile Fillies Turf; she would get them next time, and I was only too happy to assist her in that task. We were out to get the world; ever since Impressario had beaten her a new determination had flared up within her. Nothing could stop her, not now that we were properly bonded. We were only on the way there when we finished fourth, but now we were together and complete.

Her legs reached out as far as possible on the sloppy turf track. It was soft and mushy, but she didn't care. She just wanted to run, like always, but she was very subtle about showing it. She would only extend her stride's length to show her displeasure at a slow pace. Tugging at the reins was too below her, apparently. Onya answered to no one except her rider, her bonded rider, and that was me. She had no real friends around the barn, but she had yet to meet the two year old fillies.

My plans for the day were being outlined in my mind as we cantered along the sloppy turf on our warm up lap. I wanted Onya to gallop a mile in preparation to meet her rivals and beat them at last. I wanted her to do well so bad, especially since the other horse I was working on [Passionate Class] had done so well, and especially since I had my hands full with my new two year old [Foolish Lad]. Doing well was a responsibility of every SOPS horse that every horse usually chose to honor.

Our canter was long strided of course, making it uncomfortable. One day I would teach her not to reach so far with her legs - she would run later, as was obvious by our presence on the track. She was too young and immature to understand that yet, but she understood racing - win, win, and win some more. Show your rivals what you were made of. That sort of thing.....

I nearly fell as she suddenly accelerated, feeling my thoughts drift in the carelessness of my hold on the reins. An amused snort drifted from her mouth before she galloped, a nice fast gallop too. Instantly my hands gripped the reins tighter, and my strong arms tugged her down to a slow gallop. She would slow no more; she wanted to run, and this just barely fulfilled the requirement [which had to be filled]. A canter just wouldn't do.

Going at our gallop, we warmed up much faster. We weren't yet halfway through the backstretch, and after some thought I switched our workout routine. I would run her halfway through until we had done a mile and a half, or twelve furlongs. She could do it easily, seeing as she could run up to sixteen furlongs/two miles. It would just be a distance stretch for a horse fresh out of being two.

The half was quickly reached, and I let her gallop faster. She stopped reaching so far now; her ears lay flat as she concentrated on her pace, making decisions, and then leaned to the inside so she could cut down on distance. We galloped smoothly to the last turn and went into the stretch after a precision-filled gallop on the inside. My grip on the reins increased in tightness; I knew that she would try and run away to the wire as if it was a race.

Sure enough, a huge tugging began, and a tug of war ensued. I eventually won as we passed over the wire; realizing that we were running some more she stopped and ran, lapping up every moment. Her short mane, recently braided, did not cover my eyes. I needed my eyesight while going through this slop. Her strides were becoming labored as time passed. We had only gone a half mile, and her beginning energy was disappearing. The wet surface [from melting snow] suck at her hooves greedily, and greater effort had to be exerted to continue at her pace. I did not let her slow down, however; she had wanted to run, so we were running.

As we reached the first turn of the lap some new spark of energy appeared from the depths. Her breathing was still labored, but she maintained the pace more easily. I realized she was running on the outside, where the ground was firmer because most of my horses took the inside when turning. I knew that trouble would come in the backstretch, though, and I was right.

Her pace eased slightly, and I encouraged with a sharp knead of the reins. She felt the loosening and vainly tried to keep her pace on the soft ground. The turf, overlayed with water, sucked at her hooves; we were practically running through a huge puddle. I shook my head in disbelief as water splashed up her legs and got the bottom of my shoes. What happened to good drainage?

The half was passed; we had covered a mile and only had four furlongs to go. I realized Onya wasn't taking all the slack of the reins and hesitated slightly before asking her for more. She gave it to me, and then slowed at the turn. This time I didn't ask for speed; the turf was getting less covered with water but was slippery, and slipping on the track would hurt both her and me.

She once more stuck to the outside, and stumbled a step before finally gripping the surface. Water cloaked her underbelly and the bottom of my shoes; we would both need a good rub down, or she'd catch cold and my feet would freeze. As we entered the stretch I knew the end of this workout wasn't far away, and urged her on with full enthusiasm. A burst of cautious speed came from her, and she charged towards the wire down the center of the track, where the footing was much better.

Since her pace was so fast with her eagerness to finish we didn't take long, and then we were passing under the wire. I eased her up, feeling a sense of cold drown my feet. Onya shivered slightly as we trotted along the turf in a short cool down. I observed her; her strides held less energy, and sweat coated her neck. I decidedly called it a day and steered her off the track. It had been a good stamina workout. Onya was ready to take the world on.