it runs in my veins

[Snowflake]

The blood of a winner, of a grade one, of horse of the year and hall of fame runs through my veins.
It's no secret that I have alot to live up to.

You're feeling good today, aren't you boy? I crooned, stroking the colt's neck as we warmed up. Glory tossed his head spiritedly, dancing on the spot a little. I sure am, he seemed to say. His coat shone brightly even in the dull morning light; he was a picture of health and beauty.
I kept a good grip on the reins, and kept my legs in contact with his sides. A few years back, I had to remind myself to do this stuff, but it all came naturally now. I was a born jockey, just as Glory was a born winner.

We walked along the outer edge of the dirt, warming up graduallly in the cool Autumn morning temperature. I ranged Glory's pace from a slow walk to a brisk walk, then tapped my heels to his sides and clucked, allowing my hands to move forward so he felt free to trot. His trot was quite exuberant, almost over the top. He always arched his neck and rounded his quarters, lifting his feet higher than necessary. it was a weird, but nice habit of his. It made him that much more attractive in the walking ring while he strutted, waiting for me to hop on and take him onto the track.

We did the usual warm up exercises, nothing exciting today. Glory was fit and healthy, filling out in all the right places as he matured, so it didn't take us long. Especially in the summer heat. Before long, we were cantering our way along the turf track. I had decided on a distance work today, so plenty of cantering and galloping. Tomorrow would be a short speed work, then the day after that we would head out to the galloping lanes to work on Glory's power uphill, as some of the nearby tracks had slight inclines in the stretch.

We spent about six furlongs cantering, and Glory was growing bored. He tested me, breaking into gallop a few times and veering away from the rail randomly, no doubt trying to remind me that I was supposed to be giving him a workout. Finally after the six furlongs, I urged him to gallop.

Like aways, Glory took off at a medium fast pace. I held him at this speed, wondering how long the colt could go for. This was the pace that we usually used in races, but that depended on the pace of the race. if it was under eight furlongs, it was generally a fair bit faster, which Glory easily adjusted to, thankfully.

Good boy. I praised him as we rounded the turn. I didn't want to push him much, so I decided just a lap and a bit of the track. That would be only about eight furlongs, so still a bit of a challenge for the two year old. He went easily, galloping so smoothly it was as though he were galloping on clouds.
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