f l y i n g loose

[Snowflake]

Vicky? A familiar female voice spoke my name. I shut my eyes tighter and rolled over in my bed. Surely it's not six in the morning yet.. I thought, and opened my eyes to squint as I rolled onto my back. Yep.. The morning daylight of spring streamed in through my open curtains. I yawned and sat up, throwing my covers off and setting my feet on the floor. I opened my eyes wider and focused on the person standing in my doorway. Her mouth was smiling, her eyes twinkling mischieviously. Marissa.

Hey Riss. I yawned again, stretching as I stood up. She raised her eyebrows. I suddenly became aware she was dressed in her exercise riding clothes, boots and all. You know you were supposed to work Loose Truth half an hour ago, don't you?
What? I thought, with a glance at my alarm clock. My eyes shifted away again before I had really looked, then my gaze snapped back to the clock. Seven o clock?! Shoot! Obviously I had forgotten to set my alarm. I bolted to the bathroom, where I had stashed my riding clothes yesterday, hearing Marissa laughing behind me.

Ten minutes later, I had dressed, used the bathroom and eaten a hurried breakfast and was in the tackroom fetching Lucy's grooming kit.
Sorry girl. I murmurred when I reached her stall. I petted her neck quickly, noticing with a grin how she closed her eyes and flopped her ears with pleasure. Fortunately, the filly only needed a quick once over and her feet picked out after being groomed last night.

We made our way down to the track about eight minutes later. Sarah narrowed her eyes at me when she saw me coming. You're late. She growled ferociously. I looked at her broken wrist and sighed. Ever since she had broken it she had been uptight and very prone to mood swings. She wasn't allowed to get back into the saddle for another two weeks, and it made her very angry.

Sorry. I said meekly. My alarm didn't go off. Sarah just pursed her lips and returned her attention to Justa Muffin and Marissa, who were breezing six furlongs just as we would today.

Lucy bumped me with her nose, urging me onto the track. Okay, sweetheart. I mumbled. I lead her to the mounting block and heaved myself onto her strong back into the small exercise saddle. I clucked to her, at the same time nudging her with my heels, sending the nimble two year old filly forward back to Sarah. Still a six furlong breeze? I asked tentatively. Even though Sarah was one of my good friends, I didn't like to bother her further when she was mad. Especially when she was mad at me. Without turning, Sarah nodded.

I urged Lucy onto the track at a brisk walk, keeping her to the outside. The filly was uptight and exciteable, pulling on the bit and raring to go. I smiled at her antics, taking one hand off the reins for a bare moment to stroke her silky grey neck. Easy, sugar. I soothed. We have to warm up first. She bobbed her head, as if to say, I knew that. Although the intelligent filly was inexperienced, she was a fast learner and knew most of what was expected of her. She would be ready for her first race quite soon.

When she was loose enough to trot, after maybe two furlongs, I touched my heels to her sides and gave her room to move into the faster, two beat pace. I stood in the stirrups, crouched slightly, relaxed and poised now as I rode her along the outer rail of the turf oval. We would trot a whole lap of the mile long track, then canter a whole lap, just to warm up. Then we would gallop a few furlongs, then breexe six. A great workout for prepping the feisty filly for her first race.

Lucy tossed her head and bounced along, already thoroughly enjoying her workout. It took all my concentration and nearly all of my skill to keep her going in a straight line right by the outer rail. After a lap of trotting, she was very tuned into the workout and very eager to run. She was nearly thoroughly warmed up; nearly ready to gallop. But we needed to work up her stamina, so we would still be cantering the lap.

I touched my heels to her sides with the little force needed to drive her into gallop. I grinned as I noticed it only took a tap, and she instantly changed into the faster pace. She had a glorious, free flowing, rocking horse canter. The type that would make you swear you were dreaming. It was such a joy to ride that I almost let my guard down - something you should never do around a young racehorse, especially while perched in a perilously small saddle on it's back. Not that Lucy was likely to run off with me. She had had enough training sessions on that subject by now.

Eventually, we finished our canter lap. I crouched a little lower over the filly's grey withers and clucked, tapping my heels to her sides again, at the same time as softening my hands forward to give her room to move into gallop. The eager two year old burst into gallop, racing down the turf with such lightness I could have sworn she wasn't even touching the ground.
We lapped the track at a slow gallop, then two furlongs on top of that. Now was the time we would start our breeze. The six furlong marker loomed. I could feel Lucy's anticipation, as we drew closer. I crouched down over her withers even lower in preparation, and the instant we were passing the marker, I nudged with my heels and began to drive the filly on with my hands.

Delighted, the grey sprang into action, digging in deep into the turf and thrusting her body forward powerfully, gaining momentum with every stride. We slowed slightly at the corner, then roared back up to the filly's top speed, which, amazingly, she held until we flashed by the wire.

I brought her back gradually to slow gallop, then canter, then trot. We trotted off the track to where Sarah was sitting, a huge grin plastered on her face. Her fastest work yet. Sarah's eyes twinkled with delight. With any luck, she'll be as great as her dam.
I laughed happily, slapping the filly's sweat darkened neck affectionately. Good girl! You're so going to make the big time.