Jockeys

Today is race day. The air is tense. You warm up your steed under the summer sun. Crisp, tight, controlled circles around the practice track. You can feel the powerful muscles of your steed underneath you, the trembling excitement quivering across your skin. Your steed’s ears twitch, his nostrils ripple. You glance over at your most formidable opponent. She grins at you with unveiled confidence, her mount filled with unbridled energy, an arch to its neck, sass in its step. Slowly you file in to the starting line. The gates clang shut, eyes roll, hooves stamp, you wipe the sweat from your brow. You look over at your opponent. She’s in the gate next to you. She’s leaning forward against the neck of her steed, her body tensed for the starting bell. The world slows. You can feel your mount breathe beneath you, his powerful body trembling against your thighs. You cannot lose this time. You know you are better. You know your mount is faster. You have been practicing, training. All those hours under the summer sun. Your body is lean and young. Powerful. You cannot lose. You squint your eyes at her, brace your calves, slow your breath. Your whole body is cued towards the starting bell. Your steed chomps against the bit. You lick your cracked lips. The bell rings. The gates crash open. And you push hard against the pedals as you race your sister down the street, toward the winner’s circle, and a blanket of roses.