Ride of My Life

‘So have you self-harmed since our last session Amy?’

Of all the therapists I have had she was my favourite. That though is as impressive as being the tallest of the seven dwarfs.

‘Does getting hammered count?’ I check.

‘Some would argue that it does, but in this case I meant -’

‘I’ve not cut myself in the last two weeks.’ I interrupted.

Maybe it was the room that was my favourite? A comfy chair each and bright colours all around. The pictures with the inspirational quotes were incredibly cheesy but better than the usual mass of magnolia.

‘Any new relationships?’ She looked over her glasses rather than through them.

‘One new guy. But that’s over now.’

‘Okay,’ she’s trying so hard not to judge me.

‘Anything you regret doing over the last couple of weeks?’ She checked as if she knew the answer.

‘That guy,’ I said with a sigh. ‘Couple of drinking sessions that went too far. A stupid argument. Staying up all night watching videos online.’

‘That’s not as bad as previous sessions,’ she says with a hint of genuine pride. ‘Have you persevered with the mood diary?’

‘Do ‘I’m so fucking angry’ and ‘Why is everything so shit?!’ Count as mood diary entries?’

‘Any positive thoughts?’

‘Be yourself, everyone else is taken. Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference.’

‘Any that you haven’t read off the wall?’

‘It was my birthday the other day,’ I attempt a positive subject change.

‘How was it? Nineteen now?’

‘That was one of those drinking sessions.’

‘Did you have plenty of friends out with you?’

‘Plenty of people, no friends.’

‘Are you still pushing people away?’

‘Probably. Pushing hurts a lot less than being pushed.’

‘Pulling together feels a lot better though.’

‘But the harder you pull the more the push hurts.’

‘Maybe. How’s the horse riding?’

She asks like I’m a fourteen-year-old with a pony that I ride around a field for an hour every Sunday.

‘Not too bad, rode another winner last week.’

‘Feel like you belong in that world yet?’

‘I never feel like I belong.’

‘What do you think belonging will feel like?’ She breaks the routine and asks a good question.

‘Like I’m where I’m supposed to be.’

‘Where are you supposed to be?’

‘I won’t know until I get there.’

‘Will that take away those feelings of emptiness?’ She wondered.

‘That’s the dream.’

As I’m walking out of the building after the session I read a text. After two steps outside I stop. It’s from Elaine. Over the last year she has been my mentor, coach, personal trainer and life saver.

Marcus is offering you a ride in the St Leger!!!!! 😊 😊 😊 xxx

I knew his main jockey was injured but I never dreamed I would be his next choice. The last time I rode for him I took an outrageous risk that backfired spectacularly. I was sure we could get through that gap. At the time I thought that was a big race, this is the fucking St Leger. My first ever Classic. I don’t think we’re in Pontefract any more Toto.

I phoned Elaine. It took her about ten minutes to convince me it was real. Nothing good could be happening to me. But it was happening. In three days I would be on the start line at one of the five biggest races of the season.

The next day Elaine drove me round to Marcus’ house. Elaine was one of those women that every girl prays they would be like when they were older. Still as slender as in her riding pomp. So stylish and despite being close to sixty she still got male heads turning wherever she went.

It wasn’t an average house. It looked more like Downton Abbey or something out of one of those Jane Austen books. He showed us into by far the poshest living room I have ever been in. It was way bigger than my entire flat. Each picture on the wall was probably worth more than I’ll ever earn. The fine china set in the extravagant cabinet was probably used by a Chinese Emperor hundreds of years ago. I stayed well away from the crystal glass set, in case it was an ‘if you break it you buy it’ situation. Marcus asked us what we wanted to drink and told his butler to go and get them for us. He had an actual fucking butler.

‘Why have you picked me?’ I blurted out after brief pleasantries had been exchanged and Elaine and I sat on an outrageously comfy sofa.

‘I do hope you’re not doubting yourself dear,’ Marcus said from his grand old arm chair that a had a throne look to it. I think he is in line to the throne, he certainly looks and sounds like he could be. He was only a few years older than Elaine, but he looked proper old.

‘Gorgon is not the favourite by any stretch, so I need a risk taker on board. Someone who isn’t afraid to make a mistake and finish last. There are a hundred jockeys I could have picked who would produce a nice ride and finish around fifth. I didn’t get into racing to finish fifth.’

I had finally found someone who truly believed in and shared my philosophy. A few minutes after we had arrived the jockey who I had replaced joined us. Mark was a veteran of many Classics, he had even won two. He had that tough but gaunt look that so many of the older male jockeys have. As you would expect of someone who has spent twenty years nearly starving himself and riding into breezes and through mud.

‘Don’t let her ever be at the back of the field,’ Mark started giving me his advice. ‘If there’s nothing behind her she can start to lose interest. She has a turn of speed like you won’t believe. Certainly faster than anything you will have ridden. But it doesn’t last long. The only chance you’ve got of winning is to leave it late. Really late.’

Three days to prepare for the biggest race of my life. I took Gorgon for a gentle run, to get to know each other. It was too close to race day to risk injury or tiring him out by riding him at full speed. That would have to wait for the home straight on race day. I rode some of the horses back at the yard, imagining that they were Gorgon and that the track was the famous Doncaster course. As I got them up to full speed I could even imagine the roar of the crowd and the commentary on my shock win in a thrilling finish.

For two days I worked out as hard as ever. For the last day I rested to make sure I had as much energy as possible. Marcus sent me video footage of all the other horses in the race. I watched all six hours or so of it, most of it more than once. Looking for their racing tendencies, what happened when they got tired and for any chinks in their armour.

At the yard I could keep busy, with other people always around me. In my flat I was alone and that was always dangerous. For the first two nights I had managed to distract myself with a mix of the footage Marcus sent and Avenger Films. The night before the biggest opportunity I had ever been given the darkness hits me. I sit on my bed, holding a bottle of vodka, staring at it. Of course I know I shouldn’t drink it, that would be crazy. But that just makes me want to do it more. The hand holding the bottle starts to tremble. I run my other hand through my long hair, then pull on it tight. Almost involuntarily that hand then opens the bottle and I hold it to my lips for a few seconds. Both hands are now trembling and I can feel the tears coming. I slowly tip the bottle enough to wet my lips. Then I open my mouth and take a couple of gulps. But I spit the second one out and run to the bathroom. I pour the rest of the vodka down the sink as the tears flow. When it’s empty I throw the bottle onto the floor and it breaks. I look down at one particularly jagged edge. My eyes transfixed by it. After slowly crouching down I pick up that piece. I stand back up and look at myself in the mirror as I hold that sharp edge to my wrist. I feel the pressure increasing gradually, just enough to break the skin. Not sure how deep I’m going to go. Then my phone rings. I take it out of my shorts pocket.

‘Hi Elaine,’ I say, holding back the tears.

‘Hello, just thought I would check how you are before tomorrow.’

‘I’m good, I’m good.’ I sniffle.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, yeah. I’ve just dropped a glass that’s all.’

‘Oh I see.’

‘Actually can I stay with you tonight? There’s glass everywhere and I’m paranoid about cutting myself now.’

‘Oh okay,’ she replies hesitantly.

‘I mean like stepping on it accidentally or something like that. It’s silly I know but it would be just my luck for that to happen the night before the race.’

‘Not silly at all, of course you can stay the night,’ she was back using that upbeat tone that I had become so used to. ‘I’ll be round in five minutes or so.’

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‘That’s the news on BBC Radio Five Live. Now over to Cornelius who is at Doncaster for us today covering the St Leger, a race that has got a lot of press coverage in the last few days.’

‘Thanks Simon. Yes there are four exceptional horses in this race that the bookies can’t split. But it’s a horse just behind them in the betting that has been causing a stir this week. Or more specifically it’s jockey. After an injury to Mark Patterson, the out of the blue replacement is nineteen-year-old Amy Newton. This race has been going since 1776 and no female jockey has ever won it, or any of the other four English classics. Former jockey Steve Miller won two Derbies and a St Leger himself in his career, he’s with me now. Steve has Amy got a chance to make history today?’

‘She does have a chance, it’s a small one, the four favourites are exceptional horses. But she’s riding Gorgon and that does have an incredible turn of speed. If she can somehow get it in the mix for a sprint finish, then there’s a chance.’

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Marcus, Elaine and Mark took their place in the owner’s section of the Grandstand. Bert one of the other owners made a beeline for Marcus.

‘Knew you would go mad before I did Marcus!’ Bert said boisterously as he and Marcus shook hands.

‘Am I mad because she’s nineteen or because she’s a she?’ Marcus said with all his usual composure.

‘Come on old boy, you have to admit she’s a gamble,’ Bert said as the handshake finished.

‘Of course she’s a gamble, racing is all about gambling, it wouldn’t exist without it.’

‘Braver man than me.’

‘We’ve always known that Bert,’ Marcus slapped Bert on the back and took up his position to watch the race from, with Elaine and Mark either side of him.

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Gorgon is reassuringly calm as we make our way down to the start line.

‘Wow how many cocks did you have to suck to get this ride?’ Alfie checks with a smile as him and his horse join us in the starting stalls.

‘I didn’t have to suck any of them,’ I say with a smile, looking straight forward and not at him.

‘Those silks make your arse look big,’ Brad the jockey on the other side of me said.

‘Shame it doesn’t have the same effect on your cock,’ I reply, still looking forward and smiling. My feminist ideals were violated by their comments, but it was the men that said things behind closed doors that were the real problem.

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‘The weather here could not be more glorious. Not a cloud in the sky, the colourful silks of the jockeys looking so bright in the sunshine. And it’s a clean start as all twelve horses bolt from the stalls together. The St Leger is off and running. Wanda and Benji hit the front as expected. Amy Newton has got Gorgon nicely into the middle of the pack. It’s a decent pace but nothing too exceptional, allowing all the horses to bunch together.’

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‘Right in the middle, that’s just where she wants to be,’ Mark says as he claps his hand with the rolled-up newspaper in his other hand.

‘She does take instruction well,’ Marcus said with a smile.

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‘Just over the half way stage and Foxit and Hugsie both make an expected move. Oozing class as they smoothly move round the outside to join Wanda and Benji at the front. The four favourites exactly where we expected them to be. Ooh and Gorgon got bumped there that’ll put it out of position.’

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‘Arrggghh, she can’t stay there for too long,’ Mark said as he slapped his newspaper against his leg.

‘She’s got time to get back where she wants to be,’ Marcus said, gentling putting his hand on Mark’s shoulder.

‘She needs to move soon and there’s no gap there,’ Mark said.

‘She can make gaps appear,’ Elaine said.

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Galloping along on the best horse I’ve ever ridden is the greatest feeling ever. But now I’m not want where I want to be, there are two horses between us and the one I want to be right behind. Between two horse there is always a gap, might not be big, but it’s always there. This one is tiny. I’m watching these two horses like a hawk, on the next corner the one on the outside goes just a fraction wider than the other one.

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‘The four favourites starting to control this race. Oh wow how did she get through there?’

‘That was great riding Cornelius.’

‘When Steve Miller gets excited you know it’s good. Gorgon is right in behind Benji now, both hugging the inside rail. Amy Newton will surely have to get off that rail if she really wants to win this race.’

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‘There she goes!’ Elaine said.

‘How the fuck did she get through there!’ Mark said with a big smile and whacked Marcus on the back with his newspaper. ‘Wait there Amy, not yet not yet.’

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I’m right where I want to be, in behind Benji. He’s never raced quite this far before and when he gets tired he always veers right. That’ll give us a run on the rail. They’ll never see us coming.

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‘As they make the long run for home the four favourites are still out in front, still neck and neck. Gorgon is just about in touch but running out of time to get in position to make a sprint for home. Into the last two furlongs it’s playing out just as we expected, which horse is the best of these four?’

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‘She’s not going to get round them,’ Mark said as he hit himself in the head a few times with his paper.

‘She might not need to,’ Marcus said.

‘Just one more gap Amy,’ Elaine said and put her hands in a praying position.

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‘Into the last furlong and its Wanda and Hugsie that have made the break, Benji and Foxit look beaten.’

‘Gorgon’s got a run on the rails Cornelius, she’s got a chance!’

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There it is, just slight movement, but it’s enough. I let Gorgon loose. You know it’s a small gap when one of your feet glances the rail and the other one touches another jockey. The kick of acceleration is the best thrill ever. I’m racing down one of the most famous straights alongside the classiest race horses in the world. I belong.

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‘Go on Amy!’ Elaine screamed.

‘She’s through,’ Mark shouted. ‘Let her loose Amy!’

‘She’s got this, she’s got this,’ Marcus said quietly as Mark grabbed him whilst jumping up and down screaming ‘Go on!’ over and over.

Elaine put her hands to her mouth and starts to cry.

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Have you ever completely poured your heart, soul and all the energy you can muster into something? I give Gorgon everything I have and he gives me everything back. It feels like electricity is running through my body. I’m aware of the roar of the crowd but it’s a background noise.

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‘Oh my goodness Gorgon has come from nowhere through the tiniest gap. It’s now three of them racing for the line. Wanda and Hugsie still just in front but it’s Gorgon who is finishing the quickest. Amy Newton is giving absolutely everything to ride herself into racing history. It’s going to be oh so close. Amy Newton has a chance of glory here! She gets it I think! All three cross the line together but it’s Amy Newton who is out of her saddle screaming with joy, she’s confident but it was incredible close.’

‘She got it!’

‘It’s confirmed Gorgon is the winner of the St Leger, racing history is made. Remember the name. Amy Newton!’

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Mark throws his battered newspaper up in the air and lets out a joyous roar. Elaine screams and claps. Marcus stands still with both arms aloft and a knowing smile. Mark and Elaine hug him and the three of them jump up and down as they hug.

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I didn’t think I could scream that loud or feel this good. As I finally sit back in the saddle I burst out crying.

‘Well done little lady,’ Alfie said with the biggest smile as he pats me hard on the back several times.

‘You’re arse still looks big,’ Brad says as he holds out a hand for a high five.

‘You had a good view of it all race,’ I laugh amongst the tears.

‘I did have a great view. That was the gutsiest ride I’ve seen in a classic. Definitely one of the lads now!’

‘No Brad, no. I’m one of the girls who just beat the lads!’

THE END.