• Posted by Nick Peet at 10:03 AM | add or read comments (0)

My pride at Jack's joy

• Posted by Nick Peet at 8:22 PM | add or read comments (0)

HORTON-CUM-PEEL won on his racing debut but had to wait a decade and even come out of retirement for his second win.
Big Jack turned back the clock in style at Bangor-on-Dee as we romped home in first place in the second part of my Great 08 Challenge on Saturday.
Six weeks’ intense training paid off in spades as we fought off the threat of my coach and mentor Will Kinsey aboard Hip Pocket – still fresh from their win at Cheltenham last week – and former champion amateur jockey Richard Burton on Willy Wong.
We led from the start and cut through the mud and rain like a hot knife through butter.
Together we realised the seemingly impossible and, most importantly, we enjoyed every single minute of it.
Jack, 13 and retired for a few years now, literally jumped at the chance to race again and was probably even more excited than me to be taking on the best in the business once again.
It may have all been over inside ten minutes but the experience will live with me, and Jack I believe, forever.
He was jumping around like a three-year-old after I climbed on him in the parade ring and we were led down to the track before jogging down in front of grandstand back towards the finish line.
Will and Richard were both looking pretty concerned as they circled around while Jack and I bounced towards the back rail.
Finally, after settling him a little, Will suggested I should steady Jack up and then get him going straight away. Then once I set off they would catch up.
Jack didn't need much encouragement.
He took off like a rocket and the rest of the world rapidly disappeared behind us.
For the first few seconds or hundred metres or so there was nothing else in my world except the big fella beneath me and the sodden turf 10 feet in front of us.
The gallops I've been running Jack on for the past few weeks seemed snail paced in comparison to the speed he set off with here.
It was as if he'd been restricted to four gears in training but knocked it straight into fifth from the get go when it came to racing for real.
Now 200 metres down the first straight my senses finally caught up and not a moment to soon.
As I finally glanced up further than a few feet in front of Jack's ears I noticed something long, dark and threatening looming ahead of us.
The advantage of my setting off first was so I could set a pace within my capabilities and so Jack would not race away with me. So much for forward planning.
The real problem with such a plan, however, was the small matter that I hadn't a clue where we were going.
Sure, Bangor racecourse is an oval shape but the actual track is broken up into three lanes. One with fences, one with hurdles and one – down the centre I soon learned – flat.
Me and Jack, with a good few lengths on Will and Richard, were careering down the fences route and the first was coming up thick and fast.
Luckily, no sooner had I realised what was racing towards us when I heard Richard, over my right shoulder, call to me to turn right and guide Jack around the fence.
His voice thankfully took away any real need for thought on my part – which was probably for the best under the circumstances – and with a little squeeze on my right rein Jack somewhat reluctantly missiled around the first and I could almost hear the sighs of relief from my loved ones in the stands now far behind us.
After a full day's racing the course was now pretty well cut up and the going was getting heavy, but Jack thundered through it like a stag and as we came off the first turn he kicked it up another notch towards the back straight.
By now I was conscious of Richard alongside us and sensed Willy Wong was keen to take Jack on along the straight.
But my new best pal wasn't about to let anybody spoil our day and, even though we were splashing through the mud, Jack stayed true and held the inside line.
I allowed myself a teasing glance across the course for a brief second as we approached the turn at the end of the back straight and was shocked by how quickly we had hit the furthest part of the track.
Thankfully, Hip Pocket's heavy panting behind us brought me back in time for the final turn and I gave Jack a little squeeze with my inner calves and, for the first time I have to admit, I even gave him a little reinn back and allowed him to really push on for the finish.
With Will nestled in behind us and calling out to me to go for it, our only threat came from Richard and Willy just half a length behind and to our right and more than capable of stealing our thunder.
However, Jack was back and had his ears pricked and eyes on the winner’s enclosure.
"There's the finishing post up ahead," Richard called out from behind (even he knew that victory was within our grasp now). "Push on now and go for it."
At that moment Jack's stride lengthened, I allowed the reins to slip slightly through my fingers and the grimace of concentration that had covered my face since we stepped out on the track was finally replaced by an ear-to-ear grin.
With less than 50 metres to go, the screams and cries from the gantry came into earshot and that stirred both of us even more. My heart soared.
For a brief second I contemplated punching the air like Will had done last week at Cheltenham, but fear of falling before the finishing line ensured I kept both hands on the reins.
Streaming past the finish post my own cries of victory washed out that of my friends and family. A wave of euphoria and relief washed over me, while Jack kept on striding and started to head back up towards that first fence again.
Had I not practically begged him to stop we'd probably have still been running this morning, he was that fresh and excited to be back.
We eventually rounded to turn back towards the stands and savour our moment.
Surprisingly, plenty of punters had also stuck around to watch my jockey efforts and Jack and I got a rousing reception as we were led back up from the track and into the parade ring, finally stopping in front of the winner’s position.
"Do a Frankie Dettorri!" called out one of my mates, who had been secretly hoping to see me tumble on the track and wanted a spill for his money.
But I slipped off Jack to one final cheer and gave him a well earned pat and a kiss.
Horton-Cum-Peel had come out of retirement for that swansong victory that he so richly deserved.
It was the proudest moment of my sporting life to go along for the ride.

Lean, mean stable diet

• Posted by Nick Peet at 9:38 AM | add or read comments (0)

IT’S official. I am now at my lightest weight in over a decade.
Not since I borrowed my Dad’s best shirt to shake my thing in the old State club have I tipped the scales as light as I did at yesterday’s check weigh-in and pre-race fitting.
I’ve gone from tipping the scales a bowl of Scouse off 14 stone in February to a mere 12st 4lbs today - and I hope to get another two pounds off before the starter calls me to the line in Bangor on Saturday.
My body fat total has tumbled from 20% to just 12%, giving me a similar index to that of a professional footballer.
In layman’s terms, I’ve lost three centimetres of fat from around my upper body.
I am delighted to finally confirm then that I have convincingly achieved my goal of dropping 20 pounds in two months and I feel lean, mean and green (it’s the salad).
But I won’t lie, it’s been really tough. Long hours working out, strict dieting and gallons of H2O along with an alarming lack of beer has got me race ready.
Now, bring on Saturday night when Cains and Colonel’s chicken will rock me to sleep.

Flat out for the race of my life

DURING my youth and, let's face it my sporting peak, I loved nothing more than that feeling and rolling emotion you get the night before a cup final or school sports day.
To know that you are within touching distance of achieving something memorable; lifting a trophy and testing yourself against athletes of a similar level and experience is something every competitive person thrives on.
But the insomnia I've been suffering this past week is as much to do with fear as it is with the looming competition on the horizon.
It's the type of fear you get when put into a scenario that is alien to you – almost like the mouth-drying hesitancy we experience when stepping onto a rollercoaster for the first time.
Sure, my gallop at Bangor on Dee is on the Flat and the pace will be some way off that of, say, the Gold Cup.
But still I'm going to be going flat out perched above a tiny piece of leather on the back of a galloping racehorse in front of a grandstand – when less than eight weeks ago I didn't even know how to do a rising trot.
If that's not something worth worrying about then what is.
Perhaps I should be grateful that my desperate lack of late night cheese ingestion – a block of red Leicester remains my most heartfelt culinary desire – is probably keeping the nightmares at bay.
Staring up at the ceiling at 1.00am trying to keep my heels down in the stirrups is one thing. Waking in a cold sweat at 4.00am after tumbling out of the saddle and straight out of my pit would be another thing entirely.

Muddy splash has boosted my confidence

• Posted by Nick Peet at 6:20 PM | add or read comments (0)

I'VE had another brilliant week in the saddle despite the fact that I started Bank Holiday Monday rolling around in the mud.
My training yard, Peel Hall near Frodsham, had a really good week too with a placed horse at Kelso on Tuesday and a winner at Cheltenham last night.
Nothing lifts spirits in the yard like winning horses and now the pressure is starting to build that I keep up the high standards with a strong showing at Bangor on Saturday week.
After tempting fate last Thursday with my foolish comments about not yet leaving the saddle it was almost inevitable that I would take a tumble at the weekend.
But after the heavy downpours at the back end of last week at least there was plenty of funky mud around to catch my fall.
Thankfully, like with every step of my training so far, my noble steed Jack (aka Horton-Cum-Peel) made sure that my first experience was kind and forgiving.
My tumble was more to do with the fact that 'Laid Back Jack' slipped in the mud as we were crossing fields and as he went down like the Titanic I actually never left the saddle until my left arm was practically already elbow deep in sludge.
Thankfully, both of us had nothing more than our egos bruised, but bizarrely it actually boosted my confidence levels.
Tick that box, the pressure is off now and – as predicted – recounting the tale proved the highlight so far for my friends and family.
I also popped my Point-to-Point cherry later in the day.
My mentor Will Kinsey had four rides at the South Shropshire Hunt at Eyton-on-Severn and I got to tag along and get the jockey's eye view of a day at the races.
Despite not having any of his own horses in action, Will and pal Richard Burton, the three-time amateur champion, were both kept busy in front of a packed crowd – which included straight-faced men in bowler hats and tweed jackets.
The race organisers also allowed me to ride along with the starter for the final race, which gave me the opportunity to get a taste of life on the starting line.
Jostling for position while keeping one eye on the starter, one on your horse’s position and one on all your rivals (how many eyes is that?) is certainly a skill that only comes with experience.
And so is leaping 16 fences without being catapulted from the saddle.
Unfortunately, both Will and Richard were unable to land a winner – 'Unlucky Nick' could well be my new nickname – but Kinsey bounced back on Tuesday night with that third place at Kelso aboard Flashy Boy.
And he topped that last night by riding Hip Pocket to win a Hunt final at Cheltenham.
Ronnie, as he is known on the yard, is actually owned by my sports physiologist George Wilson and his pals and I know they all woke this morning with heavy heads.
Fingers crossed now that Will can match that aboard anther of the stables top racers, Would Wouldn't, at Aintree tomorrow.
I'll be cheering from the rails as he looks to maintain his recent form.

My bizarre jelly hangovers

SOMEHOW, somewhere I've picked up a nasty sweet tooth over the past few weeks.
I've always been so much more of a savoury kind of guy. Give me a good quality cheeseboard over a luxury chocolate cake any day of the week.
But, after discovering that jellies carry 0% of fat I've been unable to resist the urge to gorge myself on wine gums, jelly beans and jelly babies.
My teeth are taking a good kicking, but at least I am not putting on any weight and it's also solved my problem of bingeing late at night when I am bored.
The only problem is that jellies are terrible for you. You get a good solid sugar kick, but I've been crashing in the morning and waking up with bizarre Haribo hangovers.
I recall reporting on a world title fight almost 10 years ago when former WBU flyweight champion Peter Culshaw narrowly held onto his crown at Everton Park after 12 rounds with South African Zolile Mbityi.
'The Choirboy' was awful that night and had to come through the hard way to retain his crown before later revealing he had suffered stomach cramps throughout.
The problem? He had been munching through bag after bag of jelly beans before the fight.

Swing needs close attention

I AM meeting up with my tennis coach for the first time tonight for a knock about so he can judge exactly how much work we have to do before challenge three - to play a match at the Liverpool International Tournament - is served up in six weeks.
And hopefully things will go much better than my flirtation with challenge four at the weekend.
I dusted off my clubs and headed onto the first tee at Bowring Park on Saturday morning, taking advantage of the good weather with an easy four-ball with friends.
However, with the ladies competition breathing down our necks on the first tee the pressure of swinging a club for the first time since last summer ensured that the first couple of holes were complete right offs.
By the time we reached the fourth, played parallel to the M62, my team was already three holes down. But thankfully my trusty three wood came alive in the nick of time.
Unfortunately, my card was packed with a lot more bogeys than pars, while I never caught a glimpse of a birdie until I addressed the barmaid in the 19th hole.
I'm going to have to start hitting the fairways with a gusto if my plans to play a round at Royal Birkdale prior to the Open Championship in July are to be realised.

British way is only pain in the backside

• Posted by Nick Peet at 11:23 AM | add or read comments (0)

IT'S the question seemingly on everyone’s lips right now, from my friends and family to all my work colleagues and even the young lad who was stocking the shelves in my local supermarket this week.
But it's never, "So Nick, how's the riding going? What's it like training at a professional racing stables?"
Or even, from lady friends at least, "Wow, your bum must be throbbing after all that time in the saddle. Fancy a rub down with some warm oil?"
No, it's always the same thing. The same pathological, negative enquiry.
"Well then, have you fallen off yet?"
That's it guys – stay positive.
To be honest, it's been like that since I announced my Great 08 Challenge at the start of the year.
Everyone appears to be obsessed with me getting injured or, at least, falling flat on my face.
I guess that's just the British way.
It's why everyone is intrigued with my attempts to become a jockey. After all, it's easy to mischievously speculate about the dangers involved and conclude that I am sailing close to the wind here.
It's also why most people laugh with reverence when I get as far as explaining challenge number six, my River Mersey swim set for August.
And it's definitely why people fall about laughing and insist on a ticket when I mention my end of year showdown in the boxing ring.
We just love to see people get hurt, especially, it seems, if we know them.
Thankfully, although disappointingly for many of you, at the time of going to press I am yet to be unseated while out riding.
However, that's probably got much more to do with my trusty steed Jack's cool cognition rather than my own capabilities, even though I have improved.
My confidence was rocked slightly after hearing about a couple of friends who tumbled recently.
My riding style instructor Emma came off the other morning, as did another girl from the stable, while the lady I sit next to in work also bounced off her horse on Tuesday night.
I heard all about it as she munched through painkillers like they were a box of Tic Tacs.
Yet while those around me are losing their heads, I am determined not to provide everyone with the trauma tale you're all thirsting for.
This past week me and Jack have been let loose out of the school and allowed to gallop around the dirt track at Peel Hall stables, including a lively session on Saturday morning.
For the past fortnight I've been training with my stirrups down at around hole eight on the bindings, which is pretty normal when you are just working the horse.
But at the weekend we hitched them up to hole 14 – which gave me a real taste of things to come.
Instead of being tucked under the belly, my heels are now much higher up towards Jack's back. It feels so much more comfortable in gallops, although it's murder on the thighs.
After weeks on the outside of the school looking in, my mentor Will Kinsey is also back at his family stables full-time now and is planning on taking my training up a couple of notches over the next two weeks.
And Jack's co-owner, fellow champion jockey Richard Burton, has also promised to come down and ride out with me soon – which will give me a real flavour of what awaits on May 17.
To ride alongside two of the country's finest young jump jockeys will be a real treat and if I can stay on and stay up with those two alongside me then I'll have nothing to fear when we're under starters orders down in Bangor on May 17 for my big day.

Student to study teacher in race action

I'VE been invited down to Eyton near Shrewsbury on Bank Holiday Monday to watch Will race in a point-to-point meeting aboard some of the horses from Peel Hall stables.
Would Wouldn't and Adams Wine are both pencilled in to run at the meeting and I am eager to get my first taste of a race event other than the Grand National Festival.
Let's face it, Aintree is like the FA Cup final of the racing world so it's going to be nice to check out the action of the lower leagues.
I am also hoping to get my hands dirty down there, although Will's mum Judith has already warned me not to get any big ideas.
More than anything though I am looking forward to seeing Will, who'll probably have half a dozen rides with horses from other stables too.
The student will definitely be taking notes on his Sensei.