Life As I Know It (10 page)

Suddenly I was getting offers from all over the place.

W
HEN YOU FIRST
become an apprentice you can claim 3 kilograms, which makes you attractive to some trainers. It means if a horse is handicapped to carry 59 kilograms, you can ride that horse if you are 56 kilograms. The less weight a horse has to carry the easier it is for it to run. It's a trade off. You are less experienced but the horse carries less weight. So, after my debut at Ballarat, my 3-kilogram claim looked good to owners and trainers. The phone kept ringing.

My second day of racing was at Warracknabeal, about two-anda-half hours northwest of Ballarat, and I was booked for six rides. My sisters loved Warracknabeal, a classic country track, but I had a shocker of a day. I was thrown in the deep end. One horse took off on me and led by eight lengths and basically carried me around. Generally the racing there was rough, which I just wasn't prepared for. I was getting bumped around all over the place. Nothing like that had happened in trials. I just didn't have the awareness; no race smarts whatsoever. I was devastated. It did my reputation
no good, and no doubt it fed the prejudices of some trainers and punters who thought female jockeys were a risk.

Dad was concerned too.

‘All the other kids showed a bit of promise, but I don't think you've got it. Maybe you should go back to school. You're good at school.' That made me all the more determined. I was going to show him. He probably knew it would get a rise out of me. He'd used that tactic on the older ones. He once said that all Maree could do was put a leg on either side of a horse and move her little fingers.

Dad told me I had to practise on the chaff bag. I would practise my style with the whip but I had to find the rhythm of the horse. I stuck at it. Dad believed in technique and he helped me a lot with this. And I'd spend a lot of my time talking to Andrew. He gave me good advice. He liked talking about racing craft and he wanted to see me improve. Andrew was a typical older brother when we were growing up because he picked on me so much and loved making me cry, but when the time came for me to be a jockey he really couldn't have been more helpful. I can't thank him enough for that support. He bought an equiciser (a mechanical horse) more for himself but he would make me get on it for practice all the time. He later gave it to me. I called it Our Paddy Boy and still have it to this day.

There was no substitute for race riding, though. Like all young jockeys I had to get a feel for how to ride in a field where every jockey was doing their best to win the race. While the rules of racing are very strict, the experienced jockeys have all the tricks. They have a personal interest in beating you. The ride you get from a trainer is the ride that jockey had missed out on.

Some jockeys offered suggestions, or an encouraging word, and my sisters and brothers were fantastic. Cathy was very supportive, even though she was living in Melbourne and we were often bidding for the same rides in the country. She was still a good
advocate for me. After riding one for the Maldon trainer Brian McKnight, Cathy suggested he should engage me as I could claim the 3 kilograms. I rode two winners for Brian that day, and seven more soon after. I was in his good books and became his rider. We had many wins, thanks to Cathy. She didn't ride for him much after that but she laughs about it now.

Not long after I started riding in races and I was getting more rides, Dad thought it was a good idea to get me a manager. He asked his friend Joan Sadler if she would take the job on. Joan was apprehensive initially, as she had never been a manager before, but she said she'd give it a go. She took all of the requests from trainers and helped me find rides, mainly on the phone. She is such a generous and warm-hearted woman, and she really looked after me. We grew very close. She was so supportive, and a great listener—and talker! Joan also started managing Cathy and became like a mother to us. We used to joke that all we needed to do was sign the adoption papers.

Therese, Maree and Cathy lived in Melbourne and were riding for city and country trainers with good success. When I started going to Melbourne to do some trackwork in the second year of my apprenticeship, I'd stay with either Maree or Therese. Initially I worked a lot for trainer Brian Mayfield-Smith through a connection of a friend of ours, Stuart McClay. I was also riding trackwork at Caulfield when I could. It was a matter of getting to the track before dawn and standing around waiting to be asked to ride a horse, or being a bit more assertive and approaching trainers to see if they needed anyone to work one of their horses. Once you ride a horse at trackwork there is a chance you'll be asked to ride that horse in a race. I was gradually building relationships with trainers but it was going to take a long time.

Joan was finding me rides in the city and the bush. My 3-kilogram claim was always a big plus and I was working hard on
improving my fitness and strength, and on the technical elements of riding in races. Apart from doing a lot of Brian's trackwork, I was riding for him in races and had numerous city winners: Gussy Godiva, Ella Fire, Dual Spark and Penny Opera. I was riding for other trainers as well.

No matter what aspect of my technique I was working on, I felt I was at my best when I was building a relationship with a horse. I really clicked with Sir Chuckle, one of Mike Moroney's horses. He had a wind, or breathing, problem and he needed to get into a rhythm. I also worked out he was better away from the pack, he just relaxed better. We won four races in a row, three of them down the straight at Flemington. Michael let me ride him in a listed race—a top-quality event where trainers usually use senior riders because apprentices cannot use their weight claim—just because we got on so well. He ran a gallant second. I also rode a few winners for Therese, who was training by then.

I was developing my understanding of the tactical side of racing, studying the form guide to learn the pattern of racing of the horses, where they settled in the running, and what they were capable of, to anticipate how races might play out. At seventeen I was still so young, so inexperienced, but keen and ready to learn.

I used to speak with Andrew after just about every ride. His opinion mattered to me. He has always been a thinker, open and honest. Over the years it's been nice to put our heads together to see what we can come up with. We'd talk about relationships, beliefs, just life in general. He had his own concerns, as he was dealing with the issue of becoming too heavy to be a jockey.

My relationship with Patrick has been quite different, especially when I was young. Being older he was more likely to tell me what to do rather than discuss things with me. I didn't mind; I respected him so much. He always has a lot of theories—I think that runs in the family. Patrick gave me other advice as well. He told me
about boys and how they think and to be wary of their intentions. He made Cathy have that boy–girl chat with me when I was sixteen—which was very awkward for both of us.

Patrick's style was to throw me in the deep end, getting me to ride horses that were difficult. It was a test. He wanted to see how I'd cope. He taught me that the easy way isn't always the best way and that struggle is sometimes valuable. I agree and I think that understanding has helped my riding because I have never wanted to fail. I've valued the struggle. It's amazing how when you really give something everything you've got, a situation that might seem impossible can actually become achievable. Patrick always used to say ‘“can't” is not a word'.

With all of this experience around me I was soaking it all in. From the time I began riding I realised how competitive it was. It was hard to get a ride, and it was hard to keep the ride. I was trying to make an impression, trying to do what I thought was the right thing, which, as an apprentice, was to show trainers I could ride at very light weights—around 50 kilograms and occasionally less. I thought I had a short period of opportunity to make a name for myself and that I would be tossed onto the heap of failed jockeys if I didn't. I was constantly in a battle with my weight and because I was trying to please everyone, I didn't know how to just stop and say, this is totally unreasonable.

I had started riding when I was a 47-kilogram girl but, as I matured and grew, it was harder to remain in that lightweight category. By the time I was eighteen, even with the sort of discipline jockeys impose on themselves to maintain their weight, I settled in at about 53 kilograms. As an apprentice, I still had to make the lighter weights, with the claim, to keep the rides, so I had to go a step further. I had to starve myself before the races. Literally starve myself. No food for a day. Often I would be physically weak and have no energy. And there was the psychological element, of
stressing about gaining weight. You are constantly delving into your deepest physical and emotional resources at times like that. There is no doubt being caught in that cycle means your well-being suffers.

To compensate, during a race I'd try to look strong and vigorous on my mounts. It was wrong—all I did was compromise my technique. I would lose the shape and balance I'd be trying to maintain, particularly over the concluding stages of a race. After I ran third in a 2500-metre race one Saturday at Flemington, the stewards called me in because I looked so weak on my horse.

‘What is going on here?' Chief Steward Des Gleeson asked.

‘I'm just exhausted,' I said, fighting back the tears. ‘At Cranbourne yesterday I rode nineteen horses in trials and that was after riding seven horses at trackwork at Caulfield.' What I didn't say was that, because I had to get down to 50 kilograms for the Saturday meeting, all I'd had during the day was two cans of V drink.

‘Maybe you need to look at managing yourself a bit better,' they suggested. ‘Maybe you should say no to some of those trials. You need to pace yourself.' I tried to explain to them my dilemma as a young jockey.

‘It's hard because if people ask you to trial their horse you can't say no, because they know you're not on another one, and they'll think you're lazy. You don't want to let them down. If you don't do the work, they won't put you on the horses in races.'

Des was kind and he said, ‘I understand. But it's something you have to address. You have to be as strong as you can be, for lots of reasons. Maybe you could raise your weight a little, so you can eat more.'

‘Yes, Mr Gleeson,' I said. ‘I understand.' But I knew it would cost me rides.

Des was being helpful. He was a wonderful chief steward, a warm-hearted man who wanted what was best for you. From Yangery,
just outside of Warrnambool, he loved racing and he wanted racing to be fair and just. He had a good sense of where young jockeys were in their development. I was just starting out. But I was determined. I was trying to be honest with myself. I found positive people—people like Des Gleeson who treated others kindly—so encouraging.

It wasn't the only time the stewards wanted to talk to me. One of their more mundane jobs is to sign off on an apprentice's phone bills and organise for the money to be paid from their apprentice's account, where prize money and riding fees are deposited, for transparency. When I was first going out with Rhys McLeod—jockeys tend to go out with jockeys or people from the racing industry because no one from the real world would ever put up with the lifestyle—text messaging was introduced. Being madly in young love, Rhys and I spent all day sending each other text messages. Des Gleeson called me in.

‘Michelle,' he said, ‘I need to talk to you about your phone bills. We are concerned you are spending too much and would like to advise you it would be in your best interest to cut them down.'

‘Yes, sir,' I said. ‘I completely understand.' I couldn't get out of there quickly enough.

Rhys and I were both apprenticed at the same time. A bit older and ahead of me, he was apprenticed to Pat Carey at Huntly Lodge in Sunbury. We were living similar lives under strict apprenticeships, and found comfort in texting each other. He was my first true love! We were so young. Unfortunately we didn't last the distance and went our separate ways after four years. He is still one of my closer friends, someone I can count on through anything.

When you are a young jockey it's not easy to measure your progress. Where you finish in the field is not the only indicator. The best ride in the race does not guarantee victory. You can win because you ride a good horse adequately. You can win because
you're on the very best horse, and all you have to do is sit and steer. And sometimes you can give a horse the very best ride but it still finishes back in the field. Occasionally there's a moment when you know you've made progress.

Quite early in my career, I led all the way to win a 1400-metre race at Sandown. Many people would have said the horse jumped, led and won well, and that the jockey played little part. It was actually a difficult ride that required soft hands and intense concentration. On one of the racing programs on television, racing commentator Richard Freedman noticed that it had been a delicate operation and I had really nursed the horse home.

‘This girl can ride,' he said. It gave me a real lift. I had put a lot of thought and preparation into how I was going to get that horse to travel sweetly on the day and it was reassuring that someone noticed.

Riding is such a complex skill. There are endless debates over what jockeys should and shouldn't have done, often ending in arguments between owners, trainers and jockeys. Owners are quick to sack jockeys and put another one on their horse. They often respond emotionally rather than rationally. The jockey is the first one to cop the blame when a horse does not perform to expectations, because the owners are often thinking about the prize money they've missed out on—only the first five horses get the reward—and often their losing bets as well. They don't necessarily understand that races are made up of a whole series of related and intersecting events that don't always turn out as you expect. One thing leads to another and suddenly a new set of circumstances exist and a new path has to be forged. There are so many variables.