Life As I Know It (28 page)

Across the Yarra at The Footy Almanac Cup Eve racing lunch at the Royal Melbourne Hotel in Bourke Street, VRC handicapper Greg Carpenter and Andy Gemmell were guests. Andy had a dozen
arguments for why Trip to Paris would win. But as Greg worked his way through the field he didn't dismiss Prince. Again, he knew he was well-weighted and he was drawing the same comparison with The United States.

Other Prince syndicate members were at work, some were flying in from interstate. Quite a few had backed him already.

I went home and had a short workout. To ride at 53 kilograms in the Cup I needed to get down to 52.5 kilograms. So I did a light workout in the shed then jumped in the spa. I was watching the Music Channel on the TV and playing Conundrum on my phone. I felt so ready, but I had to find a way to pass the hours, to stay relaxed.

There's a real danger at this point. I think people involved in sport at any level have the same problem; that is, of playing the game in your mind, of over-thinking it. That's what had happened to me with Azkadellia on Caulfield Cup Day. She's an outstanding mare and expectations were high. I was concerned with how our race would pan out, and I just kept running the race over and over in my head, imagining what might happen.

What I needed was sleep. I got into bed determined not to think too much about it. But how do you do that? How do you stop yourself? How do you accept that you can only prepare as best you can and then trust that it'll all come naturally when the race is being run? You need a plan but you also need to respond to the circumstances of the moment. You need to understand that some things go your way, and some things don't. Is that luck?

There I was, lying in bed, by myself, in a simple little house in the suburbs, thinking about it all. Again and again. About Dad. About my brothers and sisters, and what racing means to our family.
The passion we have for it. And the hard work we've all put in. And about how Dad helped us learn to believe that all we can do is give our best, and accept what life offers, by showing us his great capacity to accept.

‘Racing people are good people,' he always says, ‘because they know how to take a beating.'

Don't over-think it. Don't over-think it.

But then I let myself go a little and think about what I will say if I do win. I think of all the people I want to thank. Everyone who has helped me. I don't want to forget anybody. And then I run the race in my mind again.

I have to hold my position on the inside. I just have to get him to settle. If he fires up I have to get my hands low on his neck so he can get his head down and relax. Then I think, if we are coming up to the 600 and we're travelling, I am going to be so excited. So composure will be key. I know the race can be completely lost in just a few seconds by going too early or by pushing somebody out. Unbalancing a horse can be critical at that stage of a two-mile race. So I am thinking, if I'm in that position and he's travelling, just keep your composure. And be patient. I have to keep him balanced and the rest will come naturally, just as it does in every other race.

I feel so prepared. So ready.

Thankfully I fall asleep.

C
UP DAY. I
wake up feeling really rested, and really fresh. The best I've felt for ages. Which is something of a surprise. That makes me feel even better. I definitely made the right decision to have two days off riding.

I start with a workout in my gym, ten minutes on the cross trainer, followed by a hit-out on my equiciser, my mechanical horse that helps warm up the right muscles and really opens up your lungs for the day. Then a hot spa. I get in drenched from the workout and try to stay in for around an hour to sweat out the last of the weight I have to shed for the day ahead. I sip on soda water with a Berocca in it, or a mini Coke Zero, to help keep me in there, keep me sweating. To pass the time I watch race replays on the TV or play brain-training games on the phone. It can be a real mental battle at times but today I feel great—I'm so ready!

As I am getting ready to leave, Bernadette rings. It's out of the blue, because she never rings me on race morning. As a jockey, she knows it can be stressful when you're in the zone. But she tells me she felt she had to ring.

‘I just wanted to tell you that I've got this incredible feeling about today,' she says.

‘So do I.' I'm pleased she's rung.

Bernie gave me a little medallion years ago. Our Aunty Bertha, my mum's only sister, had given it to her when she was a teenager, before she left to go to Italy as an exchange student. It's St Agnes.

‘You should take it,' she suggests.

‘I will,' I assure her.

I go looking for it, but I've put it somewhere really safe—a little too safe, because I can't remember where. But I am thinking about the medallion. And about the way all my sisters are feeling about me today. I love the sense of expectation and possibility on the morning before the races—but especially on the big days. It's exciting. And it's even bigger on Cup Day.

All over Melbourne, and Australia, people are preparing for the day. Packing. Getting dressed. Having theories about who'll win: some have studied the form, some have listened to the experts, some have a favourite jockey or trainer, others like the names or the colours or the numbers, or maybe they use their kid's birthday to decide. Such diversity. I imagine the international connections in Melbourne's best hotels, waiting for their drivers to turn up. And I also imagine the Men in Hats crew looking for their myki travel cards and a bit of change under the couch cushions for the train to Flemington.

I back out the driveway. The white roses are in need of some care, but at least they are blooming.

I should do something with those four bags of potting mix down the side of the house, I think.

I
am
relaxed.

I get to Flemington midmorning. The weather is perfect. At the jockeys' car park the men in green on the gates, always so friendly, are up for a chat. One has backed the Prince. They find me a park and I wait for the buggy to pick me up so I don't have to drag my kitbag all that way to the jockeys' room in my nice heels.

Quite a few of Prince's owners are already on the course. They've put a Prince of Penzance scarf on the Bart Cummings statue and sent me a photograph, along with another photo of Bart and me together when I was riding Allez Wonder for him in 2009.

One of my friends from Loreto, Rebecca Ludbrook, works for
TAB.com.au
. I do an interview for their marquee and then as I am making my way back to the jockeys' room, Neil Kearney from Channel 7 grabs me. We sit on a garden seat not far from the stabling area. Channel 7 also wants some short grabs for their pre-race coverage, so we do those too.

I am keen to walk the track. I change into my silks and racing boots and a Melbourne Cup jacket. I head back up the straight and wait around the 600-metre mark. Just after the horses of Race 1 gallop past, I walk after them. It's much easier to tell after a horse has galloped on the surface how far into the ground they go. The marks from the fence to 8 metres out looks the best ground.

I am riding Falamonte for Henry Dwyer in the third, a race named the Bart Cummings Tribute, over 2800 metres, almost the Cup distance. Falamonte is an outsider. Cantering her towards the gates I pretend it is actually the Cup. The crowd is already coming to life—all the food and drinks start to turn the lawn into a huge party. Sitting in the barriers, I get nervous. A few nerves are not the worst thing; I think it shows something matters to you. Every ride is a test of you. And I always want to do my best for the owners and the trainers. But I am
really
nervous.

It is silly. But it makes me realise I
am
being silly and that I need to stay composed. And that helps settle me down. Once we jump I am fine. Falamonte tries hard but finishes well back.

I need to make sure my weight is right. I have left myself with half a kilo to lose once I am at the races. It is better for me to lose it closer to the race so I am thirsty for less time. So while I'm still sweaty from my ride, I jump straight in the sauna in the jockeys' room. It doesn't take long till I am 52.4 kilograms, just under what I need to be for the Cup.

Then I catch up with Peter Ellis to talk about the Cup. He is confident Max Dynamite and Criterion will get the run of the race. From their good barriers they'll come across easily to take a position on the fence and he says we should follow them. We agree they are two of the better chances and they will bring us into the race. We want to be somewhere between eighth and fourteenth on the fence, smothered away with the nice trail, and then find a way into the race between the 800 and the 600. That's how Makybe Diva did it. If we can angle off we'll try to get as wide as is necessary to get a clear run. Once in the clear I'll wait for as long as I can before letting Prince rip. It seems simple. But so much can happen in an instant.

Peter wishes me all the best.

On the way back to the jockeys' room Des O'Keeffe wants to have a word. The men's jockey room is overflowing and he asks if he can put a few of the guys in our change room.

‘As long as I like them,' I say, half-joking.

There's always tension among jockeys. You don't always see eye to eye with everyone over incidents in races, and when you appear before the stewards during protests and enquiries you have to state your case. The fraternity of jockeys is ultimately strong, but that doesn't mean you want to spend the last hour before the Melbourne Cup with them all. Des says he'll send the internationals in, which seems fine to me. No history there!

One is Gérald Mossé, who's ridden with Patrick in Hong Kong. He wants to know how Patrick is going. The others are William Buick, who is on Sky Hunter for Godolphin, and Ryan Moore, on
Snow Sky for Sir Michael Stoute. Ryan won the Cup last year on Protectionist. Both are quiet. Everything is going along smoothly.

I don't have much more preparing to do. I just have to wait, and stay away from the fridge in the jockeys' lounge. I can't drink or eat anything until after we weigh in after the Cup. Your mouth gets pretty dry after sweating and with the heat and underlying nerves you become really thirsty, but you get used to not having anything.

The jockeys' lounge overlooks the mounting yard. It has a couple of TVs, two bunk beds and a masseuse called Jose in the far corner. There's a big fridge full of drinks (not many get drunk) and a few platters of fruit, ham, salad and sandwiches.

All that is left for me to do is some final stretching and have another look at the form, even though it is all done by now. I know every horse in the race and where they are likely to race and what their pattern of racing is.

Layne Beachley has asked me to go in to her Aim for the Stars event. Generally, I never agree to visit a marquee between races as I worry about losing focus. But I know that what Layne is doing is really worthwhile and I want to help by doing an interview. Having competed in so many world championships, Layne really understands the position I am in two hours before the race. I am totally relaxed about the interview, and it seems to go well. There are a small group of about a hundred people and the room has a real intimacy and warmth about it. I feel I can talk freely about my family and being a jockey, and about Prince's prospects. I explain how I think the race will be run and why Prince has a good chance.

I must sound confident because, as I am leaving, they are all lining up at the betting terminal to back Prince. They wish me all the best, and send me on my way.

It's just over an hour until the Cup but next I have to find Dr Turf, who is broadcasting for SEN, a sports radio station in Melbourne, with Kevin Bartlett, the champion Richmond footballer and racing
enthusiast, and anchor Kevin Hillier. Dr Turf is a mad punter and always looking for a laugh. He wants to talk about Bart Cummings.

‘Bart gave me awesome support,' I explain.