Training Rose 5: Saddleworth to Cannes

(story continues from Training Rose 4: A Particularly Easy Pony to Please)

Part 5: Saddleworth to Cannes

We all agreed I needed to train intensively for the Grand Prix at Cannes, but maybe my idea of intensive training, eight hours a day spent actually training, say seven until twelve, with a coffee break around ten and hour and a bit for lunch and and then train till four thirty and then relax maybe see a movie before getting tacked up again and sleeping in a Pony stall at Melton Villa, that and rationing my sex and not riding my motorbike, seemed fair enough to me but no Daddy thought this was unrealistic, especially when some girls had literally been bred for Pony Girl competition.

I should have realised Daddy and Tom had other ideas, but I missed the signs, "Gerald," Tom said to Daddy one morning after Tom gave me my emema, and when I was waiting for my arm clincher and gag to be removed so I could eat breakfast.

Tom had actually called Daddy Gerald, Daddy only ever let his closest friends call him Gerald, Major General McNaughton was his usual favourite form of address, Lord Melton, his least favoured.

"Gerald, ah Sir, I've been studying the films you sent over and..."

"And what?" Daddy asked in irritation.

"It's Rose's posture," he said, "Round shouldered." he said.

"Well make her do press ups man!" Father exclaimed in exasperation.

"Her head is too far forward sir." he said, "For a Pony," he squirmed suspecting he had incurred Daddy's extreme displeasure.

"I know Tom, she looks lovely in a ball gown but," he said, "You've only got ten days before Cannes,"

"Dot, said about a posture hook," Tom suggested. Dot, Dorothy Channing, was Daddy's head groom, and a Posture hook was gross.

"She can't wear a Posture Hook!" Daddy exclaimed.

"Not here sir, no, but Henry Bryant will have her at Saddleworth for a reasonable fee, just for week if we like, to toughen her up sir."

"It will need some organising," Father suggested.

"I'll run her up there sir," Tom suggested, "I think we should make her train overnight and so maybe a mild sedative."

"You are not, repeat not using my Bentley." Daddy insisted.

"No sir, I thought perhaps the VW Golf?" he suggested.

"That's Georgina's, oh why not, there's hardly a panel that hasn't been repaired." Daddy said dismissively.

I stamped my foot angrily, he made it sound like I was a careless driver, but I was a very good driver, my instructor at the Silverstone Track day said he never saw anyone try the Complex flat in fifth before, or use the handbrake as much as I did, I was just unlucky.

"You know Tom, I could never have suggested a Posture hook in a million years, you have a great future as a trainer Tom." Daddy said.

And no future at all as my boyfriend I decided, although just then, cold and wet from my al fresco enema, and bound and helpless I wouldn't have cared who wanted to be my lover as long as they had seven inches of solid warm muscle.

I had a dozen good reasons why it was a stupid idea but with my bit-gag in I was in no position to explain, so when they went to take me to the tack room I simply refused to move.

"Rose, walk on," Daddy insisted, I stamped my foot angrily.

"She's all yours," Daddy said as he stood aside and handed Tom a whip, I stared at Tom, he wouldn't dare, but he did, left and then right across my buttocks on the diagonal, ouch! it hurt, and he kept going, I decided this wasn't the best time for a show down, I'd just wait till he wanted sex!

I followed Tom to the tack room, the Posture hooks were not used often, part of it, we called it the hair wrap, was like an overgrown hair curler, with nobbles which the "victim's" hair could be wrapped around and held secure, the other end was a hook in stainless steel, at least ours were, some were simple stove enamelled iron, Yuck. Both had loops on and were connected by a thick leather strap with a buckle and lots of adjustment holes that went up your back and they also had an adjustable screw fitting for "fine tuning," so that when it was tightened you had to keep your chin up and back arched, or it threatened to rip your hair out or tear your bottom.

Oh yes, the hook goes up your bottom, and a very long way, it is thoroughly unpleasant to say the least and of course you can't wear clothes with it, or sit down, or see your feet, Arrggghhh!

I stamped with frustration, but Dot appeared very quickly, "Fancy you with a posture hook Miss Georgina, I must get a photo!" she chortled, "I'll use that new carbon fibre one in gold to match your hair," she suggested, she meant the wrap not the hook.

Oh if only I could have spoken, or freed my arms or even kicked her! But I couldn't, and I just had to stand there as she started to braid my long blonde hair around the hair wrap, damn it my hair needed a wash and shampoo not be tortured in a posture hook hair wrap.

Dot did her usual neat job binding my hair securely into the wrap and then she sealed it in place with what felt like gallons of hair lacquer.

"Now we'll just try the hook and then you can have your breakfast," Dot suggested, "bend over!"

I tried to resist but Tom actually swatted me under my breasts, the sod, I hated him, how dare he, and before I knew I was bending over the bench.

He held my shoulders as Dot manipulated the hook, it was nasty and cold and covered with slimy lube, and there was no way Dot was going to get that horrible thing into my bottom, no way in the world.

It went in with a horrible cold feeling deep oh so deep inside, I shook and shuddered and tried to get away, but it was hopeless and then they made me stand upright, I stamped and shook my head but still they insisted and now Tom knew exactly where to swat me under my breast, I jumped up and Dot just hooked one end of the strap through the loop in the end of the hook and the other end to the hair wrap and started to pull it tight.

It was horrible, absolutely vile, I thought they would tear my hair out or split my bottom, "You pull it tight like this first Tom" Dot was saying, "See pull it good and tight, you want the ass hole about half an inch open ideally," she was saying as I arched my back and stared at the ceiling and planned how I could slowly kill the pair of them.

"That's it," she said, "Tighten the buckle and.." she continued, "slip the tool off and then tighten it on the screw, Ok?"

Tom agreed, the bastard, so I stood there, head well back, breasts thrust out looking completely ridiculous, "Let's get her used to it," he said.

"Look at her Tom, suddenly she's got breasts!" Dot exclaimed, "Now hitch her to the cart and take her for a run but be careful she won't be able to see thing so drive very carefully, accurately," Dot insisted.

Personally I wanted my breakfast, but no they fitted the waist belt and shoulder straps and all the rest of the cart harness and led me out to the cart shed, I would have run away if only I could have seen where to go, all I could see was sky and if I tried to look down I either nearly scalped myself, ripped my bottom open or both.

They hitched up the cart and Tom ordered, "Walk on," so I did, "Giddy up" he said soI lunged forward, his weight went back the shafts came up and we slithered to a halt with me about thee feet in the air and him on the ground still in the seat looking up at me. I could see him reflected on the Tack room window,

"I suppose you think that's funny," Dot exclaimed.

Actually I did.

"You got to watch that one, her acceleration," Dot said seriously, "keep your weight forward and you'll be fine," then she simply grabbed the shafts and pulled me down and Tom up, so I could continue.

I trotted around the grounds for about half an hour pretty aimlessly but as I never actually ran into a tree or into the lake I came to realise that maybe Tom knew a little about driving, and then it was breakfast time, and the miserable sods put me a bucket of Museli and a bowl of orange juice, in a stall, popped my gag bit out and then rushed out of the way before I could complain.

You can't eat from a bucket with your hands bound behind you and a posture hook holding your head back, I tried very hard but it's impossible, believe me.

Dot relented in the end, and undid the strap on the posture hook, so at least I could bend, and although it was hardly an elegant way to eat I had soon scooped every last scrap from that bucked and drained the orange juice bowl as well, I was so hungry, and that's when I realised they had spiked my orange juice, with a sedative or sleeping draft.

I remember bits of the trip to Yorkshire, actually it was a good thing I was drowsy because Tom is an appalling driver, and my poor little car, she was being overtaken all the time she must have been humiliated, I hated being overtaken, ugggh!

They must have dressed me for the trip and then got me tacked up before I woke because I was tacked up when I came round in the early evening, posture hook everything, except there was a new leather arm clincher of a new style I hadn't seen before.

"Hey up lass, long time no see," Henry Bryant greeted me, "Oh bloody hell where yer clit ring gone?" he asked. "Oi, Warrinder, where's her bloody clit ring,"

"Ah she decided," he said.

"Yer soft southern lump she don't bloody decide she's a bloody Pony you wazzock." Henry observed pleasantly.

"Look Georgina is my girl friend as well," Tom explained.

"Bloody hell, you screw yer pony, up the ass, up the cunt any bloody which way up but you do not, repeat not fall in love with em, do you understand!" Henry raged.

"Yes Henry, good advice but you never stuck to it did you?" Martha said as she emerged from the shadows, "I was West Yorkshire Dressage champion two years running, Aileen, Ellie they used to call me, sort of put it behind me now so I calls myself Martha, like Mother ent it, " she said, "Any road this un couldn't afford to pay me prize money so he says lets get wed, and here I am!"

"Look Warrinder you might just as well bugger off down south again and come back when we're done." Henry suggested in his pleasant Yorkshire way.

"I suppose," he said, "I suppose she's in good hands." and that's the last I saw of him for a week.

Henry on the other hand set about fitting me with a clit ring again, he never bothered to freeze it, he just banged a gold rod through with the tool circled it round and soldered it with some hi tech cordless solder gun and it hurt like hell.

"Got a comforter Martha, I reckon a three," Henry announced.

"See his Lordship says you 'ent got to be fucked up the front so you can wear a bloody dildo 24/7 if that's what he bloody wants, Martha!"

"Yes Henry," she replied. "I'm here," she said, "I reckon a three and a half."

"Got any lube?" he asked.

"You got to be joking she looks like she's got an oil pipe loose," Marth inelegantly if accurately described my state of arousal and easily slid the three and a half up my vagina, where to my surprise he connected a little strap from the blunt end to my clit ring."

"Like it, one stamp for yes." Henry suggested.

No I did not like it one bit, no way so I gave about a dozen stamps of disapproval to Henry's amusement, "Right cart up to moor for you young Pony, get Annie to help you Martha, I needs a beer." Henry said in his charming manner. "And try a skeleton boot."

The skeleton boot had a sole for the ball of your foot and was shaped like a stiletto but had no heel, the straps were pretty minimal so it was like running barefoot in high heels, but had the big advantage that you could run over stones, I didn't really mind, it was better than long sweaty leather boots really. Martha helped me off with my trainers and on with the skeletons and then with her daughter Annie's help Martha's soon had the harness on me and they took me outside.

It was nearly dark outside, and when I saw they had fitted lights to the cart I just about flipped, "Calm down!" Martha chided and gave me a few swats with the whip, "Henry knows what he is at."

Did he, we must have gone up and down the track to the moor a dozen times, Henry sitting in the cart steering me because my head was so far back I couldn't have seen even if it hadn't been dark, and it wasn't too bad actually, he was very sensitive as a driver and as soon I learned to turn with the lightest touch on the reins I was fine and then he stopped me at the top of the climb.

I felt fingers scrabbing at the belt on my posture hook, oh god Henry wants to fuck my bottom was my first reaction but no, he just loosened it so I could see where I was going.

"That better pet," he asked, I stamped.

"Right, walk on, that daft Warrinder bugger been watching for the last hour but he's buggered off now," Henry said conspiratorially, "so come on let's see what you're made of," he chuckled and in the faint moonlight I saw the track stretching ahead to Eli's cottage, it looked strange, usually I had been blindfold along this stretch before but now with the moonlight and the glow from the lights of nearby towns staining the darkness it seemed somehow rather surreal.

"Turn towards pub lass," Henry suggested, as we approached Eli's and then after a quarter mile he stopped me, "You know this bit," he said, "Dead straight, near on a mile, so I want you to run".

I turned and stared.

"All right just a moment," he said, and he climbed down and unclipped the dildo from the clit ring and pulled it out, I have never been so relieved in my life it did absolutely nothing for me, next he loosened the posture hook completely and pulled that out of me too, and he secured the hair binder to the cart harness so it didn't flop about. "That better?" he asked.

I stamped, "So run girl, You ready, three, two, one, go!" And I ran, I was tired but the adrenalin kicked in I ran and ran galloping over the ground, "Go on lass go!" Henry shouted, as I hurtled along, the cart hardly slowing me at all, just the lack of my arms pumping slowing me fractionally.

The Pub loomed from the darkness far sooner than I expected and Henry led me into the Car Park and parked the cart between a MINI and a Range Rover lashed my reins round the fence and wandered in the public bar.

I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me but then he reappeared with a couple of hot meat pies and some drinks on a tray.
"Look lass," he said, "I want to have a chat with thee," he said, "So bloody shut up 'till I says me piece, alright?"

I stamped and he undid my gag-bit.

"Now look, it seems to me you're just about perfect, I ain't saying that so as I can screw you because I'll do that on the way home anyway, but the thing is." he said.

"Yes?" I said awkwardly.

"You any good at half marathons?" he said.

"Yes, Dot often makes me run to the village, that's fourteen miles or so."

"See there's one on Saturday and Harry Wallace's daughter is favourite, he's a cocky sod."

"Right, and what's in it for me?"

"Comfy bed, bit of bar work, no more training till Saturday, oh and best bit, I won't screw you on way home."

"One condition," I suggested, "I want to get absolutely sozzled, I haven't been drunk for ages."

"Good Lass, Warrinder's buggered off, Police camera picked him up on A1 a few minutes ago, so we're safe for a bit," he announced, "right, I'll get you some clothes."

"Henry!" I protested, "Don't leave me like this!"

"Oh, yes," he said and he loosened my arm clincher, my arms hurt like hell and before I realised he was gone.

"Evening" I heard a voice as the chap climbed into the Range Rover, I shrank inside with humiliation.

"I am not doing that for you if you get a drink drive ban Dan Keating, don't you even think about it!" his companion exclaimed and then they were gone.

The food smelled good, too good, so I washed both pies down with the orange juice, liberally laced with vodka I suspected, and Henry' pint of real ale as well, suddenly I felt much better so unhitched the harness from the cart and went to find Henry.

You know when you walk into a room all dressed up to the nines and you just dream that everyone will stop talking and stare? Well forget haute couture and try Northern area Pony girl tack if you want to make an entrance, you could have heard a pint glass drop, and I'm sure several did, I suppose that's when I sort of realised my mistake.

"Stripper's here Clive!" some wag shouted.

"It's that 'un as we had a bit back," Arthur Grimsdyke exclaimed, "Anybody lend me a tenner?"

"I'm not the bloody stripper," I announced, but the warmth of the pub and the smell of stale beer and the smell tobacco smoke, yes I know it's illegal but Sergeant Wilde was there smoking his pipe in uniform, so it didn't seem to be a priority, and anyway I slumped over the nearest table.

Clive the Landlord revived me with a large Vodka and Lemon in a pint glass, at least I supposed there was some Lemon I didn't remember much afterwards, except going upstairs and someone arguing over whether they could take me up the bum and the front at the same time.

"Kiss me Tom I ordered," and this weasly face with a full beard kissed me, it was like being slapped in the face by a rat, yuck.

"Her thought you was Warrender," Henry said faintly in the background, and I heard him say. "No you can't fuck her face for a tenner you pay twenty five like everyone else," someone argued and he replied, "Sergeant Wilde gets a public service discount."

The main thing was I was nice and warm, that was all that mattered, as long as they used condoms!

Henry kept the Vodka coming and I suppose at some stage he took me home, it turned out they loaded me in the cart and towed it behind Sid Farnsworth's quad bike with Henry hanging in to a mudguard and then Henry pulled it the last bit.

The Band of the Coldstream Guards were accompanying Status Quo in concert inside my head when I woke with the dawn, I had the mother and father of a headache, and I was so sore from the night before and I never wanted sex or Vodka ever again.

"Oh you decided to join us," Martha enquired, "Had a good sleep?" I looked around bleary eyed, I was in one of the stalls at Henry's stable complex lying on the straw and almost completely naked, even my arm clincher was gone, only the hair wrap remained.

"It's eight o'clock." I pointed out, "hardly a lie in."

"What about yesterday?" she said, "You stood up threw up, pissed yourself and went back to sleep." she explained.

"Oh!" I said.

"Yes," she said, "Twenty seven, Twenty eight hours, not a bad sleep."

"Oh god!" I said "My training."

"Henry said you're coming along real nicely and there's two hundred and fifty quid for you, that's your share of the other night," she gabbled, "Oh and can you do Thursday week for the Hunt?"

"No I can't." I said, "I'll be in France."

"Henry said you're to come in the house and get cleaned up when you're sober enough to walk," Martha said.

"Ok," I agreed and climbed unsteadily to my feet, Martha grabbed my hands and unceremoniously pulled them around behind me and wound an elastic tie around them, "What?" I demanded.

"Enema, no arguments," she said.

Al fresco enema's are no fun at the best of times but I wasn't even tacked up, anyone could see it was me, and of course I had an audience, Annie and her brother Albert, and some bloke from the pub and a lorry driver doing a delivery and Martha just rams the nozzle on the hose pipe up my bum and turns the water on, whoosh.

"Ahhh" I yelled and when my tummy swelled right up so I couldn't stand any more she let it go, and then did it again, it was so humiliating, but it sure woke me up and the hangover became just a secondary concern.

"What a mess," Martha said as she sprayed my legs and washed the mess away, "That's what happens when you miss a day,"

"I'd never have believed it if I hadn't sin it with me own eyes." the Lorry driver said as he handed Henry what looked like a twenty pound note, and before I could react Martha was spraying my hair with freezing cold water.

"Stop it!" I wailed.

"Shut up, we got to get you cleaned up young lady," Martha exclaimed, "Look we'll go in in a second, just give the boys a thrill first shall we?"

I dreaded to think what she had in mind but as it turned out she just meant letting them look, but I couldn't wait to get inside.

Martha took me upstairs, first she untied me and set to shampooing my hair and getting that damned hair wrap un-tangled, I swear it took an hour and then she let me have a lovely long bath with about every sort of smelly bath salt they could find thrown in it before she started on my hair again, I just knew it was a scam.

My suspicions were increased when they brought me an early lunch, no alcohol, just enough salad for a football team, half a cold Chicken or was it Turkey, French loaf with loads of butter, I ate my fill, lying in the bath with the plate on a sort of rack which fitted across the bath, all washed down with vile Yorkshire tap water, no wonder they loved their beer!

Martha started to hurry me up, she found me a white tee shirt three sizes too small and a thong and a white miniskirt and brand new white shoes with three inch heels, brand new in a box so Henry could take them back new, and I suppose I did a passable impersonation of a blonde bimbo when I put them on, and if that wasn't enough Henry seemed to have cleaned out the local Pound-Land's beauty department and he had left a table full of cheap mascara and lip sticks for me to try.

"Do you want me to look like a brainless bimbo," I asked, "like a total tart?" I demanded.

"Yes please dear." Martha said, "Harry Wallace is coming over, Henry's going to bet you beat Sandra, that's Harry's daughter in run on Saturday."

"Oh, you might have said," I agreed, "Can we stretch this tee shirt and make my boobies look bigger?"

Martha smiled, she remembered her days of Amateur Athletics before she became a Pony Girl.

"I used to do AAA before I got into this," she said, "Triple Jump, different training though, couldn't do both, not like you."

"That's a pity," I agreed, "Is that Harry now."

It was Harry an hour early.

Martha wasn't ready so I let him in, "I'm Rose," I said, "You can call me Rosie."

"Where's Henry?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know," I agreed, "Do you like my boobies, Mr Wally, Henry says I should have implants but..."

Harry Wallace was six foot three, the kitchen doorframe was six foot high, Harry really shouldn't have been staring at my boobies

Crunch, "Aw me bleeding head," Harry shouted and he grabbed for a chair.

"It's not bleeding Mr Wally," I said, "Oh but it is I'll wipe it for you," I said as I whipped my Tee shirt off, that's when he fainted.

"Eh Rose that was a rotten thing to do, Henry will be pleased!" Martha cried as I pulled the Tee shirt back on again.

Henry was delighted, Harry had left poor flat chested Sandra in his car so I went to get her, "I'm Rose," I said, "Your Daddy said to come in," I said like some kind of imbecile.

"Right," she said, as she set her newspaper down, "Is he on the Whisky again?"

"Oh no," I replied, "No come in and see." I suggested, she had a lovely action I realised as she swung her legs out of the car, but too thin, more your marathon runner than half marathon or Cross Country my speciality, no real muscle.

A couple of implants and she would make an Ok Ponygirl I surmised.

"I'm supposed to be training but I broke my nail," I lied, "And my Boobies get sore from all the bouncing up and down."

You should have see her cynical grin, she knew all she had to do was get the stakes raised and she and her Daddy could make a killing, and she strode powerfully across the cobble stone path to the Kitchen in her trainers, while I tottered awkwardly on my heels, trying hard not to break an ankle, something perhaps all too easy to do.

Henry and Martha were in great form, going on about how good I was, "I told Harry here how good you were at half Marathons." Henry explained.

"Oh yes I was under eleven independent schools champion," I lied.

"Thousand was it Henry," Harry chortled, "How's about we double it?"

"And again, Henry said, double your double,"

"What Ten thousand!" I added, "Oh how exciting!"

Harry looked at Henry with look of complete amazement, I thought I had overdone the dumb blonde bit big time but no, he bought it hook line and...

"Dad you ent got that sort if cash!" Sandra said, "That's my training for next year Dad,"

"Five thousand," Henry said, "I'll wager Ten thousand against your Five that my girl wins and if she does I'll train your girl for a year for free."

"Hey hold up," Harry exclaimed.

"Go for it Dad!" Sandra said, "I'll wipe floor with that stupid bimbo."

"Deal?" said Henry.

"Or no deal," I added it was supposed to be a joke but I guess they never watched daytime TV.

"Shake?" said Harry and they shook hands.

"Can I take these bloody stupid heels off now?" I asked, "Ever seen a Ponygirl ranch before Sandra?" I asked as I grabbed my trainers and gratefully pulled them on.

"No," she said suddenly a lot less confident, "We should be getting back."

"Yes, till Monday Henry," Harry exclaimed and he stood up to leave.

"Come on Dad," Sandra urged and suddenly they were gone.

I turned to Martha, "I need some things for the run, sports bra mainly, decent shorts and stuff."

"All right, we'll go into town," she said, "We might as well get off now."

Martha had the filthiest most beat up Range Rover that ever existed but she hustled it along fairly quickly and pretty soon we were in town, I found a sports shop easily enough and got myself sorted out and then well there was a specialist lingerie shop and I couldn't resist an uplift Bra, and then with a Tee shirt only two sizes too small well, lets say there was no shortage of wolf whistles!

Thats when I realised I had nothing decent to wear and Martha had a credit card.

I only spent about five hundred pounds, but I got a lovely black dress and a fur wrap from Oxfam and a Silver one from Age concern and a few odd bits and pieces, and I sort of felt ready for Saturday.

We watched a Movie before we went home, "Henry will be worried," Martha chided.

"So what?" I replied, and we were home at the farm a little before ten.

Early bed, sneak out to the Pub get bladdered was plan A, but Henry was there way before me and there on the supper table with the pastie and french bread was a gallon cask of ale and a half bottle of vodka.

"Thought I'd save you the trouble." Henry grinned knowingly

"Henry you're so thoughtful," I smiled, "Where's the Orange juice."

"Fridge." he said, "Get stuck in."

The Pastie tasted delicious and the Ale was quite nice, I don't think I managed it all before I was sick, but I tried.

They promised me a soft bed but I woke in the stable, once again the Band of the Coldstream Guards were accompanying Status Quo in concert inside my head while someone tried to let them escape using a road drill again when I woke, I had the mother and father of a headache, and I was naked again and there was sick on my bedding and I was really frustrated, why can you never get a decent fuck when you need one?

Martha came to see me, it was nearly two in the afternoon but still she tried the al Fresco enema and when she finished I tried to bring myself off with the hose, bad idea, Ouch!

"Hey stop that!" Martha insisted. "None of that till you win tomorrow."

"What!" I protested.

"You heard!" she replied, "Henry's orders." I felt again, "Stop it!" she said.

"Where's my clit ring gone?" I protested.

"Henry did it when you was asleep, solid gold see," Martha explained.

"Oh," I exclaimed, "I wish he would ask it's my damned body," I pointed out.

"He might if you hadn't been so drunk!" she suggested, "Now get a shower, have a bite to eat put your running kit on and go for a bit of a run." she said, "Go on!"

I agreed grudgingly when I saw she at least had an old coat for me to wear and I soon had a warm shower and got myself dressed, Henry was waiting for me, "You look very professional!" he said.

"Will you race me to the Pub?" I asked, "I really should do some road miles."

"No, but I'll pacemake for you in motor, if you want to follow?" he suggested.

"Yes, thanks," I agreed so we set off up the track with him in his Lexus and me running behind.

I saw a couple of girls in Pony girl tack waiting around by the stables and a pair climbing towards the moor pulling a cart with what looked like Albert in the driving seat and I followed Henry but something was wrong, was it my running kit instead of tack, or what was it, it bothered me and only when we got to the top of the track and started down towards Glossop and I could see for miles right towards Wales and what looked like the Irish Sea in the distance and suddenly it struck me, it wasn't raining, Yorkshire with no rain and dry roads, I could barely believe it.

Henry kept a steady pace and he pulled over and stopped after about ten miles or so, "Had enough?" he asked.

"Yes, I think I'd better call it a day," I agreed, and I climbed in beside him.

"Will you do evening stables for Martha," he said, as we drove back, "I see you're listed as a trainer now."

"I'd rather just have a long soak in the bath and watch TV." I said and before I could say but I would he agreed.

"That lay sod Albert can do it." he said.

The evening was pleasant enough, I'm not sure Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding is the ideal food for marathons but it was tasty, and at least there was some half decent bottled water, and some sweet Cider to drink so I had a quick shower, had my dinner or was it supper, watched Coronation Street on TV and had a long soak in the bath and slept in a nice soft bed for once.

I couldn't sleep, so I found a spare stable stall, stripped off and had a nice sleep on the soft straw.

Albert woke me at about six a.m, I told him to sod off but he wasn't having any of it and he had me in an arm binder, gagged and gave me a bloody freeing cold enema in the yard with the hose pipe before the dozy sod realised he had the wrong girl.

"You fucking imbecile," I told him, "Geez." I said as I stomped away to my bed upstairs leaving a trail of wet footprints, and no sooner had I got to sleep than Martha woke me with a nice breakfast of coffee and scrambled egg.

"Had a good night?" she asked.

I didn't have the heart to tell her.

The race was a cock up of the first rank, the organisers had to be certified morons, usually the serious runners, like me, are separated from the fun runners who can barely limp along but not here, oh no, we all started in a big mass, except some people had camped all night so as to get a good starting place, oh yes that included Sandra and her Daddy.

I had decided to forget the blonde bimbo act but luckily I took the uplift bra and too small tee shirt with me, and the three inch heels and when I arrived about an hour before the start and found I was about a hundred yards back, I was all ready in my running gear.

It didn't take long to revert to plan A, gaudy lip stick, mascara, false nails, upthrust bra, too tight tee shirt, I changed in Henry's Lexus and it worked like a charm except it was slow going and the damn gun went before I had reached the line, I did the first half mile in heels carrying my bag, but when we did the bit along the sea front and down the beach I kicked the heels off and really made up some ground, which I lost when stopped to put my trainers on, but then I threw the bag away, popped my boobies out of the upthrust bra, put my sports bra over my shirt, hoping the number remained visible and I set off after Sandra.

It was a bloody silly way to run a race, and a bloody silly place to hold one, they even had a brass band playing by one hairpin bend, and who wants to sit on a beach facing east?

Anyway gradually the opposition fizzled out, one chap, oh yes men and women raced together I told you the organisers were certified morons, this one chap just stopped and went in the local pub, I never did find out if he just stopped for a quick half pint and carried on after or what he was doing but with a mile and a bit to go I caught up with Sandra as she was just hanging on to the leading Trio.

I couldn't resist it, I undid my sports bra, let it down around my waist, hid it under the tee shirt and pulled that upthrust bra back in place and only then I overtook her.

If looks could kill! Wow was she angry, and the adrenalin kicked in and she kicked really hard, I went with her and thats when I doubted the wisdom of getting bladdered and eating roast beef as a training regime. "Come on legs don't let me down," I cried and I dug in again.

Luckily the certified, or was it a chartered moron, had arranged for the finish to be by the Novelty Rock Emporium and Municipal Public Lavatory at the cliff top, a real killer, just like Henry's track to Saddleworth Moor.

I was really wishing I hadn't messed around with my bra by now, all right I was getting the loudest cheers of anyone, even that Paula one you see on TV, but they hurt, Oh my, my poor boobies.

So that was it, across the beach, and up the steps, all two hundred and or was it three hundred.

Two at a time seemed good, then there was someone wandering around aimlessly, I barged past, and another and another, "Woman's finish on the right!" someone shouted and suddenly there it was, bloody marvellous, and it was only when I crossed the line and breasted the tape which should have broke but didn't and made the whole tatty cardboard triumphal arch fall over that I realised I had won.

The Redcar and Whitby Chronicle photographer got a great photo as the arch collapsed and sadly he also snapped me, a picture he quickly sold to the Sunday Papers, and then Harry Wallace came up to me, "I bet you think you're bloody clever!"

"Yes!" I agreed, "Considering I didn't do any proper training."

"Well I covered my bet, laid it off what do you think of that?" he said.

"Sandra can start her training on Monday, Good bye." I said in a delightfully pleasant yet hugely sarcastic manner.

Henry wasn't amused, he too had laid off the bet because he was sure I'd lose!

"Bloody hell where did that finish come from?" Henry asked.

"Pulling your damned carts of course," I explained.

"I bet you'd lose." he said.

"Yes," I agreed, "Getting bladdered is an unusual training regime, did you lose much?"

"No laid it all off." he said.

"Got yourself a Ponygirl though." I said, "Lovely action Sandra, no muscle though."

"Oh yes, I forgot, hey I got one over on bloody Wally after all," he exclaimed with a big grin, "come on lass, they do champion Fish and Chips on seafront."

It wasn't quite that simple, some chap wanted an interview to Camcorder and then there was the medal ceremony and the Mayor's speech and then eventually when a young chap returned my heels we were finally able to get to the chip shop, which in that glorious English way had shut for lunch.

We dined in the pub, we ordered a ploughman's each and sat down, the TV was on and then suddenly after the local news there was the sport and there I was, all lip gloss and blonde curls and Oh no, the interview, I cringed, "All I could think of was my poor boobies were bouncing and I wanted it to stop so I ran even quicker," I had lisped not realising it was for TV, oh my god!

They spotted me, the chaps in the Pub, "Give us a flash then Darlin'" was one of the more polite suggestions, "Yeah meal's on the house if you flash your boobs."

Well it was free food so I just whipped my Tee shirt off, threw the uplift bra at Henry then I pulled my sports bra back into place and took a bow.

I don't think they expected it but we still got our food for free!

"Look this training," Henry said, "I got just the thing at farm, bloke as plays Euphonium for Rattenthorpe Brass Band made us a couple."

My heart sank, more indignities, but never mind, I was sure I could cope.

You can also leave feedback & comments for this story on the Plaza Forum

12.09.13

story continues in Training Rose 6: Dressage

o0o