Weighing up the jockey's will to win

WE have built a new Aintree-style fence to add to my various assortment of chase fences in the schooling field, thanks to my family's seasonal business.

Every December the garden is taken over by hundreds of Christmas trees sold to excited families in the festive spirit, and the car park is packed every weekend with people carriers blocking the entrance to the yard causing havoc on hunting mornings when stress levels are usually running high.

Strangers peer in through my dining room window while examining the Nordman non drops – almost certainly thinking it needs a good vacuum. Normally all the trees get sold, but due to our unsociable weather conditions a number were still lying redundantly on the lawn still on Boxing Day this year, just enough to provide me with a new well-stuffed Grand National practice fence – I just hope we get chance to try it out before it ends up washed away into the River Wharfe!

When it comes to racing weight, we females are definitely the lucky ones, very few of us need to diet to carry the 11st needed in ladies races. Growing up, I hated being skinny, yet now my friends would give anything to have that problem.

Until the age of 13 my nickname at school was "stick insect" and when I wore my riding hat I was usually mistaken for a boy. My weight cloth is usually packed full when I ride against the lads at 12st 7lb, so I prepare for the season by filling up on protein drinks and as much fat and carbohydrates as possible in order to carry less lead. Any lead weight we carry during the race (carried under the horse's saddle in pockets) is termed as "dead" weight and not ideal if you have a small horse, or are a novice rider.

The male jockeys generally suffer the opposite fate to me and need to diet constantly to get down to their racing weight. Have you ever noticed how ex-jockeys seem to develop a portly, well-stocked appearance within a few years of retirement?

Having been deprived of eating normally throughout their careers, suddenly food becomes a luxury and the opportunity to make up for lost Christmas dinners overtakes them once they are free to gorge and their bodies start to crave calories.

The most dedicated and talented male rider I knew would begin his two stone weight lose six weeks before his first race. Normally a healthy 13st and standing at 6ft 3in, his strict regime would begin relatively successfully with the loss of 10lb simply from cutting out alcohol. Then he would endure a regimental boiled cabbage diet, jog five miles daily in bin liners and have a long sauna every night – while holding down a normal job. Within five weeks his healthy appearance would become lean, drawn and pale. His incredible willpower was driven by sheer determination to be successful at a game he loved but wasn't built for.

The most difficult thing was shedding those last stubborn pounds. He'd resort to taking pee pills and laxatives, depriving his body of any fluid it held on to. By the time the first race arrived, he always managed to make the weight and usually won, however unhealthy he felt. Needless to say he only managed a few seasons before his body couldn't take it and he packed in.

Not many people would endure that for a sport they don't get paid for.

Another ex-jockey – who now runs a successful restaurant – realised it was time to call it a day when he took one too many laxatives after breakfast. Cantering his Pointer round the field some hours later he made the mistake of coughing and endured an unfortunate accident. He was forced to ride back to the yard maintaining the jockey position throughout.

Finally my pricey Irish purchase from last year is starting to show me how good he is. Having arrived from across the water highly recommended by a reliable source, he then spent five months hobbling around with a form of arthritis in his feet, costing me a fortune while my stressed-out farrier, Richard Tate, tried every type of remedial shoe possible.

Eventually we found the equivalents of Nike Air trainers – putty, plastic wedges and wide shoes to prop up his foot and relieve the concussion caused by training.

"At last," I sighed as he trotted up the lane with his tail in the air and no nodding head. But it was too late in the season to get him fit, so he was duly thrown out shoeless in the field to let nature work her magic until this season.

Now he's firing on all cylinders with his priceless, shoes back on, flying up the gallop. I expect he will be a big price with the bookies first time out after such a long lay off when he runs first time.

I can see Peter managing his "I'm ultra confident this can't lose – or Jo will not hear the end of it" 5 bet on this fellow.