Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
“Correct. To keep them from getting distracted by what’s to the right or the left so they can focus their full attention on what’s right in front of them. They help the horse focus on the path ahead. The signals his rider is giving him. Basically, they help the horse turn off his brain and live in the moment so he can more effectively do his job.”
I snort and murmur, “Wax on, wax off. I saw it coming a mile away.”
“That way,” Iris continues, “he can react on instinct. Without overthinking it. He can rely on all his training, power, and strength, without his brain betraying him and telling him to focus on things that don’t matter—things that will only diminish his peak performance.”
“That’s cool, babe. I’m impressed by the metaphor. But, unfortunately, blinders aren’t league-approved equipment. If they were, I’d surely give them a shot.” I scoff and add, “Why not? I’ll try anything at this point.”
Iris sighs, and we ride in silence for a long moment.
Finally, she calls back to me, “Do you know the most important difference between you and a horse, my love?”
“Well, it’s definitely not the size of our dicks, so I guess my answer is no.”
Iris giggles, and to my surprise, I’m able to join her in laughing at my stupid joke.
“The most important difference,” Iris says, “is that a horse can’t imagine putting on blinders. He needs his human to do it for him. But a human being can imagine it. In fact, it’s a scientific fact the human body reacts to everything the mind vividly tells it, whether the vision comes in a dream, as a manifestation, or whatever. That’s why your heart rate increases whenever you’re having a nightmare. Or you get hard or have an orgasm during a sex dream. Because your body and mind don’t know the difference between what’s real and what’s imagined, if you focus hard enough on it.”
“I have a hunch someone on this trail is equine therapizing me.”
Iris laughs and doesn’t deny it. In fact, she turns and flashes me a cute little smile over her shoulder that admits I’m spot-on. “Trust the process, grasshopper,” she coos.
“You’ve got it, Mr. Miyagi. I’m all ears.”
She motions toward a shady spot in a nearby clearing, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide and bright for the first time in a very long time. “Let’s stop for a snack, yes?”
“Whatever you say, Teacher. I’m your willing pupil today.”
Iris brings Trixie to a stop, and Cheerio follows suit, as he always does. And a moment later, we’re sitting underneath our favorite shady tree on the property, nibbling on apples and taking in the view, while our horses drink languidly from a nearby trough.
“Every sports psychologist I’ve ever seen has talked about visualization and manifestation,” I say. “I did a shit ton of visualization before the Baltimore game, and look where that got me.”
“Have you ever visualized yourself putting on blinders during a game?”
I laugh. “Well, no. Can’t say I have.”
“Then you don’t know, for sure, if it would work or not. True or false?”
I smirk. “True. Technically.”
“So, tell me, what do you have to lose?”
I bite my lip. “Nothing, I suppose.”
“Exactly. So, here’s what you’re going to do on Sunday, whenever you feel like you really need to focus during the game. You can’t wear your magic blinders all game long, but whenever—”
“My magic blinders?”
“Correct. That’s why you can’t wear them at all times during a game, because their magic might fade if worn too long. It’s important you only put them on whenever you need an extra boost of focus and confidence at a critical moment. Think of them like shifting into the highest gear in a race car.” Her eyebrows cinch together and a crease forms on her forehead. “Or is that the lowest gear?” Iris scratches her chin, contemplating her analogy, and she’s so damned adorable in this moment, it’s all I can do not to tackle her to the soft grass and rip off all clothes, right here and now.
“Iris, I want you to know I respect your intellect and ideas. I truly do. I also appreciate your attempt to help me. But, sweetheart, there’s truly no way in hell—”
“Stop, Roman,” Iris says firmly, raising her palm. “You’re going to do this once on Sunday—for me. And you’re going to do it in earnest. Without holding back. Without rolling your eyes. Without secretly thinking it’s dumb. You’re going all in on this, if only once. And if it doesn’t work that one time, then okay, I’ll never talk about this again.”
I exhale. I can’t argue with that. In fact, I have no desire to argue with her. Not when she’s looking at me like that—like she’s discovered real, true magic and wants only to share it with me, the man she loves. “Okay,” I reply softly in surrender. “What, exactly, do you want me to do, love?”