Two-year-old talk: The Gym Class of 2016

The advantage of being a regular at the gym is that you die healthier.

Applying the science of human exercise to the training of racehorses is always something that raises a sceptical eyebrow within the olde-worlde industry, but it goes on, regionally rather than rife, and covertly rather than conclusively, but indeed it goes on.

In America, not so long ago, some trainers were experimenting with carts, such as are used in harness racing, to build up anaerobic muscles, effectively like resistance training. When asked about it, legendary handler Dick Mandella mischievously but meaningfully said: 'I'm very familiar with resistance training. For many years, I've had owners resisting my training. I've had a few horses who resisted, too.'

There's nothing so healthy as the healthy disregard most of us have for the gym, as we head and spread into middle age and beyond. But who amongst us hasn't at some time made that promise and made that effort to make some effort by stepping into the weird and warped world of the gym, maybe only once or twice, but even that's sufficient to get a handle on the climate and, moreover, the characters involved.

As identifiable as a uniform, and wearing a pseudo uniform in some cases, the sterotypes of the gym and their trite and trademark ways serve to hypnotize, to make the unbearable slightly more bearable, by taking the focus away from the pain of your own half-hearted exercise on various unholy machines that simulate various forms of walking.

These heroes and heroines of the gym have definitions beyond their arms and legs, as they're even greater defined by their look, style and status, in the same way we categorise horses, and, in particular, the current crop of two-year-olds lend themselves to cross comparison, those at the top of the class developing lines of muscle, lines of character and lines of battle, ahead of the championship workouts over the next few weeks.

So let's match up the hare and the horse, the gym bunny with the big juvy, because we're in the age of the fitness freaks, and we're in the fortnight of the two-year-old title deciders.

THE PERSONAL TRAINER

(see MEHMAS)

Each and every heavyweight two-year-old colt this year has been put through their paces by Mehmas, the Gunnar Peterson of the juveniles. Peterson is the personal trainer to the stars, and the custody battle between Brangelina for him will be more brutal and bitter than for any of their dozen kids.    

The 'I Went Through The Mehmas Mill' t-shirt is a tight-fitting one worn by Caravaggio, Blue Point and Churchill amongst others, though Churchill bench-pressed him into oblivion at the Curragh, as did Caravaggio at Royal Ascot, but the headline testimonial on Mehmas' website comes from Blue Point, who walked into the Goodwood gym a boy and came out a man.

But the 'P' in PT for Mehmas is turning into plateau, the type of instructor whose workouts have become stale and standard, his standard now surpassed by Blue Point going into their second session at Newmarket.

THE EXHIBITIONIST

(see BLUE POINT)

If any two-year-old loves himself, I get the impression it's Blue Point, the one at the gym who when he's not hogging the equipment is grunting at it, the alpha male who deals in blood, sweat, but no tears. And it's not just in the gym he'll push it, either, as in the changing room he'll push the boundary between a towel dry and a nudist camp, all designed to intimidate.

Because Blue Point, like The Exhibitionist, is a bit of a bully, showboating (by 11 lengths) against inferior rivals at Doncaster, then oppressing the Gimcrack field at York where he put into practice the harsh lesson Mehmas taught him in the Richmond.

The Middle Park has a touch of the Star Wars about it, with the beaten-but-unbowed apprentice taking on the master again, but Blue Point is more a tyrannical Vader than a likeable Luke, and, after a battle lost at Goodwood, it's a good bet the Godolphin empire will strike back.

THE MAYOR

(see CARAVAGGIO)

Acts like he owns the place, but not in an overbearing way, high-fiving his way around the gym, cool and confident, exactly the sort of guy that men want to be and women want to be with. And he never breaks sweat, every drill coming easy to him, capable of embarrassing The Exhibitionist, a shame for him and for racing that Caravaggio won't get the chance to bring down the bullying Blue Point in the Middle Park.

Even if The Exhibitionist puts on an exhibition at Newmarket on Saturday, you get the feeling Caravaggio will still be top dog around these parts, as well as the orgasmic object of desire for the likes of...

THE BEAUTY QUEEN

(see QUEEN KINDLY)

Perhaps the most identifiable of the gym-class bunnies, looking like she's straight off to a club after a few squats and selfies. Hasn't missed with her make-up, and not a hair out of place on her ponytailed head. High maintenance, high class.

Sparkles rather than sweats, as was the case when Queen Kindly out-catwalked Fair Eva at York, where her grace of movement masked her inner-core strength, qualities she gets from her old man. Attractive in every sense, she's the one the most are rooting for in the battle of beauty versus brawn against...

THE TOMBOY

(see LADY AURELIA)

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it a bloke?

Well developed. Very well developed. So very well developed that she intimidates everyone, the burly males included. Can do things that make even The Exhibitionists wince, such as breaking land-speed records at Royal Ascot.

But the bodybuilder is one-dimensional, all power and no dexterity, making her vulnerable besides the fact the developing pack are catching her up, and Queen Kindly has the stalk-and-pounce game to worry Lady Aurelia in the Cheveley Park, the contours of Newmarket likely to help her play it up.

THE SILENT SOLDIER

(see CHURCHILL)

Keeps himself to himself, not flashy like The Exhibitionist nor extroverted like The Mayor, and just gets on with the jogging job, no depths to him, one of those who's still running hard on the same treadmill after you've done the full circuit of machines and had a warm-down wander around Twitter on your phone.

Getting bigger and stronger all the time, and it's only when you see him stood next to the personal trainer that you suddenly gauge his dazzling development, as happened when Churchill met Mehmas in the National Stakes, when he literally and figuratively brushed him aside in a 'thanks for coming but this is big-boy sh*t' kind of way.

Like the beauty queens who've noticed him, the Dewhurst is his for the taking, and he's in it for the long haul, classically trained and in training for the classics.

THE COPY-CAT KID

(see CAPRI)

The later-developer who's still in the shadows, taking his inspiriation from the resident beefcakes, trying to match what they do, hence it's a crash course for him, aggressive in the process.

Crash course and aggressive perfectly describe Capri's career so far, with three runs in three weeks in the summer to get up to speed, forcing the issue in every respect, and learning fast. It's his first big test in the Beresford on Sunday, but he's well pumped and well prepared, and he has the Chuchills and Caravaggios looking over their shoulder.

THE BUDDY BELLES

(see HYDRANGEA, RHODODENDRON and PROMISE TO BE TRUE)

Never alone, always together, the gym is effectively an excuse for them to catch up twice a week, and don't they do just that, waiting for three in a row to become available on the line of treadmills and then going for it with a full-on gossip amid a gentle amble along 3k in thirty minutes, leaving the purists boiling. They look the part, but their heart's not in it.

Watching the Moyglare at the Curragh, there was an element of the Buddy Belles about the O'Brien trio of Hydrangea, Rhododendron and Promise To Be True, none of whom knuckled down to the task at hand, outrun by the industrious Intricately.

The 2015 Buddy Belles had worked out and worked it out by that point last year, the Coolmore 1-2-3 in that Moyglare being no less than Minding, Ballydoyle and Alice Springs, and this batch don't carry the same style or swagger, opening the Fillies' Mile door to one of the burgeoning beauty queens, like Dabyah or Aljezeera, both having the Timeform large 'P'.

Rounding up a few of the rest, there's The Every-Dayer, who's the most committed and regular but can never reach that next level (see The Last Lion), there's The Gawker, who started strongly with the best of intentions but now just mostly watches on in a slightly creepy way and probably needs gelding (see Global Applause), and there's The Loose Cannon, the unconventional one who lacks focus and does things in his own unorthodox way (see Copper Knight).   

But perhaps the one most of us identify with is the appropriately-named Reach High. It all began so promisingly, going twice in a fortnight - he beat Harry Angel latterly - but now he tops the most wanted list, a no-show since May.

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