My First Horse Show

After a few summers at Cedar Lodge, I finally convinced my mother to fund my participation in the Show Team. Show Team meant that you took two lessons a day, plus I usually signed up for 45-minute "free ride" as well. For six weeks that summer, I was riding 3 horses a day, six days a week - and I loved every single minute.

Before departing for the summer and making the three hour drive to Michigan, I can remember going through the list of attire that was required for show team. My mother and I had to scour multiple tack stores to get everything on the list that fit the budget. My mother, not coming from the horse world, didn't know the difference between breeches and Jodhpurs, and I can remember Chris' annoyance with my inability to look the part in the local hunter ring. She was a stickler for tradition, as many hunter trainers are.

"Jodhpurs would have prevented your pants from riding up since you don't have half chaps," she explained as she pulled them down mid-lesson in disapproval. I was just a kid trying to make sense of a sport with no parent around to take an interest or help me do my homework. I felt ashamed. When I was young, I didn't understand what the fuss was about with my apparel. I was there to ride, and I rode well, did it really matter what I was wearing?

As it turns out, it actually did.

Apparel in equestrian sports serves specific purposes. Half chaps, or tall boots, depending on our preference, budget, and whether you are showing are schooling, help the rider to grip the saddle with her lower leg. A steady leg is a more effective leg and as the jumps go up, so does your need to "stick" to the saddle. Getting jumped out of the tack is something that can happen if you get a deep distance or your horse jumps higher than expected. Having leather-on-leather grip where your lower leg meets the horse is crucial to maintaining your form and effective position in the saddle. Since my mother didn't know about this key piece of equipment, she simply left it off the list to save a few dollars.

Chris was annoyed, but she wasn't going to stop me from showing that day. After all, we had already gotten up a 4:30 AM, loaded the horses on the trailer, piled into her van and arrived at the show. I was one of four riders that went with Chris to that horse show and the only one who had never shown before. As other's parents met the other girls there and graciously helped them get ready and cheered them on from the sidelines, I was on my own. I tried not to let that get to me as I prepared my Arabian cross mare, a little chunky chestnut mare named Jasmine, for the show ring.

Jasmine looked nothing like a hunter and I looked nothing like a show ring rider, but my confidence back then in my ability to ride was sky high. Chris made sure to teach me that. She put me on all the hardest horses at the summer camp - the stoppers, the spinners, the ones that bucked, and the ones that bit. I was very sticky in the saddle and a brave kid that always immediately got back on and kept on riding. Though Chris never actually said it, I could tell she saw something in me that she didn't see in other kids. She always pushed me harder and demanded excellence in the arena. Every time she raised her standards, I thrived off my ability to rise to the challenge.

Despite Jasmine not looking the part and me being dressed incorrectly, that day looks were not a factor for me - I was here to let my talent shine. As a young woman growing up in a world where I didn't yet realize I was different than boys, I most often wore my hair in a braid and enjoyed spending my days getting filthy working with the horses. Sometimes, I'd go days without looking in a mirror. My appearance didn't interest me; I only saw it as a distraction from my ability to become the best horsewoman I could be.

As we entered the show ring, I picked up a posting trot and was making my way down the arena. We had practiced courtesy circling at home, but we had always practiced it after I had gone around the entire arena once. It never dawned on me that I was supposed to enter the arena, immediately courtesy circle, and then start my course. Halfway down the long side and Chris was already yelling from the in gate.

"What are you doing? Courtesy circle here!" she pointed to the open space between the in gate and the jumps, right in front of where she stood.

I blushed, but turned my mare through the middle, made our courtesy circle where Chris' finger had pointed. We picked up a canter on the correct lead and executed our first course. It was a total of 8 crossrail jumps: outside line, outside line, outside line outside line. Jasmine and I floated across each fence with ease. This was before I could count my strides so I just focused on riding her smooth, soft rhythm. I genuinely didn't know how it went since the course was so much simpler than the courses Chris had me jumping back at camp. It wasn't until I courtesy circled at the end, came down to a walk, and looked up to see a big grin on Chris' face.

"Well, alright then," she said with a nod and a positive pat on Jasmine's neck, which is about the best compliment she gave.

Jasmine and I went on to place first in that class, second in the next, and first in the flat. We were division champions at my first horse show - despite not looking or dressing the part. That's the thing about being a kid and unaware of the harsh realities of the world - you can work hard, let your talent show, and be blissfully unaware of the looks I'm sure I got for my improper apparel and my throwaway Arabian crossbred mare. There was no one in the stands who I belonged to, no one rooting for me besides Chris, and yet I ultimately beat nearly all the other kids who had all of those things going for them.

There's something magic that unfolded for me that day. That day reinforced my belief at the time that this sport was about merit, heart, grit and putting in the work. Because no matter how expensive your outfit was or how well prepared your horse was, there was no beating heart and hard work.

That was the day that I realized I was made for this sport.