Winning Won’t Keep You Company on Friday Night

I was always on teams growing up. When I changed my main focus to riding around the age of 13/14, the dynamic of competing was different. It was strange to me to compete by myself and try my hardest to beat the girl riding only a couple of  feet ahead of me. She was the same friend I spent Saturdays with grooming ponies, driving around in golf carts, and pretending to give each other lessons on foot in one of the empty paddocks.

As I got more into showing, sometimes I realized that no matter how hard my old school master tried, we would not out beat the 8 year old import who was “allergic to wood” in the best way possible. I fell in love with the equation, determined that I could excel on my own skill with a good partner who didn’t necessarily need to be a 10 mover with a floaty trot.

IHSA was a brand new type riding I had never experienced before. Now being 5 years deep into my IHSA career, I have learned how to win and how to lose- and sometimes not as gracefully as you may think.

Today at IHSA Zone 2 Region 4 Regionals, the amount of cheers, hugging, laughter, and happiness I saw was infectious. I have truly never seen so many riders happy for one another in their victories, and supportive in their defeats. From helping each other quickly get dressed, coaching from the sidelines, and rushing into the ring for the post ride hug – it was all such a great example that being a team is much more than matching jackets and a point card.

Being supportive of your teammates in and out of the ring is so critical. And it doesn’t just stop at your team alone. Being supportive of every rider who puts their foot in the stirrup and goes through the in-gate is all inclusive in being a good member of a team.

To the coaches being helpful to any rider who needed a “heels down” reminder as they passed by, to the judge who confirmed with me that I had sufficient time to re-adjust my tack as I was switched off my original mount – this is what being a team player is all about. When you go home, the ribbons on your wall won’t offer you coffee as you run late for your 8am class, and they won’t stay in on a Friday night to watch old episodes of gossip girl.

One love, one team, one goal, one heart. Ride IHSA.

 

Why I Compete with 9 Cents

Anchors. As basic as a tattoo on the bodies of girls everywhere, anchors are very significant to me. An anchor secures you in the place you want to be regardless of how rough the seas get. Anchors help weigh you down without causing you to sink. We are surrounded by metaphorical anchors. Your parents giving you a place to live rent-free after graduating college. Your boyfriend reserving wednesdays for date night, regardless of how crazy work schedules get. Your dog always coming up to your bed to be your thunder buddy even if there are 3 other bedrooms with willing participants. I find my anchors all over in my family and friends. However, I found it hard to visual the support I receive from my anchors and use it to help me during times I feel stressed and scattered. So I came up with a physical anchor : 1 nickel, and four pennies.
To many, 9 pathetic cents is useless change easily thrown into a cup holder, tip jar, or the bottom of your bag only to be seen again at the first annoyance of breaking a dollar in the check out line. To me it’s a physical reminder of how to keep myself grounded. As a competitive rider, half of your performance is mental. Don’t over think the in-and-out, don’t be afraid to really hand gallop the last oxer, don’t think about how your horse always spooks at the port-a-potties. Without a sound mental space during competition, it’s very easy to lose your focus, shut down, and crash and burn. It has taken me years to be able to quiet the chatter in my head that goes in before I step into the ring. It seems like once I pass through the in-gate, I turn on the mute button. In my pocket, the 9 cents jiggle up and down. I feel the change throughout my ride and it’s just enough distraction to keep my focus on the task at hand and not the destructive thoughts cycling through : you’re below the pace, you need to slice that turn, don’t chip the big oxer or else you’ll probably die… Dramatic but I’ve literally had those thoughts.

9- my lucky number. Simple as that. I wanted enough change in my pocket to be able to feel it, but not enough where I was making my own back-round music around the course. 5 coins was perfect since I started this ritual in 2015 and the coins added up to 9.
Change. In 2015, being told I was unable to continue to compete in open fences due to my “inexperience” was a huge blow to my confidence. If you are just reading about this for the first time… Feel free to read farther back to the start of this blog. In February of last year, I was denied evaluation to regain my competition status in open fences. I felt worthless. All my hard work boiled down to nothing. Value. To me change holds some type of value, as insignificant as 9 cents is, it’s still worth something. I have to remind myself that as much as I am critical of myself and have self-destructive thoughts – I am always worth something, I will always hold value.
Right pocket. An old bad juju hex was first introduced to me after hearing Andre Dignelli playfully use it during a popular TV series, Horsepower: Road to the MaClays (which I own on dvd and I’m not embarrassed to admit it). Putting your hand in your left pocket was an old trick to hex someone else. I put 9 cents in my right pocket because at the end of the day, I want to win because I had a good day, not because everyone else had a bad day. I want everyone to have good rides for themselves and their horses. I always say you don’t need good luck, you just don’t need bad luck.

Find your anchor. Whether it be lucky socks, a power color hair tie, or a small toy you got for 25 cents out of the machines near the check-out at Pathmark. Maybe it’s the memory of your best course, or the lyrics to your favorite song. Do what works for you to keep yourself focused, content, and anchored.