Would my companion be considered outside assistance?
One of the big adjustments for me at an event versus a hunter/jumper show is the way it sounds. At an event, you often know who rides with what trainer by their colors. At a hunter/jumper show, you can identify a person’s trainer by who’s yelling out instructions while they’re on course or in the hack.
The NorCal Medal Finals wrapped up a few weekends ago here in Sacramento, and Stephanie and I dropped in for a few minutes to watch because I needed a horse-show cheeseburger and to buy some hairnets. Yes, you read that right. I went to a hunter/jumper show to buy hairnets. They’re special hairnets. Don’t judge me.
Anyway, it’d been a while since I’d sat ringside and watched some rounds at a rated hunter/jumper show and an eternity since Stephanie had done the same, so after an initial once over at the tack trucks, we grabbed some chairs on the berm and watched a few rounds.
It was louder than I remembered it. We initially settled in to watch the work off for the NorCal Pony Medal Final. The kids in the work-off were being coached practically every stride of their rides. “LEG, LEG, LEG!” one trainer said as the kid cantered down the long approach to a single oxer. Another trainer alternated between yelling, “taller,” “contain the energy!” and “waitwithyerbody.”
It was really distracting. We watched the awards ceremony and then popped over to the jumper ring. Thankfully, the jumper ring was quieter, but still every few rides you’d have a trainer coaching a client every stride of the ride.
It was jarring, having been away from the rated hunter/jumper scene for a while now. I found myself trying to remember how much of that ring-side coaching actually benefited me. I really can’t remember any specific last-second shout outs from across the arena while I was on course that created the make-or-break bit of instruction that dramatically changed the outcome of my round, and I doubt that’s just the haze of years clouding my memory.
When I’m at an event cheering for Team DF riders on cross-country day, I can be obnoxiously loud, but I’m particularly careful just to make vague vocalizations of “woot” or “yeah!” This stems from a fear of being called on outside assistance. I remember at one of my first events, my friend Kali got a stern tongue lashing from a jump judge for yelling “GO RACHEL!” as Rachel went cantering by on approach to a log.
While the phrase was intended as one of enthusiasm and support, the jump judge must have assumed that “GO RACHEL!” was some sort of imperative command, as though Rachel had forgotten that forward movement was likely a key element in making it to and over the next jump.
In looking at it now, I’ve grown fond of the lack of ringside yelling. Now, I go in to the ring or out on the course with a plan, and I do my best to not have a total Onion-Burrito moment. I can focus on the moment and not wonder if I missed some bit of instruction on the wind. I have to do it on my own anyway.
When I’m done, it’s all about the post-trip analysis and getting ready for the next thing on my to-do list. I learn more and I feel like my trainer can actually watch me with a clearer mind instead of just calling out words that I can’t really hear and that ultimately won’t make much of a difference anyway.
Go Team DF. Go Focus. Go Eventing.
