So the story starts like this. I am two years old, riding in the car with my mother, and we pass someone riding a horse down the road. I go bananas, and continue to pester my parents for the next two years, until they finally sign me up for riding lessons. Somehow, even though we live walking distance from a hunter/jumper barn, they decide to take me across town to a (I’m not old, I’m not old) combined training barn (thank you mom!). Horses become the dominating force in my, and soon, my family’s life. We even trade our summer vacations on the beach for Mega Rally at the Kentucky Horse Park (note to self: you owe your brother an apology for that). Life revolved around horse shows, lessons, and Pony Club, and that’s just the way it was. For a while.
Fast forward a bit. I am married, the mother of a two-year-old wild child, and I work as a hairdresser. I live in Middle Tennessee. I spend my days at work explaining to people that the horse I am jumping in my pictures is not a Walking Horse. I spend my evenings picking up super hero figurines off the floor and bribing a toddler to take a bath and brush his teeth. I. Am. Exhausted. But in the morning, when the house is still quiet, I sneak outside and take a look around. All my therapists are there waiting patiently for the morning feed. And I thank whatever it was in me that even at two years old knew that I was not complete without a horse around.
If you’d have told me 10 years ago where I’d be now, I would have told you that you were crazy. All my plans revolved around making it to Rolex and the Olympics. But here I am. A bad fall at 6 weeks pregnant and the next 10 months of no jumping and little riding, made me pretty darn excited to be competing at novice last year. And novice this year. But training next year, for sure. Or at least by the time my kid starts kindergarten.
