I’m an amateur dressage rider, and I compete on occasion in schooling and recognized shows. At 50, you almost have to have a sense of humor and perspective about athletic pursuits. I tell friends that having a great horse (Harvey) and a great coach is a victory in and of itself. Doesn’t that sound mature and virtuous? But as much as I’d love to be on the moral high road, here is the real story.

Getting Ready For The Show

Things start out well at home prepping for the show. I chat with other riders at the barn while washing or braiding Harv. It’s all very positive talk:

• I hope Harv and I do a personal best.

• The whole thing should be fun.

• The scores are important to track progress.

• Ribbons don’t matter.

We all hope for good weather, a pleasant judge and a safe trip. Move over Sally Swift, and meet the ultimate “centered rider.” 

Arriving At The Show

We unload, and I jog over to the steward’s tent to pick up my number. Approaching the table, I pause in front of the shiny fluttering ribbons. Who could pass by that delightful, mesmerizing eyeful? It looks like the first place winner gets an etched goblet—oooh, I’d love one of those! Also on display is an example of the neck ribbon that goes to the year-end award winner.

The neck ribbon does it. It’s as if someone has flipped a switch. I’m no longer Sally Swift; I’m the Grinch in boots and breeches. Covetous, greedy thoughts elbow their way into my brain. I rub my chin, gazing upon the spectrum of colors at the award table, and my eyes narrow.

I want a ribbon. A blue one.

My mind’s eye pictures Harv and I marching triumphantly into Whoville with a bag full of blues and the goblet. Wouldn’t our doubters (And I know who they are!) then see the errors in their thinking? Certainly my husband would finally see the payoff of all of this time, work and money.

The Scheming 

I grab a list of ride times and start looking at the other competitors.

• Hmmm, lots of riders here today. Dammit.

• Cindy Lou Who, she’s a nice rider. Maybe she’ll scratch.

• Ah, another Thoroughbred. I think Harv and I have outscored them before.

• What are [insert big name trainer]’s students doing here?

• That Young Rider with the super fancy Dutch Warmblood is in my class. How annoying.

The Return To Reality

I head back to the barn where Harv is waiting in a temporary stall. On seeing him, the conviction that I must have those ribbons begins to waver. Harv is peering out of the chain link, looking every bit like a prisoner. He hates shows. His sweet, anxious face brings me back to reality.

A flake of hay seems to calm him, and I start going over my test—not just the movements, but the Jane Savoie perfect practice which includes half-halts, aids, the what-ifs. I don’t forget about the ribbons, but I remember this is a personal journey, and I’ve dragged along a partner who had no choice in the matter.

In The End

A few times we’ve made it home with some good scores and some blues. But usually there are no surprises, and progress in our work is slow. Really, horse shows are less a test of your ability than a demonstration of the riding and preparation you do at home.

The other riders? They’re not the competition, they’re background noise. The ribbons will gather dust in some drawer on the display rack. In the end, it’s about our partners, the four-legged creatures that have taken hold of our hearts.  

Stacey Kimmel-Smith is a dressage rider, reference librarian and horse blogger. She is active in the Lehigh Valley Dressage Association (Pa./N.J.) and enjoys spending time with her horses, Harvey and Riley, her two red cats, and of course her ever-supportive husband Bob. Stacey is one of the winners of the Chronicle’s first writing competition.