Ever since I can remember, I’ve chosen the challenge. When someone said, “This book is too advanced for you,” I was going to read it. If it was, “That school is too hard for you to get into,” I applied and was accepted. Or, “This horse is too tricky for you,” I had to ride it. 

This constant pursuit to conquer challenges comes from a strong competitive drive I have. The competition? Myself. While I have nothing but support for my friends, family and fellow human beings, I will criticize myself in everything I do. This is both my strength and my weakness.

The weakness is the repetitive self-blame and critique. I overanalyze my behavior, my words, and my rides. I could be one of three people to have a double-clear show jump round, and walk out of the ring remarking that my spot to the fifth jump wasn’t great, and my corner out of the eighth was too unorganized. I have never come out of a dressage test thinking it was perfect. When friends or acquaintances ask how cross-country went, I’ve most likely said, “My horse was perfect.” Then with further conversation I will expand my summary and remark that I should have added strides, or been more quiet.

The strength is the pursuit to do better. I can be a more compassionate friend, a more focused student and a stronger rider. So I push myself for those opportunities, from applying to a university that is intensely selective, to flying to a different country to ride. I refuse to settle for the comfortable, and easy. I ask to ride the difficult horses, because if they are difficult it means I am lacking some knowledge or skill. The only way I can find to correct this is to try over and over again until I get it right. This constant drive has caused me to grow from the shyest, most timid girl who hid behind her mother’s legs and refused to talk to strangers, to a talkative, outgoing young adult who can travel the world alone and introduce herself to strangers. 

I have developed the theory that it is rarely the horse’s fault. This past week I fell off a baby horse I was riding. We were jumping for the first time and the first approach to the higher fence the horse stopped and turned. The second time I tried to prepare for a stop, when the horse instead launched well over the fence. Because of my position I was left behind and on the backside became unbalanced.

The baby, not understanding what was happening, started bucking and I flew off the side. If I had put more thought into what I knew about the horse—very brave but needs assurance from the rider—I could have guessed what was going to happen. If I had had a stronger core and balance I could have righted my position faster and avoided the subsequent bucks. The horse did absolutely nothing wrong, I did. Once I got back on, the baby had a fantastic jump school, even conquering an oxer without hesitation, because I analyzed the event, realized my mistakes, and strove to not make them again.

This next year in France is one of the best things for me because there is so much to improve on. My French (which is coming along thanks to my patient French roommate), my training of young horses (Lindsey and Xavier are wonderfully relaxed and calm, even when I fly off their horses into the mud), and even my taste buds (the French have interesting and different tastes for sure). While I’m looking forward to every single hilarious, exciting day, I’m also very much looking forward to the person I’ll be at the end. 

Marina Royston has left Virginia for adventures in France as a working student for French eventers Lindsay and Xaiver Traisnel. You can read all her blogs here.