“Carrot planks, rollback to outside line,” I kept repeating in my head to remember my course. But instead of remembering my course, I remember jumping the carrot jump, hearing my trainer shout “LOOK,” but most of all, I remember coming out of a seizure, not being able to move, see, or speak while being in midair over the first jump of the outside line. I heard the gasps of the riding community bounce off the announcer’s microphone. I knew I still had to make it out of the line, whether I’d be able to see and move when Perla jumped was questionable. The answer…. No. I felt my chest fly forward, butt pop out of the saddle, legs fixed by muscle memory, and immediately Perla came down to a walk. It wasn’t until then that I was able to look up and see my family, coach, friends, and hear the Colorado Western Hunter/Jumper Association whisper “What was that?” “What just happened?” And the cherry that always tops it off “Is she okay?” Perla continued to take me to the in gate knowing that her rider was not with her. Once I got out of the arena, Perla stopped next to my mom who helped me off. The stirrups were rolled up, and I shoved my face into that mare trying to hide the frustration. Her hooves stayed planted in the dirt and I had to call it a day. I have had tonic clonics on Perla and I have jumped over logs and landed in water with Perla. What can I say, that mare leaves me blind and speechless. I feel safer on her than I do on the ground.
Letter To Rookie Self
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