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Hi! If you love horseback riding, this post is for you!

So, I was recently at a horse show at Triton Stables. I was competing in the walk-trot-canter division. I was really nervous, because it was my first show. I went there with my mom, decked out in show gear. It was surprisingly hot, and so I was sweating through my riding jacket, and my horse was drinking a ton of water. We were supposed to show at around ten in the morning, but the start got delayed to two. My horse was not enjoying being tied to the trailer in the sweltering heat.

Finally, the announcer says over the intercom that the walk-trot-canter group should head to the arena. We start with a poles course, and I’m sitting on my horse fretting about how good the other girls are. When it’s finally my turn, my horse is on her best behavior. She’s a little lazy, but by the end of the courtesy circle, she’s at a brisk trot. She clears the poles and slows to a walk for the closing circle.

We exit the arena and wait outside while the last girl finishes up. After that, we all go back into the ring to do some flat work. While the other riders struggle to get their horses to canter, my horse gets right to it. After a lap of beautiful cantering, we glide to a walk and meander to the middle. We have our backs to the judges, and I’m nervous all over again, worst-case scenarios rushing through my head. First, they announce who won—the girl next to me takes four blue ribbons, two reds, and she wins first overall. Next, they announce the Champion of Reserve—that’s me! I get two blue ribbons and four red ones.

Once they finish the rankings, I’m sitting there proud of myself—and then I hear the girl on my other side crying quietly. She got last place in everything, and I feel bad for her, so I tell her it’s alright. Then, the girl on my other side decides to butt in. “Hey, at least your ribbons match!” Ouch. I can’t tell if she means well or is rubbing it in, but either way, it makes the girl cry harder. (By the way, the girl who’s crying is eight, and the other one is twelve). I shoot the crying girl a pitying look, and then I’m swept into the crowd of people exiting the arena. When I get back to the trailer, my trainer is congratulating the girl who won, a fifteen year old who won Champion of Reserve in another division, and I.

I wish I had gone back and comforted the crying girl, but I didn’t. I just sat there and smiled while I was congratulated. I get up and start to un-tack my horse instead of letting myself dwell on that awkward conversation. I’m putting her saddle back on the saddle rack in the trailer when I trip, and suddenly I’m on the ground, and blood is everywhere. I panic and start screaming at the top of my lungs. My trainer rushes over and helps me up, but I’m still whimpering in pain. Blood drips down my chin as my mom holds a cloth to my bottom lip. Someone hands me a Tylenol pill, and I shove it in my mouth. My mom helps me into a chair while my trainer takes care of my horse. Eventually, the pain dulls, and my mom helps me into the car. We drive home in silence.

It took two weeks for my lip to heal. I still have a scar there today. I won’t ever forget that horse show, for more reasons than one.

Long story short, my first-ever riding show went horribly wrong.