This past week, I had an exceptionally bad horse show.

I didn’t fall off. Nothing catastrophic happened. Nobody got hurt. By most standards, it probably wasn’t even that bad of a show. But in my eyes, it was full of failure and disappointment.

I hauled in Wednesday morning, hoping to school Thursday so we’d be ready for Friday’s National Derby. I start my new job next week, and I know I won’t have the same flexibility to show as much, so I wanted to make this derby count.

I hauled myself to the show Wednesday morning, flatted, and honestly felt like a real adult going to the horse show by myself. Fadalka felt great that afternoon.

Thursday morning, we showed in the USHJA 3′. Our first round was fresh, as usual, but our second round was much better and felt productive for the following day. We even won the flat. I went into Friday feeling prepared.

I woke up, had my coffee, did our usual morning routine- light lunge to get the bucks out, bath, breakfast- and got ready to show. I was 20th in the Jr/Am Derby. Our warmup was exceptional. Probably one of our best warmups ever. Fadalka jumped the shit out of our last two oxers, and I knew we were good to go.

I stood in the in-gate feeling confident and ready. We went into the ring, trotted our opening circle, and I pet her neck and said, “Let’s do this.”

I picked up the canter and headed to jump one, a diagonal single. I saw a perfect distance. Or so I thought. Three, two, one…

And another…

Pop chipped jump one.

Shoot, I said out loud.

I cantered on to jump two, which we found nicely, and then headed to three, a high option. I buried her in it. She cleared it, but ugly. We continued to the diagonal five, and by this point I was frazzled.

Then a long canter. Did the three in the two.

Nice.

I ditched my plan, jumped the next low option, and continued to the end jump with the flashy birdcage standards. I got a little deep. At that point, I knew I was already going to score below the 70s, so I tried to stick to my plan and jump the outside single high option just to keep my own promise.

Too deep. Rail. Then I chipped the last jump.

And that was it.

I walked out of the ring with no words to even utter. I was disappointed in myself most of all. Sure, Fadalka came in more looky than usual. She sucked back to everything. My trainers reminded me that it was okay and that I had never really found my rhythm.

But at the end of the day, I felt like I had failed. I thought about the entry fee. I thought about the extra money I had spent to come early and prepare. I thought about how much I had wanted this round to count. And then I thought about how I had gone in feeling prepared and confident and completely shit the bed. I spent the whole day disappointed.

I took Fadalka back to the barn, hosed her off, and took her braids out before anyone even got back from coaching our other derby entry. I cried. I hugged my horse. I rubbed liniment all over her. And then I pulled it together.

No matter how upset I felt, I didn’t want anyone to see me cry. Especially because I’m the only adult amateur from our farm, and whether I like it or not, I know I serve as an example to some extent…. lol.

I watched my barnmate in the handy, proud as ever. She rode amazing, and she deserved it. She ended up fifth. Sid, if you read this, I was grumpy AF after my round, but you absolutely killed it. I was, and still am, so proud of you.

But I carried my sad and shitty attitude with me for the rest of the day. And unfortunately, the derby wasn’t the end of it. The next two days in the Adult Hunters were also shitty. I never had a round that I walked out of the ring feeling proud of. And honestly, that was the most disappointing part of the entire show. The ribbons didn’t really matter. The scores didn’t really matter. What bothered me was knowing that I never once walked out of the ring thinking, That was us. That’s the ride I know we’re capable of.

I can handle not winning. I can handle getting a ribbon I think I deserved better than. I can handle making mistakes.

What is harder for me is feeling like I didn’t show up as the rider I know I can be. Maybe that’s part of being an adult. We don’t always get endless opportunities to try again. Or maybe its the same when we’re kids or teenagers but we don’t think about it as much. As my best friend said to me, we don’t have that ‘junior adrenaline rush’. Sometimes you have one shot at the class you’ve been looking forward to, and when it doesn’t go your way, it can feel disproportionately devastating. We have responsibilities, schedules, and real life happening around the horse show. And entering my professional life as a new college grad, I don’t even know the start of it. I think that’s what made this show hurt so much. I wanted it to count, and it didn’t feel like it did.

But somewhere in the middle of feeling sorry for myself, I remembered that one shitty horse show is still just one shitty horse show. To cheer myself up, I went to visit my dear friend Ashley’s foals, and that did the trick.

Because sometimes you need to get out of your own head.

I remembered that I have things to look forward to. I have people I love. I have horses I love. I have a new chapter of my life just beggining. I have a horse who, despite everything, walked into that ring with me and tried her best. And I have another day to ride!

I still don’t love how this show went, I’m still disappointed in my rounds, I’m still annoyed that I didn’t ride the way I know I can. But I’m trying to learn that disappointment doesn’t have to become something bigger than it is. A bad round is a bad round. A bad horse show is a bad horse show.

And sometimes, the best thing you can do after a shitty weekend is take your braids out, hug your horse, go look at some baby horses, and remember that there is a whole lot more to this life than one weekend.