By JAMIE SINDELL
I am in absolute awe of Adult Ammies who show. I don’t care if it’s your 3’6” derby or your Long Stirrup round. I don’t care if you have a healthy trust fund or sell cat toys as a side gig to pay your entry fees.
Regardless of what you are doing in that show ring or how you got there, it takes guts. Serious, stomach-clenching guts to brave the judgment, the pressure, and let’s be real, the possibility of taking a nosedive into the dirt in front of a bunch of strangers.
I don’t care how fancy your horse is or if he has a lead change. I care that you did it. That you put on your breeches (which, let’s be honest, is an act of courage in itself), got on your horse, and entered that ring despite the nerves, the self-doubt, and the knowledge that there’s a chance your horse could decide the rolltop is an evil green dragon.
If you’re out there cramming yourself into unforgiving breeches, wrestling your boots on like you’re stuffing a sausage casing, and still heading into the ring… respect.
I want you to know how much I admire you because I’m not sure you give yourself enough credit.
I know firsthand because some of my showing friends often forget to give themselves props. Instead, I hear them put themselves down because they’re showing in the 2’6” instead of the 3’. I watch them come out of the ring disheartened that they didn’t ride perfectly. Or they are apologetic when I compliment them on how great they looked.
And here is what I’m thinking: Girl, I couldn’t even force myself into the ring for a course of cross rails right now. You are amazing.
Right now, I ride a green pony project. A SMALL. And I still worry about falling off in my own backyard. Where I am alone and incredibly close to the ground. The thought of a show ring petrifies at this point in my life, unless I’m watching my kids in the ring. So trust me, Ammies, I see you out there, and you inspire me. Watching you makes me think that maybe, just maybe, I’ll get myself back in the show ring one day, with the risk of missed distances and all.
And I know from my own past experiences, showing can come with a heaping side of guilt. Guilt for leaving behind your partner, dog, kids, job or whatever else is begging for your attention. But rather than letting other priorities stop you, you are taking care of yourself by doing something you love.
Sure, you’re spending money on entry fees, but it’s not the end of the world. Look at it as an act of self-care. You’re out there living your best life on a horse. Not for the glitz of it, but because you love horse show life. And that is admirable.
And you know what? It also takes bravery to tune out the endless Instagram posts of ribbons and victory gallops. To say, “I want to show for the love of it, even if I don’t set the world on fire.”
So whether you’re at a tiny local show or under the lights in the biggest Grand Prix of your life, be proud.
Even if you barf in the bathroom before your rounds. You are doing it. Even if you need a few shots before you ride. It’s called liquid courage for a reason. Even if you cry. You are courageous. Even if you botch your distance and pull for the add. You will nail it next time. Even if you forget your course. You took a risk.
It would be so much easier to save the money, avoid the emotional turmoil, skip the insanity of a division that was supposed to start at noon but now goes at 10 p.m., and drop the entry fees on a trip to Tahiti.
But you don’t, because that won’t make you happy.
And for that? I admire you.
Doing something you love that makes you feel amazing but also makes you feel like you might stroke out from fear? That’s a rare kind of courage, and I respect the heck out of you.
I hope you embrace your rock star status for putting yourself out there, pushing through every excuse, and stepping foot in that ring. For inspiring others.
So next time you are about to demean yourself because a show didn’t go your way, or you’re overcome with guilt when you “should” be grappling with laundry or attending your kid’s soccer game, please think of me. Your silent cheerleader. Your biggest fan.
Remind yourself of what really counts—the fact that you did the darn thing.
About
Jamie Sindell is a passionate equestrian blogger. She has an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Arizona and a BS in Animal Science from Cornell University. She has ridden and owned hunters on and off throughout her life. She is a mom of five kids who range from ages 4-15. She and her family reside at Wish List Farm, where her horse-crazy girls play with their ponies. Her son and husband play with the tractor. You can follow her on Instagram @wishlistfarm
