I’m not a superstitious person by nature, but there are a few things I take with me to every show, and a few little routines I have that have become a habit. (Don’t worry—no lucky socks in dire need of washing.)
1. Tail hair bracelets. Upon Cleo’s death last summer, I had a bracelet made from her tail hair. And when Billy retired and Midgey retired from being my FEI horse (he’s recuperating and doing great with my awesome student Liza; keep your fingers crossed!), I collected their tail hair for bracelets too. The three live in my truck’s center console except for when I feel like I really need them. They came down centerline with me at the USDF Finals last year, and I didn’t win anything, but I don’t think that was any of their faults. It’s just nice knowing they’re there.
2. A rubber duck. It’s a kitschy thing—I think it’s from a Hampton Inn—but it was given to me by a friend before the 2005 North American Young Riders Championships. She’d written “Lucky Ducky” on the bottom in permanent marker, long-since worn away by a decade of travel, but he’s been with me to every show I’ve been do since, hanging out in my coat bag. And we won the gold medal that year, so there certainly could be some juice to that duck.
3. Visualization. Whether it’s training level, test 1 at a local show or the Grand Prix championships, I find a quiet five minutes to sit at every show somewhere and close my eyes and ride the test in my mind, in the arena in which I’ll be competing. I ride every half halt, every corner, every step; I see in my mind’s eye the way the horse’s neck looks beneath me, and clench my muscles for every transition or half-halt. I don’t just want to know the pattern. I want to know every moment. So I give it a mental dress rehearsal. Inevitably the test itself never rides like it does in my head, but I know I’m doing well when the two feel pretty close.
4. A stuffed unicorn. I received a bouquet of stuffed unicorns on Valentine’s Day this year, and they’ve found their way to all sorts of places—the truck, the saddle cleaning rack in the barn, my nightstand. But one lives in my coat bag with my lucky ducky now. They were a gift from a completely non-horsey person in my life, and helps remind me that there are other things besides blue ribbons and 70%s that are important.
5. A stock tie pin from a student. I have (warning, warning, DQ alert) two “outfits”: a gray shadbelly with lovely purple points and matching gray helmet and black boots, and a navy shadbelly with super-spiffy gold and silver points and matching navy helmet and navy boots. The gray coat (which is Fender’s and, one day, Danny’s) has pearl buttons and, as such, a cool pearl pin that I found on Etsy as my stock tie pin. But when I wear the navy coat (on Ella and Fiero and, one day, Johnny), I wear a blue and silver pin made for me by a student who would go on to win USEA Rider of the Year. I’m hoping a little of that juju rubbed off on the pin. Plus, it’s gorgeous!
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6. The USDF “Shining Star” Sportsmanship Award pin I won in 2004, as a young rider. It’s an award that’s given liberally, usually at Youth Team Championships, though I’m not sure if that’s where I got mine; it’s been a long time. But I do remember that it makes me think of the important thing—the way we treat each other, and the way we treat our horses, is more important than any ribbon or medal. I don’t wear the pin anymore, but I do carry it with me.
7. A letter from the Dressage Foundation. I’ve applied for several grants from the Dressage Foundation, some that I was qualified for, some overqualified for, and at least once not really remotely qualified at all. I’ve been turned down every time. But I carry one of the rejection letters with me. I realize this sounds insane; why carry a copy of something that tells you you’re not good enough? But I bring it because it was my rejection letter from the Carol Lavell Advanced Dressage Prize a few years back, and it’s special because on it is a handwritten note from Carol herself. She wrote that “High Performance means never giving up, never giving in.” I won’t.
8. The centerline speech. This one’s a little silly, but after the judge has rung the bell and as I’m rounding the corner to begin my test, I tell my horse—and, really, myself—the Big Picture thing I want to achieve in that ride. It depends on the horse and the day, what that overall theme is, but I always end the speech the same way. It’ll sound something like this: “Ok, ready? Poll up, short reins, hands down. Stay with me. Here we go!” And we do.
What do you bring with you to shows?
