(me and my buddy 'Marcoe') The scene: Dressage competition in Santa Rosa, CA
I was trying to take myself more seriously, because this being a dressage show, everyone was taking themselves too seriously. That's what you do at dressage shows, after all. In the following order, you:
1.) get nervous, causing horse to be excitable and jumpy
2.) blame everything not quite right (including weather) on groom, spouse, or show management
3.) transform features of your face into constipated-looking frown
4.) view the outcome of this competition with a level of intensity normally reserved for World Wars and global warming.
Anyway, there I was in the warm-up arena preparing my mount for his first dressage test of the day. After dodging two erratic riders wildly out of control (and completely unaware) who would have otherwise smashed into me, I reminded myself to sit up and assume the 'dressage position.' This might best be described as appearing that you sat down on a broomstick. I screwed my face into a stern frown, sat ramrod stiff, and conducted myself with an air of terrible importance.
This did not, however, disguise the fact that I was riding a Haflinger pony, which is akin to arriving at a Champ car race with my Mazda protoge. Or showing up at a figure skating competition on roller skates. But priding myself on being a little different and always giving underdogs a leg up, I found myself unabashedly competing my client's pony. The beauty of this scenario lies in the fact that this hairy, chunky, charming pony has no clue he is the most atypical dressage competitor in the state. He has the heart of a lion and loyalty of a best friend. He doesn't realize that our fellow riders in the warm-up arena stare at him not for his good looks but because they're pondering "What is that horse doing here?"
In fact, they stare at us without shame from under the brims of their top hats, as if their parents never taught them to not stare. They crane their necks, their mouths open, they look around confused, like maybe they and not me are the ones suddenly lost.
Part of them wants to look down on us for being such a counter-part to their stuffy over-priced competitive realm. But at the end of the day, it's hard to hate Marcoe and me. I'm always failing to take myself too seriously, dissolving to laughter whenever I can-- grinning, chatting, and waving at folks like my friend Pam who come to watch me ride. And Marcoe, well, that little guy is just darn cute. Impossibly cute, actually. He melts your heart... and he knows it.
So, I ride past my fellow competitors at only half their height and I flash them a toothy grin. This settled it. Their constipated show nerves dissipate. Not knowing what else to do, they actually smile back. They relax. They start to have some fun.
They can thank us later.
I was trying to take myself more seriously, because this being a dressage show, everyone was taking themselves too seriously. That's what you do at dressage shows, after all. In the following order, you:
1.) get nervous, causing horse to be excitable and jumpy
2.) blame everything not quite right (including weather) on groom, spouse, or show management
3.) transform features of your face into constipated-looking frown
4.) view the outcome of this competition with a level of intensity normally reserved for World Wars and global warming.
Anyway, there I was in the warm-up arena preparing my mount for his first dressage test of the day. After dodging two erratic riders wildly out of control (and completely unaware) who would have otherwise smashed into me, I reminded myself to sit up and assume the 'dressage position.' This might best be described as appearing that you sat down on a broomstick. I screwed my face into a stern frown, sat ramrod stiff, and conducted myself with an air of terrible importance.
This did not, however, disguise the fact that I was riding a Haflinger pony, which is akin to arriving at a Champ car race with my Mazda protoge. Or showing up at a figure skating competition on roller skates. But priding myself on being a little different and always giving underdogs a leg up, I found myself unabashedly competing my client's pony. The beauty of this scenario lies in the fact that this hairy, chunky, charming pony has no clue he is the most atypical dressage competitor in the state. He has the heart of a lion and loyalty of a best friend. He doesn't realize that our fellow riders in the warm-up arena stare at him not for his good looks but because they're pondering "What is that horse doing here?"
In fact, they stare at us without shame from under the brims of their top hats, as if their parents never taught them to not stare. They crane their necks, their mouths open, they look around confused, like maybe they and not me are the ones suddenly lost.
Part of them wants to look down on us for being such a counter-part to their stuffy over-priced competitive realm. But at the end of the day, it's hard to hate Marcoe and me. I'm always failing to take myself too seriously, dissolving to laughter whenever I can-- grinning, chatting, and waving at folks like my friend Pam who come to watch me ride. And Marcoe, well, that little guy is just darn cute. Impossibly cute, actually. He melts your heart... and he knows it.
So, I ride past my fellow competitors at only half their height and I flash them a toothy grin. This settled it. Their constipated show nerves dissipate. Not knowing what else to do, they actually smile back. They relax. They start to have some fun.
They can thank us later.
Posts
3 comments:
Yay Marcoe!!! Jeez, I hope you don't blame too many random show mishaps on me! (a few are ok, I probably deserve them). See ya Friday!
Jec - what a fun blog! I really enjoyed reading your posts! A good reflection of who you are I think. Looking forward to your return to Lake Co. in Sept and I'll try in the interim, to not blame Kassey's spooks on the weather...or the cat...or the child...
Maria
You are becoming a terrific writer! Pleasantly cryptic and sardonic...and, ohhh, so to the point! Your article on Marcoe reminded me of why I quit showing. I don't miss it. The only thing that you forgot to mention was the requisite $500. that the blue ribbon cost you. Don't forget that, for God/dess Sakes!
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