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Rachel's Ramblings - 09/30/2019

I still remember my first cutting.

I got in trouble for wearing a hoodie in the warm up pen. I cried in my horse’s stall. I think I marked a 66 that day. I cried again in the trailer. I swore to my dad that I wouldn’t come back. At rodeos, warm up pens are craziness but relaxed all at the same time. I didn’t know hoodies weren’t allowed at cuttings.
I still remember my first few junior high rodeos. We won a few rounds of the barrel racing, but I was running an 18 year old mare that had done pole weaving her whole life, so when she was switched to pole bending we broke a lot of timer lines. I didn’t cry in the arena, but when the announcer and a few other contestants scolded me for not immediately exiting the arena, I cried. I didn’t know that here they did not make the horse do the pattern correctly, I thought that was what I was supposed to do. I didn’t know.
I ran that mare with a bright American flag saddle blanket over my pad. I didn’t know that wasn’t “cool”, my 14 year old self thought it looked great. My saddle was cheap, cheap, cheap. Had a bright lime green seat. I didn’t know that wasn’t “cool”, I thought it looked fun. My headstall was given to me, it was nylon and electrical tape. I didn’t know that it definitely wasn’t “cool”, I just knew that it worked. I slowly started to change all of my tack when I heard the whispers about me. I went monotone with my tack for awhile. Now I’m the brightest dressed and tacked at the cuttings. I know, and I don’t care. It’s me.
I like to be dolled up when I’m entered in a perf. I’ve always been a makeup junkie. Some guys and a few girls posted some things about me when I was just getting started doing makeup, they called me a rodeo clown, a cake face, fake, and more on Twitter. I didn’t know the proper techniques then. Now people pay me to do their makeup.
I remember the second fair I was going to take my horse to. I spent a lot of time preparing. A few weeks before the fair, he became very sick. I took my dad’s three year old colt to the fair. We broke a lot of patterns. He bucked a lot. He didn’t know what I wanted him to do. I didn’t cry during the pattern, I just made him do it. But when I heard the judge’s snide remarks about parents putting their kids on unsafe and bad horses, I cried. She didn’t know how much I wished I could have my horse there, my horse ended up dying a few weeks later (7 years ago today, to be exact). She also didn’t know what that horse I brought would go on to become. She didn’t know.
In junior high, my dad bought me a new horse. I was so excited to finally have a “rodeo horse”, I wanted to be just like my fellow competitors that I admired. Our first run, he reared straight up at the first barrel. I cried when a mom scolded me for getting on a “dangerous horse”. We didn’t know that he was going to blow out an abscess the next day, he showed no signs.
I was at a rodeo in Marshall a few years ago when I asked a fellow competitor how her pole run went. She replied, “it sucked, but for someone like you it would have been good.” I was heartbroken over that at the time, but now looking back I laugh because she was right. I ran an old mare in the poles and then my dad’s rope horse. I never had the experience of owning a nice pole horse, just was blessed enough to jump ride a few.
One of the last years that I went to the NLBRA finals, I ran a pony. A little pony. A week before I was supposed to leave to go to Guthrie, my mare cut her foot open and had to get a cast on it. I bawled. A friend of mine was nice enough to let me use her pony for the first round, and another friend was nice enough to let me use her good horse for the second round. I got a lot of crap that finals for that pony. I didn’t cry, but I sure felt like crap. My good mare was hurt and I was sitting on this pony next to kids on 30k horses. I knew I was still just blessed to be able to be there, and I’ll never forget how kind those two families were to let me use their horses. I’ve had to jump ride a lot since then. I’ve never stopped praying for the families that showed me that kindness when I had nothing else.
We had an old cheap trailer for awhile, and then we bought an old Sundowner with living quarters. It had so many problems. My parents worked hard and sacrificed a lot to be able to buy a Lakota. I got a lot of crap for picking such a “cheap” trailer. I didn’t understand that then, and I definitely don’t now as I buy trailers on my own. I’d give anything to be able to buy a “cheap” trailer. We took an old stock trailer to any rodeo or cutting that we didn’t want to stay overnight at because it saved us fuel. Someone gave me crap for, “not caring what I look like” when I rolled up in the old, beat up stock trailer. I didn’t understand that. I backed the same horses out of that stock trailer that I would if I would have brought the 2017 Lakota. Isn’t that what matters, what’s in the trailer? Why would the judge or the timer care about the trailer?
I saw a post yesterday making fun of a young girl knocking a few poles, and it made me sad. No one deserves to be made fun of for a bad day. No one deserves to have their hard work discredited. No one deserves to have catty things posted about them behind their back, but for everyone else to see.
You do not know their story. They do not know your story. That is the blessing of running against the timer, the timer does not care. It does not care that your horse is 20, or 3. It does not care that you spent $3,000 on your saddle, or $300. It does not care that you knocked three poles the day before, or you ran a 20.1 in the poles. It does not care that you rolled up in a 2019 Bloomer, or barely made it in your dad’s old cattle trailer.
Bad runs happen to everyone. If you have never knocked or never ran by a barrel, maybe you just haven’t ran enough. It is easy to say, “well they should have done this” or “they should have done that” when you’re sitting on your couch at home, or standing next to the fence. I remember these things said to me, because I remember how long they stuck in my head and messed with my confidence. I spent enough time being a mean girl to know that I never want to be one again. It’s easier now to laugh off mean comments, but just being kind is even better.
This sport is humbling and God is too. Kids can be made tough, but you can be kind too. I love constructive criticism, but I’m too sensitive to do well with pettiness when I’m already trying my best. Before you say something mean, remember that little girls and little boys that, “just don’t know”, are everywhere. They want to know. They want to be better. They just don’t know everything yet. So instead of making this sport a dying sport, invite them in. Show them the ropes. Be kind. Be the person you needed when you first started.
Everyone is doing the best they can with what they have. Know that. Don’t call someone stupid for not knowing things they were never taught.