Connected

It's been a crazy few weeks getting going on my new freelance gig, so the blog has suffered a bit. Sorry, readers!

Last week I rode Clinton for the first time in a while. I rode Guinness until he left to be with his mom at Auburn, and then spent one lesson with a new horse, named Classy.

So when Stephanie told me to grab Clinton, I was both excited and nervous. Would I still have trouble getting him on the bit? Would we canter without his stumbling, and my nervous tension?

We got in the ring, and.....ahhhhh. Best. Lesson. EVER.

Clinton was on the bit 98% of the lesson. Why? Because after riding G, who needs a ton of muscle on the reins, I was able to keep Clinton on the bit. My hands stayed mostly steady, my legs didn't clinch, and we were able to do trot/walk drills without frustration on my part, and head-flinging on his. And when we cantered....it was like that moment when you know that boy is the right one.

We just clicked. Connected, we looked, moved and felt great. It was the most collected and controlled canter. Horse and rider, as one.

Clinton got extra hugs, pats and treats that night. I sang the whole way home. Sailing into the house, I excitedly told my husband how great the lesson was, how perfect Clinton acted, how I finally found the dressage rider inside. It was one of those nights when you are in the groove. Like when a baseball player hits the ball right in that sweet spot and the ball goes over the fence. That. Good.

Sure, it may not have been Grand Prix, but it was a big step in the right direction. Clinton needs so much more from his rider than my first lesson horse, Sonnet, needs, and it threw me off, made me nervous.

But being on a tiger like Guinness, I was forced to be the best that I could try to be...so he wouldn't fall on his face. And I took all that I learned on G, applied it to Clinton, and it worked.

So tonight is lesson night with Mary. And I am hoping that Clinton and I can perform as lovely as we did Wednesday night.

Because this is my theory: once you know how good it can be; you never want to let that feeling go.

That warm, fuzzy "nickery" feeling

To begin my Kentucky Derby postings, I'd like to tell you a little bit about why this time of year holds so much charm for me. You see, I'm not in it to win big bucks; to collect on a trifecta. I don't circle horses in the Daily Racing Form like they are simply a means to an end, nor do I get excited for the Derby just because of a big hat and a new dress.

I'm in it for the warm fuzzies.

And Derby time is the biggest, brightest sun in racing's universe. The Derby is the one race everyone wants to win, because to wear Roses on the first Saturday in May is to stamp yourself in immortality. Long after we forget who won the big Thoroughbred races, we remember the Derby winners. We remember the day a 50-1 longshot named Mine That Bird skipped along the inside rail to shock a crowd. We remember when a schoolbus full of middle class owners rolled into Churchill Downs and won with a scrappy gelding named Funny Cide. We remember a horse named Secretariat, because as he crossed the wire first, we knew we had seen the beginning of a remarkable journey.

The Derby is not about who is bred the most impressively. Or the one owned by the richest men and women. The winner of the Derby is not decided by mere mortals, but by the heavens. You can be the favorite; you can be the longshot. When it is decided that your moment of glory is now, it is you crossing the wire first.

My first real memory of the Derby was in 1988, when a roan filly named Winning Colors shocked the crowd and won. She was the third and last filly to win the Derby. I remember sitting on our couch in the family room, in awed silence of the powerful filly as she was adorned by the blanket of roses. I remember the excitement I felt, jumping up and down on the couch as the race unfolded, and knowing that I had begun a journey of fanship that I still have today.

I remember the very first time I stood in front of the famed Spires of Churchill Downs. How my heart raced with happiness and the reverence I felt. The moment I saw the flash of horses through the throngs of the infield, and the excitement. The screaming my friend and I did when we won $20 on Smarty Jones. How I never cashed the ticket, because I wanted that piece of history forever. And I remember the first time I had a seat at the Derby. As the first strains of "My Old Kentucky Home" washed over me, I closed my eyes, holding onto my hat, and tried to let the whole experience wash over me. I remember watching Calvin Borel celebrate on Street Sense. Even though I bet on Nobiz Like Showbiz, I shouted and waved at him in congratulations, tears threatening to fall, even as I watched Borel's stream down his cheeks.

The Derby is an experience unlike any other.

I hope, as I write about the horses on the Derby trail, that you will find yourself rooting for one on May 1st. They all have stories. Some are about privilege, owned by sheiks. Others are grassroots horses, bought for thousands by the everyman. Still others are trying to fulfill the destiny of a famed father or brother, taken too soon. They will all spend the next three months trying to win as many races as they can to gain both the experience and purse earnings to gain one of 20 spots in the Derby starting gates.

The Derby Trail is the beginning of these young colts' stories; the Derby itself will determine who among them is the greatest.

Are you starting to get excited yet? :)