hrs grls choose themselves
I went down in flames this Sunday. I managed to upset both the FEI (Fédération Équestre Internationale) and Spruce Meadows. Normally the highlight of my year, Sunday’s Grand Prix - the third leg of the Rolex Grand Slam - is when I get to be backstage with the horses and riders and see all the action up close.
Well, the FEI stewards had another idea. I was chewed out for being in the warm-up ring, chewed out for being by the in-gate, chewed out for talking to people.
Listen, I understand and respect the etiquette. I never talk to a rider when they are walking the course, in the warm-up ring, or preparing to enter for their round. I will ask for a comment after their round. Most are happy to oblige. If they don’t want to talk, which has happened once or twice, they tell me.
The FEI Steward told me “media don’t belong here. You are supposed to be in your media centre. You are supposed to do your interviews there.”
All my interviews happen on the ground. It’s why they are good. Good luck getting a rider to agree to come to the media centre.
My goal is to write about show jumping in non-horsey newspapers and magazines, to bring the sport to the people. My aim is to catch the flavour of it, to help people see why the sport I love so much is beautiful and special.
I had some amazing successes, the Calgary Herald and the Globe and Mail articles being the highlights. Getting to know the riders. Talking horses with them. Feeling appreciated by so many of them, feeling like they were grateful for the hard work I was doing on behalf of the sport. Holding H&M All In while his groom did his studs.
I care about the right things in the sport. I care about horses. The real sport. Horsemanship. The ways that horses are equalizers, how men and women compete against each other at the same level. I believe in the good, the magical in show jumping.
But this year I begun to ask myself if I believed what I was selling. The vibe had shifted. If possible, the sport had grown even more elitist, had more gatekeepers. Where was the warmth, the fun, the feeling of shared connection over horses? The news that Eric Lamaze appeared to have made up at least part of his cancer diagnosis cast a pall.
Were there any heroes left in the sport? Was everyone crooked? And the age old question loomed large: how could anyone conceivably enter the sport, without already having millions or more?
When I went to the Dublin Horse Show mid-August, I had a choice: I could stay and watch the Grand Prix, or I could take the train across the country to go beach riding.
Of course, a horse girl chooses herself. She chooses her own riding, over watching other people’s riding. It wasn’t even a question.
I left and I rode.
I would like to express my sincerest gratitude and appreciation to the true horsepeople I have met and admire: Ian Allison, Linda Southern-Heathcott, Ashley Jiminez, Leopoldo Palacios, Tiffany Foster, Mackenzie Clark, Merrick Haydon and the Rolex team, Scott Brash, Conor Swail, Daniel Coyle, Matthew Sampson and Kara Chad, Patricio Pasquel, Hannah Selleck, Mimi Gochman, Pamela Murray-Reid, Victor Sobrevals, Andrew More, Jamie Ross (Globe and Mail), Todd Saelhof (Postmedia), Susan Stafford-Pooley (Horse Sport), Jonathan Field, my mom (my editor), and many more. To the horses, who give so much.