I spent Saturday at a very dusty arena at UC Davis, mostly watching but also riding in the first horse show of the intercollegiate season.

Everyone was pretty hyped up, but unfortunately, it was a case of "hurry up and wait." The show was supposed to start at eight, but the woman who was supposed to bring the numbers for everyone competing forgot them and had to go back for them. The show didn't start until nine. English alone (jumping and flat) took seven hours beecause the classes were so large they had to split most of them in two. SEVEN HOURS. I like watching the horses and cheering for the Fresno State riders when they win, but that's a bit too long even for me.

The English judging was still going on when I went to change for my class. UC Davis does things a little backwards, so instead of Walk/Jog going last like it usually does, it was the first Western class. Yay. I got into my brand-new, almost-can't-breathe-in-them show pants and my borrowed show shirt, boots, and makeup, then stumbled out the door. My coach helped me put my chaps on. They were even tighter than the pants ("How old were you when you had these on last, twelve?" she asked), but we finally got them zipped. I couldn't bend my legs at the knees. The we pinned on my hat and I hobbled over to get my number--689, which I have decided is the coolest number EVAR, as you can turn it upside down and inside out and it still reads the same.

My coach was kind of surprised at how calm and unstressed I was. I told her it was because Stacey, the other Fresno State girl in my class, was really good and always won her class. She came in like second at Nationals last year. I thought of her as my safety net: it didn't matter to the school if I didn't place well, because she would take first.

"Don't think like that," said Coach Malmo. "Think that you're going to win."

"Okay, if you say so," I said.

Sarah, the English coach, teases me endlessly about my run-in last year with the weirdo who wanted a picture of me with my hair blowing in the wind. "Make Uncle Fester proud!" she said right before I rode. :-P

I drew a cute little brown horse named Chip, which was funny as FSU also has a horse by that name. I got on, and someone pulled my chaps down, dusted off my boots, and got me ready to go while the coach gave me last-minute directions. Tuck your butt under, open up through the chest, point your toes in. Have fun.

The second I stepped out through the gate, my horse decided to poop. Off to a great start, we were. I tried to relax while still keeping my posture correct and controlling the horse. The nine of us in the class walked around for several minutes waiting for the judging to start. I don't know why it took so long. The judge was standing over by the rail, waiting for the go ahead, instead of in the middle of the arena. Chip was being a butthead and started jogging instead of sidepassing like I was trying to make him, and I almost ran her over. X-D But I didn't. Very important to not run over the judge.

When the judging *did* start, everything was fine until we got the call to jog. The beginning classes usually go last because by then the horses have been worked and tired out and are more willing to comply/less likely to take off with you. That didn't happen, so the horses were pretty fresh. My horse broke into a really fast, almost English kind of trot; not at all like the slow jog you're supposed to have in Western Pleasure. I spent the entire rest of the class trying to slow him down. I must have intoned, "Easy, easy," a hundred times. No, said Chip, faster! Gah.

Well, straight lines are not my forte. When we were told to line up in the center of the arena for the placings, I was the only one to end up at an angle. And the horse kept moving and shifting throughout the lineup. No one else did, of course. It had not been the perfect ride, I knew, and this just made it worse.

I thought.

Evidently the judge had other ideas, because when they called first place, it had my number next to it.

Now, when your number and placing are called, you're supposed to exit the arena. However, by this time, I had forgotten my number, and was waiting to hear them call my number from LAST year, 595. They never did, and I thought I didn't place. I was the last one to ride out. One girl on my team yelled, as I dismounted, "You got first!" And I said, "... I did?" :-P :-P :-P

And congratulations and high-fives all around. And endless ribbing about not realizing I'd gotten first place. Fresno State was the overall high-point team, with College of the Sequoias, a community college in Visalia, a distant second.

Now if I can just live up to that first place for the rest of the year, I'll be doing well!

La"My mom told me I kind of looked like an elegant Spanish lady, to which I replied, 'Of course! I *am* La"Zorra