This morning, I completed most of a plyometrics workout, made coffee, and rode my bike to the office. Compared to my normal routine, that’s a pretty easy morning. In the early morning hours, it’s not unusual for me to put in 10 miles or a 90 minute weight training workout, wash dishes, play with the corgi, make breakfast and lunch, and have an impromptu solo dance party before going to work. I am a full blown Morning Person. For this week, however, that’s the closest I’ve come to “normal”. In spite of a chest cold and too much dense, sugary food, I had great runs and workouts last week and finished strong with an 18 mile mountain run and 6 mile walk with the dog on Sunday. This week, my running mileage is 1.0…on a treadmill…for a weight workout that I stopped halfway through. I have woken up at 4:00 every morning, stayed in bed until 6:30 or 7:00. I wrote Christmas cards and mailed packages during my afternoon off.
I’ve tried on a lot of excuses for the slump, including the (relative) cold and my current lack of winter running accessories, the depressing lack of daylight hours, my missed period and unintended caloric deficit from the past two months, and the metabolic shutdown caused by the atypical types and quantities of food consumed in honor of Thanksgiving. Even as I made those excuses to myself, I knew that they were self-sabotage. But why? I wondered. I don’t feel overtrained, in fact, I can’t even seem to put together a real “training plan” and the biggest race I’ve ever run is coming up in a few months! While sorting through my scrapbook box yesterday I came across a 2”x2” card with blue infant footprints and a heart on it. The message inside had nothing to do with childbirth, as I’m sure the card designer intended, but instead words of comfort and love during the first time (I thought) that I had truly lost a dream. As I thought about that time, I began to realize that I am afraid to give this race the status of a dream. Right now, it’s a goal…and every time it grows in importance or seems more tangible, I back away from it. I don’t want to let it become a dream, because while I’ve never shied away from big dreams in the past, I suppose I feel less equipped to “just make it happen” from where I stand right now. Looking at the card, which right now sits on my desk, and thinking about that dream reminds me why it’s still important to let goals become dreams, even if you don’t reach them.
My first real “dream” was to become a horse vet. That was a decision made at the tender age of three, following the realization that I did not have to become a nun in order to not have a husband and children. My second dream began at the much more mature age of 11, at which point I knew that I wanted to ride competitive jumpers. I grew up in a trail riding/4-H/ranching part of the horse community, so after begging for jumping lessons, my mother “obliged” with Saddle Seat lessons for my birthday. She hoped it would get the English riding bug out of my system, without as much risk for emergency room visits. When I was 13, I raised the subject again, and was emphatically told that I would never jump a horse until I “paid for my own life insurance.” This resulted in my one and only adolescent temper tantrum, which went nowhere. Thus, I learned to jump horses in “secret” from new 4-H leader with some aged off the track thoroughbred mares that hauled me over two foot fences until my fingers bled. I rode my quarter horse in an extra wide $150 close contact saddle, and convinced the county fair organizers to offer a single hunter hack class during my last year of 4-H. I read every George Morris form critique and jumping instruction book I could get my hands on. During my free time, I practiced exercises on the trail horses that I used for lessons at the camp I worked for. Finally, I moved to Fulton, Missouri and began toward degrees in Biology and Equestrian Science at William Woods University.
In the Hunter/Jumper program, I was the Western girl, and rightly so. I had ridden lots of horses, of all educations, breeds, and personalities, but I didn’t know the language, demeanor, or forward seat of the Hunter/Jumper world. So I worked hard, I got worse before I got better, and I had to put extra effort into things that came naturally to others. My arms were too stiff, I sat up too straight, I braced against my stirrups, and I leaned over a jump instead of closing my hip angle. I think there were times when my instructor prayed for the day my four years would be finished and I would move on to the more fitting calling of veterinary medicine. But I did get better, and by my senior year, I was finally able to ride the type of horses I had always wanted to. With more confidence, I started to improve quickly and become an active participant around the course, instead of just a passenger. In the fall, I rode a spunky Morgan mare until she became lame just before our first “A” show. In her place, I showed an experienced, but “unorthodox” thoroughbred named Eclipse. It wasn’t the prettiest show, but by the end of it, I knew how to ride him and was absolutely smitten. I had one more semester before giving up the life of daily competitive riding for a veterinary profession, and I was going to show the horse I had dreamed of riding.
Then, in an overconfident, not-paying-attention moment during our finals week warmup, I fell off, didn’t let go of the reins, and wrapped my arm around a jump standard, dislocating my left shoulder. It went back in easily and I was advised at the hospital that it would be alright to resume normal use in 6-8 weeks. Fortunately, winter break was around the corner and I would have time to let it heal in plenty of time for the next semester. Five and a half weeks later, I dislocated it again when a horse spooked and ran backwards. This time, I just couldn’t get the joint reduced, and it was reset at the hospital several hours later under conscious sedation. While I don’t remember anything between the sedation being given and going out to the car later that afternoon, I’ve heard enough to know that I became a much less tractable person. Once free from the effects of sedation, I held out just a strand of hope for my dream, until visiting the orthopedist and meeting The Emobilizer. Eight weeks of nothing, he said…no strenuous physical activity, no driving on bumpy roads, no jostling, and definitely no riding…and then we would re-evaluate and talk about physical therapy. Showering was the only activity permitted without my arm and wrist pinioned to my side, and even that came with strict instructions regarding shaving and washing hair. I gave up my spot in Advanced Show Jumpers that day and it broke my heart. I would graduate in May and that was the end of my window to achieve my dream.
In response, I retreated to a “dead zone” somewhere inside me. I remember sitting on a couch feeling as though everything was wrapped in fog or dense wool. In that place, I couldn’t feel anything…words that people said didn’t make sense and it was even strange touching something and knowing that my hands were a part of me. Whenever I would try to exit the “dead zone,” I would meet a wall of anger, followed by sadness. For classes, I figured out how to play the role of normalcy and “good-sport,” even watching as my friend Eclipse was given a new rider. Only my poor best friend, who had recently taken on a new role as my girlfriend with fledgling dreams for our future together, saw what really happened as I mourned the loss of my dream. To her, I was terrible. I said awful things that we both knew I couldn’t mean. I wouldn’t let her close and asked others to open doors and help with my hair. I was absolutely my worst self, but yet she still held me when I finally cried in the middle of the night, even though I was still hateful and bitter in the morning. Her response? She didn’t leave or tell me to grow up or say “this isn’t the person I signed up to be with.” Instead, for lack of any better ideas, she went out and bought me a little bouquet of flowers meant to congratulate someone on the birth of a little boy. She left them for me to find, with the little card that reads:
My love, I am so sorry this tragedy has happened to you. I wish I could take it all away for you. Aside from that, I will be there for you in whatever capacity you need, may it be a shoulder to cry on, a comforting embrace, a warm body to curl up with and watch a movie, or just someone to take your anger out on. I will always love you no matter what. Please remember that. Always yours.
It didn’t fix anything, but was by far the most romantic and caring thing anyone had ever done for me. And it was during a time that I was not at all the human being I wanted to be. That’s a really special thing, and I hope every person has a chance to receive that gift at some point in their life. It reminded me that there was still something worth having outside of the “dead zone,” anger, and sadness. It was my instructor, however, who helped show me the stepping stones away from that place. In our first meeting, she asked how I was. I told her I was “fine.” She informed me that I was not…and I promptly sobbed and hyperventilated across the desk from her for several minutes. She allowed me to continue for a while, then told me to take a deep breath. “Kate, I think you need some new goals. Come back and see me when you have a list of six short term goals and we’ll talk about them.” No words of sympathy, no hugs or acknowledgement of the uncharacteristic outburst. A part of me was deeply offended that she didn’t care enough to offer me those things when I had let her see how much pain I was in! I made the list anyway and when I went back, I apologized for my previous behavior. She didn’t accept or want the apology, so we moved on to the list…from that list, she created a management job and a role to play that was made “necessary” by her recent back surgery. She wouldn’t discuss anything regarding riding.
As I grudgingly adjusted to my new “job,” it became easier to actually be interested in my surroundings, instead of just pretending. I watched and gave lesson after lesson and learned the political and practical ins and outs of planning for a large horse show with a twenty horse team. The less I pretended, the more small pieces of hope my instructor fed me. After my first re-evaluation, during which the doctor told me to spend another two weeks doing what I was doing without ever laying a finger on me, she told me that if I could “stay in shape,” I might be able to ride over the summer. Once I started physical therapy, she suggested that I might start doing some lessons on a lunge line. I took care of my short term goals, and she took steps to rebuild my dream. I never got to cheat, skip a step, or even know for sure what the next step was. The first time I jumped a horse again was after the last day of classes. It wasn’t Eclipse, who had already left for a summer home. Instead, it was another thoroughbred named Indy, the special “favorite senior” horse that my instructor had trained and shown to a high level. The fences we jumped that day were higher than the ones I had been jumping before my injury, and if that had been the only ride (which it wasn’t, as we were successful partners for the summer show season), I would have said that my dream had been accomplished. It didn’t happen exactly when I planned and wasn’t on the same horse, but in the end, I was better, more confident, and endlessly more appreciative when I did see my dream become reality.
Once that “dead zone” inside you opens, it never completely closes, and it’s never as hard to fall into it again. Sometimes you fall in for a reason, like the loss of a dream, while other times you just fall in. While that dream had an unexpectedly happy ending, not all of them do. Every time a dream isn’t realized, it gets harder to dream a new one. It’s no wonder we become afraid. Until yesterday and writing this now, I hadn’t ever really looked back at the whole story, but I’ve known for a long time that I was incredibly fortunate to have the right people around. They were a gift that not everyone receives, and that none of us are guaranteed when we fall down. Some of the gifts they gave me, however, are ones that I can give myself now that I’ve been shown how. So, as I work through my “slump” and plan for the Thunder Rock 100, while continuing to recover from the loss of other dreams, these are the reminders I have placed next to the little card from years ago:
- Always have goals you can accomplish right now.
- Love is most important when you’re at your very worst.
- Do what you can and do it to the best of your ability.
- What you need is not always what you want.
- Learn from everything and don’t skip steps along the way.
- You may not have Eclipse, but what’s happening now might be preparing you for Indy.
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