I post to the steady one-two, one-two beat of her trot. I glance up for the next corner, breathing heavily, congesting my lungs with clouds of thick dust. Her beat changes slightly so the one-two, one-two beat has now gone to one-limp, one-limp.

I have dealt with this scenario numerous times in the past year, experiencing all the ups and downs equestrians face everyday. There has never been a more disappointing beat, than that of your horse being lame. This has taught me that: in every bad situation, comes a new beginning. Although it may not always be present right away.

I exhale loudly, letting out just as much dust as I inhaled. This time it’s different. I’ve worked so intensely for these five minutes of fame that I no longer have a chance at. This time I can truly feel the wrench of disappointment. I can feel the vibes of defeat.

Unless you have gone through all of the training, the sweat, and the time, you have no idea how painful it is to accept that you can just forget about that blue ribbon. Forget about the moment of silence, your name being called, and the applaud afterwards.

This time it’s different. A good different. I have a chance. My heart starts to warm up to the idea. I can picture it in my brain. I’m cantering on a gorgeous, gigantic Thoroughbred. He’s carrying me through the test like clouds carry angels. Effortless and hopeful.

I was fortunate enough to be lent a very talented boy last Sunday so my sore baby girl could rest. I had never ridden this horse before, yet knew he would be perfect. It was already stretching it to compete on an unknown horse, but then to fall in love with him at the end of the day, was an added bonus. This was so much more than another competition. This was hope.

The silence. “Third place is: Andrea Martin” and the applaud afterwards. I pat my big boy, and march up, beaming from my heart to my smile, to collect my prize. I receive my lovely, dazzling ribbon and get congratulated on my achievement, on this humble horse.

This wasn’t just a third place on an unfamiliar horse. This was a true learning curve. I’ve learned that although life can bring you down to the lowest of lows, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. This day and this horse have changed me forever.