**The following is inspired by
this, written by a good friend and fellow 20-something.***
It doesn't happen often, but every now and again you have those moments - when it seems as though you have reached your physical and spiritual apex. The stars align, time slows down and it seems as though God himself is looking down on you and saying, "Way to go, kid." Whether you hear the Rocky theme song during all of this is a personal preference. But needless to say, it would be applicable.
For me personally, these rare yet special "sports moments" usually happened when I reached a personal goal. No, I was not one of those kids who "led her team to victory," simply because I was really shy around my fellow peers (which is somewhat true of my personality today), and because I was a little too introspective for my own good. So when I set a goal for myself, I would put no less than 110 percent of my efforts into achieving it (again, a trait of my personality that still holds true today). Often times, I'd get burned. But sometimes, I wouldn't. I'd create my own moment.
My best moments usually happened at summer camp. For 6 years, I went to
Camp Greystone, an all-girls, Christian camp located in the mountains of North Carolina. It wasn't the religious talk that made me go back year after year - it was the fact that I could literally try
anything - and I usually did. One of the camp directors called me a "Renaissance Woman," because I would sign up for everything from water skiing to rock climbing to judo to radio broadcasting (yes, we had our own radio station. WGRY 89.1 FM). But the one thing I knew how to do pretty well before I went there was horseback riding.
I started to ride when I was about 9 years old. I got pretty far ultimately, and can canter/jump horses if the opportunity presents itself today. I did well in my riding lessons back at home, but for some reason, whenever I got to camp, I'd run into road blocks and would never reach any of my goals.
One year, as I was trying to jump over a foot-high jump, my right foot slipped out of my stirrup and I fell over. Another year, I was cantering around the ring and my horse was throwing a fit the entire way (almost leading to a full-out tiff with another horse). And one year, I came in last place in the horse show, failed a "get to the next level equestrian proficiency" test, and had my left foot CRUSHED by a horse hoof.
So when it came time to pick my activities during my final year at camp, I decided to try something a little different: Western-style horseback riding. I never really tried Western before, but I heard that it was, in a lot of ways, more fun and relaxed than English (which I guess goes without saying). The class was exclusively trail riding as well. There's something truly beautiful about bonding with a big animal whilst bonding with nature. So, I was excited.
I got to my first class, and was greeted by 3 very enthusiastic, bubbly British women. Unfortunately, their names escape me, but their impact on my life definitely hasn't. It was almost as if we were good friends who happened to take our horses out on a trail. And the trails we would ride were absolutely breathtaking. Once we took a trail overlooking Lake Edith (the lake that our camp was on), and the Blue Ridge Mountains were in the background. We stared at the scenery for a good 10 minutes before pressing on.
But there was one thing that I just couldn't do: canter on my horse. Now, I had no trouble doing that when I was riding English, but Western is a different beast. For example, when you "trot" in English style, you "post" - lift out of the saddle periodically, matching the gait of the horse. If you don't post, you just kind of bounce around willy-nilly (and eventually fall off). In Western, however, the saddle is basically constructed like a lounge chair, so there is no need to post. Instructors tell you to "melt in the saddle," which is just a fancy way of saying, "hang on!!!" But every time I tried to do that, I'd bounce like crazy, loose my cool, and bring the horse back to a brisk walk. Since cantering is a faster gait than trotting, I never got that far.
To make matters worse, I was the only one in my class that couldn't break a trot. There would be points on the trail when everyone else would canter away from me, and I'd have to walk over to them with one of my instructors. It was one of those times when I felt inadequate and out-of-place. So, I said to myself, "Joy, you are going to canter by the time this course is done!!!"
Fast forward to the last day of class. We go on a different trail, up one of the bigger mountains near camp. It was a very wooded trail, which made it tough to see to the left and right. The 8 other people who were in my class were ahead of me, and there was one instructor in the front, one in the middle, and one in the back, behind me.
Then, all of a sudden, I hear a british accent echoing amongst the trees: "Alright girls! Let's canter! Follow me!"
Uh oh. Time for me to rally.
The people before me speed off, one by one. The last two people before me turn around and say, "Come on Joy!! You got this! Go for it!!"
Everyone else chimes in. "GO JOY! Go for it!! You're ready for this - you can DO this!!"
Then, I hear my instructor behind me. "Just take it easy, Joy. Put him in a trot, then work your way up to a canter. You can do it! You're ready!"
I take a deep breath, adjust the dirt-stained Yankees cap on my head, and squeeze my heels into the horse's belly. He picks up his gait....faster walk....faster walk....brisk walk....trot....
I'm bouncing in my seat like crazy, and at this point, I knew I had 2 options: continue to bounce uncomfortably, and make my way down the now-deserted narrow dirt path...or, I can "hang on" and canter the rest of the way.
I took door number 2. I squeezed my heels together and made a clicking sound with my tongue. The horse automatically got it, and all of a sudden, I was cantering.
The wind was whipping past me, and the trees that enveloped me were flying by to the point where all I was seeing was green blurs. I was tensing up, too - I was holding onto the reins for dear life, and for a split second I shifted in my saddle to the point where I thought I was going to fall sideways.
But then, the greatest thing happened. I readjusted, and let go. I let out a big sigh, closed my eyes, and savored this thing I just accomplished, this moment I just created.
And then, as if on cue, the skies opened up and it started to rain. My horse instinctively slowed back down to a trot and made his way to my classmates and instructors.
I was met with congratulations. "YOU DID IT!" "Joy that was great" "Great job! We knew you could do it!!"
I smiled and thanked them all before we continued down the trail, in the poring rain. My Yankees cap was soaked right through, but it didn't matter. I was singing showtunes in the middle of a forest, after completing something I never thought I'd do.
And I guess that's the greatest thing about having a "sports" moment: once you muster the strength to know what you want, you gotta just hang on.
