PART 11 - MY JOURNEY WITH MJ

Three weeks after Burgie we headed to Glamis for our next BE100.

Looking back now, I think Burgie had done us both a lot of good. It had shown me that we belonged at that level and that moving up to BE100 hadn't been quite as ridiculous a decision as it had sounded at the time.

Burgie had definitely been big. The fences were right up to height and there were certainly moments walking the course where I wondered what on earth I was doing there. But despite the size of it, I actually found it fairly straightforward to ride.

Glamis was a different story altogether.

The fences themselves didn't really worry me, but the technicality of the course certainly did. It was definitely the most technical cross-country course we’d ever tackled together up to that point.

I can remember walking it and genuinely wondering how on earth I was supposed to ride some of the combinations. There were lines that I walked over and over again because I simply couldn't picture how they were supposed to work.

I'd walk away.

Then go back.

Then walk them again.

Then stand staring at them from a different angle.

The more I looked at some of them, the more impossible they seemed.

The funny thing was that by this point I trusted MJ far more than I trusted myself.

I knew what sort of horse she was.

I knew how clever she was.

And I knew from experience that whenever I started interfering with her mouth too much, things generally got worse rather than better.

Over the years we'd gradually discovered that cross country worked best when I rode her almost entirely from my body. If I looked where I wanted to go, stayed balanced and left her mouth alone, she'd usually sort the rest out herself.

So after all the analysing, all the worrying and all the course walking, I basically came up with a plan that wasn't much of a plan at all.

Leave it to MJ.

Point her at the fences.

Look where I wanted to go.

Stay out of her way.

Trust her.

Thankfully she was much better at cross country than I was.

There were several moments out on course where I remember thinking afterwards that she'd probably saved me. Combinations I'd spent ages worrying about suddenly seemed much easier once she was actually in front of them.

I've never ridden another horse quite like her cross country.

She just seemed to have an incredible ability to read a question and work it out.

As we came through the finish flags, I punched the air.

The video from that day still makes me smile now.

People often assume that punch was because we'd won something or achieved a qualification.

The truth is much simpler than that.

I was absolutely gobsmacked we'd got round.

Not because I doubted MJ for a second. I knew exactly how capable she was.

I was gobsmacked because only a few hours earlier I'd been standing on that course wondering whether some of the combinations were even possible.

The punch wasn't really celebration.

It was relief.

Disbelief.

Pride.

And probably a little bit of gratitude too.

Only later did I discover that we'd actually finished 5th.

When I look back now, that almost feels secondary to how proud I was of MJ, but at the time it felt pretty amazing.

Here was the horse I'd taken on as a summer project. The horse I was told would never be more than a BE100 horse. The horse who'd spent more time injured than competing.

And she'd just carried me round the most technical BE100 we'd ever attempted and put us in the placings.

I don't think I could have been any prouder of her than I was that day.

When we loaded up and headed home, I thought the best thing about the day was simply getting round such a difficult course.

I had absolutely no idea we'd actually done enough to qualify for Blair.

In fact, I wouldn't find that out until a few weeks later when I was on holiday.

And even then, I was convinced somebody had got it wrong...