












When I was seven I started horse riding at Haverhill Farms in White Lake,
Michigan, learning horse care and how to ride: the basics of horse grooming, the
three gaits (walk, trot, and canter) and the techniques to jump over two feet six
inches. In fourth grade, I started riding competitively. Now I typically compete in
seven shows a year, jumping with my horse over fences as tall as four feet three
inches.
Riding is a unique team sport, a team of just horse and rider. You and the
horse must work as one and tackle the challenge set before you. The horse, your
partner, has his or her own thoughts and instincts, and you have to communicate
with this animal and form a connection. You cannot tell a horse what to do the
same way you can tell a dog to sit. Over a thousand pounds of muscle, thoughts,
and emotion, move powerfully beneath you and, if the horse doesn’t like your
commands, that horse can easily toss you through the air and land you in the dirt.
This challenge of communicating with the horse and forming a partnership with an
animal is what I love most and the reason why I ride.
My teammate is a horse name Kinkadia, and she suffered a tendon injury that
left her untrained and unpredictable before our first show together in over a year.
What would this powerful horse do at this year’s Kentucky National Horse show?
On my way to the Kentucky National Horse show, a show where riders can
qualify for the World Equestrian Cup, I felt nervous but determined. I love the
challenge of competition, but, at a national show, horses and riders from around
the world gun at each other’s heels, each trying to be the best. Kinkadia’s tendon
injury had left her limping and unable to leave the barn for almost a year. After
her rehab, I completely retrained her: the process felt like riding a yearling rather
than a seasoned horse. I knew she had been a champion show horse and
competition veteran, but after a year how would she react to the hustle of a horse
show? “Kiki” and I were an inseparable team, a threat to our competition. But our
bonds and our grace would be tested now. How would Kiki react to may
commands? How would others see us? Would we be able to show how great we
once were?
On Friday night my friends and I climbed the steps to the Grand Prix ring to
watch the $50,000 Hagyard Medical Institute World Equestrian Federation
qualifying Prix. This was one of about ten qualifying classes. The jumps were
about four feet six inches. The winner, Mac Cone and his horse Ole, had a
fantastic ride in round one with no faults which qualified them for the jump off,
where they had the fastest time and lowest score. The winning team won a purse
of $15,000. Second, were Margie Engle and her horse Hidden Creek’s Campella,
and third, were Ljubov Kochetova and his horse Aslan.
I must have caught some of the winner’s luck because, on Saturday, Kiki and I
complete two close almost perfect rounds. Competing in the Taylor Harris
Insurance Services (T.H.I.S.) Children’s Medal--a class judged on the rider’s
abilities, position—required both Kiki and I to focus through the difficult set.
Through the few tight turns and quick strides, Kiki preformed beautifully. My score
in the first round was 75: good, yes, but not as high as I had hoped. The judge
announced that the cut off score for the call back test was 75 or higher, and could
be raised at any time. I was one of the first riders to try the course, so depending
on how the other riders scored; I could be knocked out of the top four and
removed from the call back list. The judge must have liked me because the last
rider scored a 74.5, half a point lower than me. That meant I was currently ranked
fourth in the class and my call back round would determine my final scoring. Now I
had the chance to move up in my ranking and guaranteed at least fourth place.
I was first to test.
I stood with Kiki beside the ring as the announcer called the testing riders to the
ring and described the testing course.
“Riders will perform the following test without stirrups, enter the ring, canter
fence one, trot fence seven, and canter fence eight,” The announcer called.
Some riders dread riding without stirrups because it requires very developed leg
muscles, but I loved riding this way; Kiki and I had practiced riding without stirrups
for years and now this riding was easy for me. Riding without stirrups hid Kiki’s
jolting gate because it brought me deeper into the saddle and masked my efforts
to keep from bouncing.
My name and number was announced signaling me to enter the ring and
perform the test. Kiki immediately moved into a fluid, strong canter and flicked
back an ear as she waited for me to show her the first jump. We turned right and
flew over a wide tan double jump. She collected her stride nicely in the corner and
slowed to a trot as we aimed for fence seven. We jumped the low grey wall and
quickened our pace for a forward eight strides to fence eight. She leapt over the
red two bar oxer. I quickly sat back in the saddle, pulled on the reigns and said
“ho” telling Kiki to halt. Kiki slowed, shaking her head and flattening her ears to
tell me that she didn’t like the sudden change of pace, and halted.
We were done. Our test was over. It was almost flawless. Applause followed
Kiki and I as we left the ring. I leaned low and stroked her shoulder, hugged her
around her neck, and told her “good job”. Kiki’s muscles relaxed and she turned
her ears forward in appreciation of my praise. We waited by the ring and watched
the other three riders. Two were good but one rider made a serious error that
definitely cost her win.
After all the riders and horses had completed the test, the results were
announced. Kiki and I moved up in ranking and won third place. I was so proud of
her: her first competition since her injury and, not only did she not toss me, but
she moved gracefully through each test. I wanted to win, but I realized that the
judge cannot determine who is the best based on the one ride they see. I realized
that greatness is determined not just by ability but also teamwork and the bond
between horse and rider, something most judges will miss. Kiki and I proved that
we can overcome a year-long obstacle. We proved that we still bond under great
pressure. We still make an outstanding team. We still won.
By Isabella Tillman
At the Kentucky National Horse show, I learned that riding
should not just be judged by an impressive round but also
the rider's training skill and horse/rider teamwork
Isabella Tillman
On Friday night my
friends and I
climbed the steps to
the Grand Prix ring
to watch the
$50,000 Hagyard
Medical Institute
World Equestrian
Federation
qualifying Prix. This
was one of about
ten qualifying
classes. The jumps
were about four feet
six inches. The
winner, Mac Cone
and his horse Ole,
had a fantastic ride
in round one with no
faults which
qualified them for
the jump off, where
they had the fastest
time and lowest
score.
In the above video, Isabella Tillman participates in Childrens Hunter 14 and under horseback riding class.
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