The blue and white rails flash beneath us before I have time to think. We gallop on, flying over the next fence and the next. As we turn the corner, I see the hardest fence of the whole course. It's gleaming white rails rise before me. I feel my fingers grasp the coarse mane and feel the rush of wind as we hover, airborne, for a split second.
Hooves meet earth with a jarring thud.
The smell of wet leather and sweat hits me in the face. I forget about the people and the pressure in the thrill of being one with my horse as we sail over the rest of the fences. Gently, I slow him to a walk after the last fence. I pull off my black gloves to pat his sweaty neck. As we walk out of the gate, I hear the people clapping, and I can tell that they think we had a good ride.