Confessions

The use of the plural might not be accurate; there's really just one. I hate to even say it out loud because saying it makes it even more real. But here goes:

I really hate being a hack.

The Urban Dictionary defines a hack as a mediocre or second-rate practitioner. Sucking at home, in private, is no big deal. I can do that all day long and not feel bad about it. At home, I can laugh it off and come back tomorrow for another go. Doing it in public is another story.

One of my favorite blooper photos. November 2011

Making my debut at Second Level at a show where everyone knows me is my worst nightmare. We're going to be mediocre at best. Sure, we might have a few good moments here and there (I can only hope), but the reality is that I am likely looking at a mid-50 score.

Over the years, Speedy has racked up a pretty fair number of fans, and they want to see him do well. New friends have asked whether they can attend the show. My vet is coming. Local friends who only see my carefully selected screen shots will be there. 

I am pretty sure they're all going to be wondering just what in the hell I think I am doing up there. Hopefully, most of them will feel sorry for Speedy, secure in the knowledge that he is far more talented than his dumbass rider who can't even get her proverbial crap together.

See? Hack!

In three weeks, we make our debut at Second. You're going to see me smiling and laughing and having a good time. But when our simple changes aren't clean and our 10-meter canter circles look more like ovals, don't blame Speedy (or my trainer). Simply roll your eyes and elbow the guy next to you as you quip, "that's our local hack." 

​I can only hope that I won't be a hack forever ...