©Kingsland Equestrian
Bardzo lubię czytać artykuły o sławnych jeźdźcach. O tym jaka jest ich historia, dlaczego zaczęli jeździć, co jest ich motywacją i co ich popchnęło do brania udziału w zawodach na najwyższym poziomie.
I tak parę dni temu natknęłam się na artykuł, w którym Reed Kessler wyjaśnia genezę swojego jeździectwa. I jakoś tak, wszystko o czym w nim mówi idealnie wpasowało mi się w ideę, o której pisałam Wam w ostatnim poście: http://e-questrianart.blogspot.com/2015/05/idea-true-equestrian.html . Co prawda artykuł jest po angielsku, ale zachęcam do przeczytania bo naprawdę warto :)
ARTYKUŁ ORAZ ZDJĘCIA W CAŁOŚCI POCHODZĄ Z SERWISU : http://www.horsecollaborative.com/reed-kessler-what-i-know/
I knew my whole life I wanted to be a rider. But I had no idea I would reach this level. I remember sitting at Katie and Henri Prudent’s kitchen table in Rosières-aux-Salines [France] one night and they had some family over for dinner. They were asking what our plans were for the rest of the show year. Katie stated, very matter-of-factly, that I would go to the next Olympics. I nearly spat out what I was drinking.
At that point I was having plenty of success in 2* classes, but that’s a long way from going to the Olympics. But she knew it, plain as the nose on my face. Kind of eerie when you think about it.
©Kingsland Equestrian
My parents did not come from such a privileged background. My mom was a mail woman and worked the graveyard shift at Howard Johnson. My dad had to appeal through student court to get into NYU business school after being initially rejected. He’s now the most successful graduate of his class. He has earned everything he has through hard work and determination.
I grew up with my pony in the backyard of our house. My mom and I took care of her and my parents had an off-the-track racehorse. When my dad’s business career took off, things changed a lot for us, but we are still so close from those years doing everything with our horses together.
©Reed Kessler via Facebook
I have always been competitive. When I was four doing the lead line, I would practice every day at home with my mom and loved to go to the show. My mom trained me on my position; she had my pony looking immaculate. I was there to win. I think it was at Capital Challenge I finished second to a little boy.
Obviously, I was infuriated. In my mind, I had put in 1,000 hours in preparation for this moment. When I came out of the ring, I kept my cool as instructed by my mother. She clearly could tell I wasn’t a happy camper.
One of the other mothers noticed that I wasn’t thrilled with my result and decided to come over. “But did you have fun? It’s just for fun!” she said. I looked straight at her, totally perplexed by her comment, and said, “If it’s just for fun, why practice?” She was stunned speechless.
When we got in the truck, I turned to my mother and said, “Mommy, we are going home and practicing twice every day until Harrisburg and I am going to beat that little boy!” And I did.
My dad inspires me. He has been so successful in business, but when he gets home from work, all he wants is to talk about the horses. He has never missed any important moment of my life, and every time I step into the ring, no matter what time it is, he is watching on the live feed. If I’ve learned anything from him, it’s that hard work pays off, family comes first, and not to forget where we came from. (Read Kenneth Kraus’s Q&A with Murray Kessler at PhelpsSports.)
©Kenneth Kraus/PhelpsSports
My parents raised me to be a strong, independent woman, not just a rider. My whole life they told me I could be anything I wanted if I put my mind to it. I was never limited to riding—it was where my passion took me. Every day since I can remember, they told me that I was a talent, a worker, and a fighter.
When times were tough, even if I was beating up on myself, my dad would look at me and say, “You’re still the best rider in the world.” I’m not the best rider in the world, but to a certain extent to compete against the best, you need to believe you’re just as good when you step into that ring.
There is a difference between arrogance, walking around thinking you’re God’s gift to earth, and confidence. If you can’t walk into that ring with your head held high, believing you have what it takes, no one else will and neither will your horse.
©Kenneth Kraus/PhelpsSports
I hate to lose. Mostly I hate when I leave the door open and there was something else I could have done. If I have really given it my all and my horse has as well, it tastes a little less bitter.
I think anyone, at any age, who goes through the Olympics and the whole trials process has to have a lot of mental strength. It was hard obviously because I had very little experience, save for a whirlwind few months of results. I was pushed, because of my age, to test if I would crack and I didn’t, but that was a very grueling process.
A lot of people critique that old system of trials. I have mixed views on it. That was how I really broke onto the world stage and I think it’s important for up-and-coming riders to have that chance. Nearly every country except the USA has an annual national championship that gives this opportunity to everyone, and I think that needs to be restored.
That being said, the trials themselves were exhausting. We put everything we had out there to get selected, and by the time the Games arrived, we were sort of running on fumes. That is, at least, what most foreign riders would critique about the old system, looking in from the outside.
©KennethKraus/PhelpsSports
My catch phrase is “one jump at a time,” which is something I try to follow on course and also in life.
Rome wasn’t built in a day. It takes time to build a partnership with a horse. You try not to get too overwhelmed with all the things you’re not happy with and need to change on day one. You set realistic goals for yourself and your horse each day, and be happy with progress, big or small.
On course, it’s easy to start rushing mentally towards the part you think is difficult for you or your horse. Or, if you’ve already made a mistake, to panic and make another. You try to break up each part of the track and even say out loud in preparation exactly how you want to ride each segment.
One of the best moments of my career was the first day of the Olympic Games when I jumped clear. It was very difficult to focus with so much pressure walking into the stadium, and when I crossed the timers, it felt amazing to have been able to black everything else out and deliver on that round.
The hardest moment was after the Games. I gave it everything I had and didn’t have the results I wanted. Most just-turned-18-year olds would be pretty happy to have gotten through it with okay results and nothing cataclysmic, but that isn’t who I am as a person.
I wish there were things I could have done differently and I learned a lot from it, but I still really beat up on myself that I didn’t deliver the same string of clear rounds I had through the trials. I wasn’t the only person on the team who wasn’t thrilled with their results, but I’m not an excuse-maker. The Games showed me what it means to have tunnel vision and dig deep when things get hard, the pressure is on, and your horse is tired.
I care about this sport to the core of my being. It kills me when I fault badly. I had to learn about poise. To study and take all the things I learned from the Olympic process, the parts I would do differently next time, and then let it go. You can’t carry your mistakes around like a cross. It’s too heavy to carry over the jumps!
In reality, while a lot of people say they’d love to go to the Olympics, not many people actually will step up in that moment, risk everything, and do it.
My favorite quote is by Theodore Roosevelt: “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
I’ve given some of my best performances at Spruce Meadows. I jumped triple clear at the 2014 Masters—I was there by myself, no trainer with me. I hadn’t had amazing results the last few weeks and was really hungry and determined to win and it felt great to channel that grit into my performance that day.
©Spruce Meadows Media Services
Last week, the Saturday Grand Prix of the summer series also felt like a big moment to me. I was second. I’ve just started up on my own, managing my stable, making my schedule, no trainer figure standing next to the jump. It was rewarding to achieve that result from my own planning and execution. I think that was probably the fastest, most precise jump off I have ever ridden.
Kathi Offel told me to follow my feeling because it is almost never wrong. At the end of the day, no one knows your horses better than you do. When you sense something isn’t right for your horse deep down in your stomach, it probably isn’t. Don’t sell yourself short.
I can be a little bit of a control freak. I like to have plan A, B, and C. Horses aren’t machines, you cannot predict with certainty what will happen tomorrow. So it’s important to leave yourself options, so you are never stuck in a bad place with your horse.
I have been to some shows where maybe I could win more bringing two speed horses and the one Grand Prix horse. But if I can, I normally bring another horse that has the ability to jump one of the bigger classes if for some reason my Grand Prix horse isn’t fit to.
You never know when you need to revert to plan B with horses. That skill definitely comes from my Dad. He is a big planner.
©Longines Global Champions Tour
I believe there are no limits to what I will do in my career.
I used to think I was less of a force to be reckoned with than I am.
I was the kid who was never happy with second.
Happiness is setting a goal, working hard, and achieving it.
Success is looking back at the end of the day and knowing you did everything you wanted to in the pursuit of achieving your goal.
Someone close to me lost their temper one day when I was about 14 and told me I was a stupid spoiled princess. I decided to spend the rest of my life showing them they were wrong.
Brak komentarzy:
Prześlij komentarz