Winter Circuit (The Show Circuit -- Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

IHSA shows on some weekends. But after being taught by Chris, I felt like I didn’t want to ever be taught by anyone else. I knew that sounded—and probably was—ridiculous. But after so long of having Jamie scream at me and put me down, it was a revelation to have Chris teach me. He had made me feel like I could ride a little, and like I was worth teaching. I was sure the Tufts coach was nice but I hadn’t wanted to risk it. The end of the summer had been perfect—I had finally made progress with Logan and ridden well. I didn’t want to tarnish that.
    Ginny pointed me toward the viewing room and took Chris into the ring. I sat with a few other riders and mothers in the viewing room, which was heated but not exactly balmy. Still, it was warmer than it must have been for Chris in the ring. I couldn’t hear what he was saying because there was no intercom in the viewing room so it was sort of like watching TV without the sound. I could generally figure out what was going on but it felt like I wasn’t getting the whole story. Still, I observed Chris being Chris. I could tell, even without hearing him speak, how he was kind and encouraging to the riders. He taught four riders in the first session and three in the next session. The first session, I learned from some of the others in the viewing room was three-feet, and the second session was three-foot-three. None of the riders or horses was amazing. In fact, many trainers of Chris’s caliber would have turned up their noses at teaching at a barn like Ginny’s where horses’ whiskers and coats grew long. As I watched him, I felt a pang of guilt and love. Chris was doing all this for me. There was nothing he was getting out of this experience. He was only breaking even on the trip or making enough for a new pair of breeches. He wasn’t going to find his next grand prix horse here. He had come all this way and was teaching this clinic solely so he could see me. That was how much I meant to him. Again, I was plagued by the feeling of
Why Me
? How could I mean that much to him that he’d be willing to do this? I didn’t feel worthy of his love.
    He gave the riders his full attention, working them solidly on the flat, before moving on to jumps. He called them in sometimes to talk to him and I could see him asking them questions about their horses and he would nod along with them; he was truly listening to their answers. He would then explain something about how he wanted them to ride. He would use his own body to show them how to look in the air after a jump, or turn their hips in the saddle. And when they got it right he clapped his hands and cheered as if they had just put in the winning ride in a jump-off in a big class at an A show.
    We broke for a quick lunch and I overheard the riders in the barn saying how great their lesson had been and how thrilled they were with Chris. I stood listening, letting the praise for Chris wash warmly over me. I felt like someone was complimenting me and I felt my admiration for Chris well up inside me in the same way it had when I watched him compete in Vermont.
    “He’s good,” one rider said to another. “I didn’t think he’d be that good at teaching. He zeroed right in on what Rio needed with keeping her shoulder from popping out.”
    It was true that often some of the best riders weren’t the best teachers and vice-versa. Chris was good at both.
    “I thought he might throw up all over our horses,” the other rider confided to the first. “But he told me Paddy’s great. I think he really liked him.”
    After the break, Chris taught two more sessions—both at three-foot-six. The combination of the small indoor and the sparsely decorated jumps—most were just rails, maybe the odd gate or box wall—made three-six look big. These were the best riders Ginny had in the barn and to give her credit they were really good. They might not have had the most expensive tack, the best horse, or the best style in the saddle, but they