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The event was my first-ever pair race. My partner was Moody Aylor.
To say I had butterflies in my stomach would be an egregious understatement. It was more like a swarm of gypsy moths. My adrenalin unleashed itself when the loudspeaker called out our number. Another pair came galloping toward the finish line. One girl missed it all together and, garnishing the event with some expletives-deletives, burst into tears.
Before I knew it the flag went down for Moody and me.
My first and (as it turned out) only cardinal sin was not getting myself in shape. The 1981-82 foxhunting season, also a first, had kept me fit until the weather went bad. After that I hunted sporadically.
Two days before the pair race I walked the five-mile, 11-fence course, and the day before Moody and I went out for a trail ride. He gave me some pointers such as “keep at least six lengths behind me,” to which I replied, “You gotta be kidding. This horse is so raring to go, you’ll be lucky if I can keep her two lengths behind.”
My legs felt fine after the two-hour ride, so I thought I’d make it.
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