My Leap of Faith

It sounds crazy, but I believe she is my soul mate. In a sport where the beast is just as important as its rider, there is great emphasis in finding the perfect "partner." In the world of show jumping, they say a rider would be lucky to experience this perfect combination at least once in her lifetime. I am extremely blessed to have met two remarkable creatures that have helped me fulfill my dreams and aspirations throughout my 20-year equestrian career. One of them is "Ghandy," who jumped her heart out for me at the 2000 Sydney Olympic Games. The other is "Leap of Faith," my sporting partner for the last eight years and the inspiration for the title of my Young Star column.

"Leap of Faith" or "Trudy" as she is called in the stable may not have been my mount at the Olympic Games, but it was because of her that I dared to dream of Olympic flames.

She was only six (that translates to 18 years in human years) when we first crossed paths in Ireland. Like any friendship, it developed through time. I was training for the 1994 Asian Games when my former Irish coach assigned her to me. During that preparation, I qualified to participate at the Royal Dublin Horse Show, one of the oldest and most prestigious competitions in Europe. With Trudy as my partner, I was awarded "Leading Young Rider" of the entire competition. It was my first major international award and it gave me the confidence to venture into the competitive, yet oftentimes lonely European show jumping circuit. Since competing in Dublin, Ireland in 1994, Trudy has helped me carry the Philippine flag in several countries around Europe, Africa and Asia.

I knew then that I could not go back to the Philippines without her. Upon arriving on local shores, Trudy proved time and again that she was a star in the show ring, both here and abroad. If it were completely up to her, Trudy would be unstoppable and unbeatable in competitions. More often than not, it would be my fault and not hers, when we incurred penalties during any given round. She was a fighter through and through. And she hated losing.

Believe it or not, she knew when she was robbed of a gold medal – she would walk out of the ring with her head down, almost ashamed she did not defend her title, as she had won every conceivable title in the country and around the region. Often times, I found myself apologizing to her not only after a bad round, but if there were others before us at the awarding ceremonies. Like I said, if she had a choice she would always come out the winner.

Like a proud mother, Trudy is always a winner in my eyes. She is everything a dedicated athlete should be. She has strength of character and although she is relatively tiny in size compared to other top jumpers, she has a big heart.

When I was preparing for the Olympics, I was instructed by my coach to ride Ghandy (my Olympic mount) in shows, without intending to win the class. The game plan was simple: Go around the course as smoothly as possible and use every round as a confidence builder, therefore not risking serious injuries in the process. Trudy on the other hand, was a different story. Even among her European counterparts (although she was originally European, before acquiring Filipino citizenship, yes, did you know competition horses are required to have passports, too?!), she refused to be intimidated. She would canter into the ring, as she does anywhere else in the world, with the belief that she can take on any challenge and prevail. Nine times out of ten, she did.

In a semi-tragic occasion (I say "semi" because nobody "kicked the bucket," if you know what I mean), in Hickstead, England, Trudy and I somersaulted over an obstacle during the Speed Derby competition. I can only relate what happened because I saw it on video afterwards; otherwise it had been erased from my memory bank, as is usual with traumatic experiences. I asked her to take-off (through body signals, not a push button as some people tend to believe) a bit too soon, and because she had total trust in my judgment she did not hesitate for one moment, and instead took a "leap of faith." This time, I put us both in jeopardy. As every split second counts in showjumping, once a decision is made (like the take-off point), there is no turning back. The horse and rider are l

In a maneuver reminiscent of World’s Most Amazing Videos, Trudy’s hind legs flipped over her head, throwing me into the air, as we both fell right smack on our heads, while the poles came crashing down. Fortunately, Trudy landed a foot or two away from me, instead of on top of my already languid body. She stood up right away, although from the video footage, her shock and disbelief were evident. I, on the other hand, lay unconscious on the ground without any signs of life. The show organizers had to put a stop to the competition for half-an-hour since they were only too cautious in putting me on the stretcher, thinking I had broken my neck. I had not. And I am thankful I came out of it with only a broken collarbone. Never mind that the Olympics were six weeks away; things could have been worse. I could have been dead. Or worse, my horse could have been injured. Trudy was stiff all over for about a week.

Accidents are considered occupational hazards in this sport. Despite this experience and many others, Trudy and I may have been hurt here and there, some more serious than others, but through them all, our fighting spirits remained unscathed.

Since the competition in Hickstead, England one year ago, Trudy and I have not entered the show ring together. No, it is not due to fear or trauma. When I flew to Sydney with Ghandy for the Games, Trudy went on maternity leave. After years of intense training and grueling competition all over the world, it was time for Trudy to have a baby.

She was "covered" (the term used in horse breeding) in Belgium through "artificial insemination" or A.I using one of Europe’s top show-jumping studs, Parco, a Belgian Warm-Blood stallion. I am sure that champion dog breeders appreciate the importance of breeding with exceptional bloodlines. The same is true for horses. Although one can never be assured of getting a champion foal despite champion parents, the chances of producing an extraordinary show jumper in this case, is naturally increased due to its Sire and Dam.

A foal’s athleticism may be highly dependent on its parents, but like raising children, the foal’s environment is also an essential factor in shaping its character. Trudy flew back to the Philippines (yes, she was with me on the airplane) seven months into her pregnancy.

Horses carry their foal for eleven months and they can only give birth to one foal at any give time. I was like a proud grandma when Trudy had her first foal last September 4. It was too bad I missed the moment. But according to my grooms at the farm, she foaled in the middle of the field, as it neared dawn, with the other horses watching her intently, but without disturbing the foaling process.

It was as if they knew what was happening and what to do. Unless the horse is experiencing great difficulty, it is best to leave her to do what she has to do and keep as quiet as possible. Less than a minute after the foal was born, it stood up and automatically detached itself from the umbilical cord. No spanking of the buttocks or cleaning up is required, as the mother cleans the foal herself, licking it all over.

Shortly after the foal stands-up, it tries to drink her mother’s milk. This is where human assistance may be necessary, as some first-time mothers do not know what to do and may not allow the foal to drink her milk, as was the case with Trudy. My head groom, Turs, had to take the milk from her, as if milking a cow, placed it into a baby bottle and made the foal drink it from there - just like a newborn human baby! It was adorable to watch. Spoken like a true grandma, huh?

Less than a month old, Trudy’s filly is walking, running and bucking like a naughty bronco. The new horse has no name yet, but it will surely be as meaningful as her mother’s. After all, grandma believes she is already a winner.