“Practice makes perfect, practice makes perfect, practice makes perfect.” This phrase: 3 words, 20 letters; has been embedded, driven, and forced into my brain since I was in Pampers, and has now met it’s match. Everything that I’d spend countless hours of blood, sweat, and tears on, has now come to reality, at this very moment, it is my turn.

As I look down the alley way everything is a blur. Thousands of competitors, spectators, and the two people who matter most; my parents, all there to watch me. The lights shine straight at me. The faint smells of hotdogs, hamburgers, and the usual manure smell that lingers around at rodeos, fill my lungs. Sweat beads down my face as dew does on a leaf after a rain. My stomach, filled with gut wrenching compressions, is now completely upside down. I look down at my horse, my companion, my best friend, and I see a sparkle of determination is his eyes. This moment, as big for him, as it is for me.

I hear the microphone feed squeal, and the obvious displeasure from the audience. Finally, I hear a deep, distinct man speak, “And now, Casey, who is coming in 1st”.

It’s my time. I give one last pat to my Ike, and send up a “thank you” to God. I apply pressure to Ike’s sides with my heels and he moves forward. With every step he takes my heart beat increases. “Could this moment really be here?”

I close my eyes and run through last minute details. “Sit down, look up, drive past.” As we approach the entry gate, these thoughts were rushing through my head. I see the gate man smile at me .

“Go get ‘em, cowgirl!” he says with much compassion.

As the gate swings open a loud uproar is made by the crowd. I focus in on the first barrel. The money barrel. The one that sets up my entire run. If it’s good and tight, I have a shot of winning. If not, I lose everything.

Finally, I’m off. With Ike’s increasing speed I squeeze tighter and tighter with my legs to ensure I don’t land in the dirt. I feel the swift sting of the air bouncing off of my cheeks. I am weightless on top of my favorite animal. The first barrel is now within ten feet of me and this is my checkpoint. I gently pull on my right rein to cue Ike to slow down and set up for the turn. He responds as so. I grip onto my saddle horn with all my might. This little piece of wood, no bigger than a twig, being the only thing that keeps me on as Ike rapidly turns a 360. After turning the first barrel with perfection it’s on to the second.

I hustle and drive Ike as hard as I can, asking him for every ounce of run he has. We fly to the second barrel and are there within a split second. Ike switches to his left lead. I feel his back end sliding. Dirt flying. The crowd cheering. That fifty gallon solid metal barrel within millimeters of my knee. I get half way around it and look to my third barrel, Ike finishes the rest of the turn with seconds to spare. I reach for my whip to pat him once on the rear, asking him for more speed. To my surprise he runs even harder. The distance to the third barrel is more than twice the length than that of the first and second barrel, so it’s crucial that I make Ike run as hard as he possibly can so he doesn’t hit the barrel. I am kicking and pushing him so hard that I am nearly out of breath by the time I reach it. I can feel Ike getting tired on me, but I keep telling him keep going, it’ll be worth it.

We approach the third barrel and I can tell we’re not set up for it correctly. Ike slows down too soon. His momentum isn’t going to carry him far enough. I am going to hit it. I can’t help but to lose all trust in him. I know he needs encouragement, but I have none to give.. All the blood, sweat, and tears spent at practice; worthless. My dreams; gone. My hopes, once set high, now dropping to an all time low. All in this split second, my world is changing.

As I was giving up, I suddenly felt a jolt from underneath me. Ike realizing the same thing I was, pushed on further just at the right moment. My knee scrapes the barrel the entire way around, and I can’t breathe. At that very moment I am not sure if I had blacked out from pain or overall excitement, all I know is that I am headed out of the arena as fast as my little bay boy can run and it’s all I can do not to jump off of him. Tears of joy are streaming down my face and my vision is blurred. One last time I reach for my whip and pat him on the rear. His ears perk up and he hits another gear. Faster we go. My horse, my companion, my best friend, my teammate, my other half, and me, nothing else matters.

That very run, on that very horse, made me who I am today. Ike taught me more in those fifteen seconds than any teacher could in twelve years. Respect, trust, and encouragement, is all you need to make a winning team. When you have a great teammate nothing else matters, and in the end, practice really does make perfect.