I left the last blog trying to give readers a picture as to how an international show can be. It was massively overwhelming for me, and literally a whirlwind of emotions, but the most important fact was that it left me feeling hungry; hungry for more. More experience, knowledge, success, failure and most importantly determination. This is somewhat something to be incredibly thankful for, as had I known how challenging Lummen could be I may have been a little more concerned. But the hopeless optimist that I am, always overrides any negativity, fear or doubt that may try to trespass my mind. It’s my strongest quality.

During the week between Bonheiden and Lummen, I had some serious work to do. I allowed myself that week to make alterations, and decisions with my horse, and bit/gear/training, in order to find something that was more suitable for him. Bonheiden had many positive aspects, but irrelevant of this, I did not want a repeat of some of the lesser points of the show. I happen to be quite good under pressure, and I knew what I had to do to make things work. After all, how shall we learn things not only about ourselves, but our horses if nothing ever goes wrong? That would be rather boring. After all, it is all well and good to be a perfectionist, but showjumping is about being realistic because, lets face it, it is impossible to be perfect – although obviously a substantial goal that is aimlessly followed in some small hope of coming close. Happy with how my horse worked during the week, I was extremely excited about arriving at Lummen, and beginning what was to be a big two weeks. I was told before Lummen, that although it is a fabulous show, we will however be provided with dust or mud. And boy, I have never seen so much mud…

As the navman directed us through the town of Lummen, we were 2.5km from the entrance of the showground when we were brought to a halt with traffic: 2.5km of horse trucks/floats and cars. Seriously. I had absolutely zero idea as to how big a show this is.  But very quickly I was to be shown. I intended on arriving to the show by 6.30, unpacking and having my horse settled by 8, so as I could then have a leisurely experience finding my way to the hotel and sorting out some dinner and wine after a long day. Those plans were quickly and dismissively shoved out the door, as 9.30 was approaching and I was trying to carry a few things, still from 1km down the road.  By the time I reached the entrance it was 10.

I had made my horse’s stable ready and put him in, so as I could then focus of my next challenge. My trunk. Now, most people are smart enough to have trunks that are willing to co-operate with them, hence making their life easier as opposed to harder… Unfortunately I am not one of those people. I am one of the idiots that has something, that even when empty, is challenging to move. Yes, it has wheels but they only go forwards and backwards, not from side to side. So, any movement you would like to achieve that does not involve proceeding in a straight line is almost fatal.  I did think I was quite the intellect turning up to the show, already in gumboots (little cute ones that sit just above my ankles) But, at the end of my affair with my trunk and the mud I was actually knee deep in some dirt/water mix, and thinking my second idiotic move was purchasing the cute little gumboots as opposed to the big, oversized and ugly black ones that are worn by plumbers. Shame on me.

So, I had approximately 250m to push the mother of a trunk. And it took me precisely 97 minutes. 97 minutes with many abusive slurs, much kicking, punching, pleading and pushing. And about 200 bystanders, who chose not to help. What a surprise. You may think it is not possible to have a verbal disagreement with a trunk. It is. That night I screamed every profanity imaginable at that trunk, and sure enough it did not help the situation, but made me feel remarkably better. I finally made it to my stable. And parked it. Realising I had forgotten my padlock, I thought honestly, if someone wants to steal my trunk, and has the ability to do so then good bloody riddance.

At the end of this ordeal, I looked at my watch only to realise that it was just about midnight. Being the organised individual I am, I proceeded to call the Taxi number I had saved prior to arrival to make events run as smoothly as possible. No answer. That’s strange for a taxi company I thought, anyhow I’ll call the hotel, they will assist in helping me. After a brief conversation with the concierge who was useless, to say the very least, I was informed that It ‘is not possible’ to get a taxi in Lummen after 10pm, on any given night other than Friday or Saturday.  To which I hung up on him. Not at all worried, I thought I’ll stroll over to the office because, for sure they were going to take pity on a little Australian girl, covered almost head to toe in mud, looking for a lift 8.7km down the road to her bed at 1am. No sympathy, and no lift. Awesome.

So, I made my way back to my stable. Unpacked my spare rugs, and lay in the corner of my stable, next to dizzy, on a bed of straw.  It was 4 degrees, and the ground was not warm, but I made the most of my quality time with my horse who was kind enough not to dismember me during the night. At one point my parents called, worried of course, and said they would feel much more comfortable if I at least slept in front of my stable, to which I answered, ‘ these Europeans already think I am strange enough for smiling and being friendly and somewhat social, let alone what they are going to think of me when they rock up to feed tomorrow morning, and there is a muddy, homeless looking individual wrapped in a horse blanket in front of a stable attempting to be somewhat a professional rider – over my dead body!’  Besides, the straw was warmer than the earth. It’s mere logic, and I attempted to get a few hours sleep before the first day. I wish I had a picture of my state the next morning, it was purely priceless. I walked to the toilets to get changed and wash my face, only to see a dirt stained individual with hair full of straw. I am so attractive. Anyways after four cups of coffee, I was ready to get my riding started…

Dizzy slept wonderfully, and was fresh and ready for the first day. He warmed up well and jumped around with one down, which I was pleased with. The arenas at Lummen are all excessively large and intimidating. There is one of just grass, but that incorporates trees etc, And then there is one that is half sand arena and half grass, which I have never seen. It is quite different as you literally cross from one surface to the next, which can add to the spookiness of the atmosphere, but it rides remarkably well. Then there is the derby arena, which is nicknamed the mini-Aachen. It is massive. One of the most fabulous arenas I have seen. It includes natural fences, numerous in-ground and above-ground waters, beautiful ground and incredible gear. I was lucky to ride in all arenas during both shows, and it was a wonderful experience. Dizzy was consistent all show, jumping a few rounds on just time, plus some with one and two down. Learning how to jump open water was an extremely positive experience for him, which was one of my top goals and I was extremely proud of him to have survived both. Not an easy show to give a green horse miles at, but in saying so, I think will only benefit him as he has matured drastically in a short period of time, and I figure it will all aid in allowing him to get better and more confident.

After a tough start to the show it turned out to be a wonderful experience. My horse jumped super, the mud eventuated into more fun than not, I was able to spend the show watching marvelous riders and horses, give my horse the time he needs to learn, talk ‘stralian‘ with fellow Aussies that had also competed there. It was made abundantly clear, that it had been an Australian affair for myself, as when I returned to work, not a single person could understand my accent, which was stronger than ever. This made me happy. After having been to a couple bigger shows now, and meeting people from across the world it only reiterates my love for being Australian. There is not a single country nor place that I would rather be from. And as I stated to a friend, Europe may take everything from you but it will never take my colour… I will never be a shade of grey, someone who doesn’t help, doesn’t say hello, doesn’t smile, laugh or befriend random people. And I would not have it any other way.

Having been here, following my dreams I subsequently missed two events that are close to my heart. Anzac day, the one day a year that makes Australians unite in order to say thank you to those that served and gave their life, dreams, and love in order to give us the ability to have a chance at ours. I am thankful from across the ocean, to those that have given me, past and present, the opportunity to live as I want and to follow the dreams that I love. The second event was the birthday, of a very special person. The rock in my life, the support crew, the tough love, hard critic, full of passion, driven, caring, generous individual being my Father. A very big part of why I am strong enough to be the person I am, the one who knows when I need some sympathetic words, or a kick up the butt, the one that is always there (along with mum), always telling me how proud he is. Happy 50th Birthday to this man, who continues to work out of love for our sport, has a soft soul and a big heart, always helping the underdog and those in need. As it is needless to say, we are all so very proud of you… And what an amazing half-century…

Cheers to the next…

Hails

Photos: Toni Scattergood

It can be said that life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, but about learning to dance in the rain. This, I believe is turning into possibly one of the truest things to be said.  For I am indeed discovering that nothing is as easy as it seems, and everything is harder than it appears. I do intend to make this blog a little more light hearted, after receiving an abundance of feedback, with the central theme appearing to be ‘crying in public’, which was never my intention. So to those of my dear friends, who I have made a fool of from the other side of the world, I am partially sorry. And partially humoured, at the idea of your awkward crying experiences. I too this month, have been subjected to numerous emotions and feelings derived from my everyday experiences, challenges and aspirations leading up to my first International Show. It has been a month of eye opening experiences and learning curves that appear to be never-ending.

Firstly, for those who have never been to/competed in Europe, it may be difficult to understand or comprehend what/how/is an International Show.  For this you should not feel naïve, as I have lived and breathed the horse world from birth, and this entire experience has been incredibly overwhelming for me. As I literally have had zero idea or interpretation as to how these events are carried out.  I have in the process learnt many vital life lessons such as the following:

- You MUST have a wheelbarrow.

-  A trunk is always the answer

-  Never rely on anyone.

-  Do not expect help, sympathy, or any other general emotion from people, even when alone and (clearly) struggling.

And…

- The bar is open from 10am.

The last point happens to be the most important, as all emotions that people are inhibited by throughout the show, are proven at the bar. Both good and bad.

Arriving at Bonheiden, I was quickly made to realise just how difficult it can be on your own. It is a blur of people, horses, lorries (this is my European lingo emerging), directors, stables, tents, grooms, riders and many other species, all trying to quickly find their position for the show and proceed to unpack. Which is where I encounted my first problem…

Apparently, there is a reason everyone has not only a trunk, but one of those things you hang on your stable door/front that is made up of pockets… this is because there is absolutely nowhere to put your gear. Something I had not thought of. So after paying the transport driver an obscene amount of money to drive me the 1 hour and 20 minutes to the show, where he then parked a solid kilometre from the stables, and took great pleasure in watching me make the treck with my monster of a ‘basket’ of gear to tent 9 (the last one of course), I was unamused at the idea of having to then find where exactly to put all of my tack, as it appeared that it’s not the done thing to leave it out the front. It’s not Australia, as I was kindly reminded.

The first day was consumed by finding my feet, the vet check, which is mandatory for every horse, collecting my shavings, working my horse, and then “inscribing” or entering as we know it, for my classes the following day.  Possibly the only benefit of being Australian is that it is very easy to find your name in order of country, as at this show I was the only one.

Day two welcomed us with sunshine and clear skies, and I was optimistic and excited to get in the ring. Something that you gain expertise in when alone, is being somewhat organised. I would usually be regarded as a very laid back individual, unfazed by nerves or anxiety. In fact my parents have said on occasions that perhaps I could try to be a little more ‘nervous’ so as I seem to be partaking in some mode of concentration.  And so I was, organised, that is.

Being given an early draw is always my preference, I generally choose not to watch others before me, as for some reason I don’t like to be influenced by the choices they make on their horses around the course. I like to as much as possible rely on my own ‘gut feeling’ and knowledge of my horse, to ride lines and distances how I know I should. But in saying this, when you have no one to hold your horse, help at the fence, give you a leg up, translate what number they are up to or help make adjustments, I can see how later draws can be favourable. But, I managed to have myself ready, warmed up, in the ring on time, and jump around with four faults.  Perfect start to the show in my mind.

Day Three and I was ready for a step up in classes, a tougher track and to let a little bit of the ‘fight’ out in me, as my Dad would say. Here, at Internationals, whatever height is written for the class, is an absolute true representation of what they will build, start to finish.  I am only in the medium tour (1.30-1.35m) which may not sound so big, but on a young horse, and built as it says, it can be tough enough. I finished with two down, which was remarkably good considering there was but only a handful of clean rounds jumped, which surprised me.

I was very pleased, my horse felt confident, was jumping well and was ready for a further step up for the final day. After inscribing for the fourth day, I proceeded to head to the bar and attempt to make some friends. Europeans are quite serious, and not so willing to go out of their way at first, but after a bit of time, and a bit of wine, I had managed to become someone more than ‘that Australian girl’. Which was quite nice.

Day Four. The final day, and the one I was most excited for. I was eager to test my horse, he had continually improved and I had a good feeling about the final day.

Before I continue, I must point out that generally people shall never talk about a problem, because 20% of people do not care, and 80% of people are glad you have it.  So, in my honest state, I will give you the most genuine picture painted of my final class.

Big, a little intimidating, and what looked to be a lot of fun. I started my round. My horse felt like he was jumping incredibly well, best he had felt. All was super as I approached the last line away from the in-gate, thinking ‘wow, I may jump a clear round’, slightly relieved, I approached the vertical where I felt the connection from my hand to the bit change, and I knew his tongue was over. We jumped the fence and proceeded down the curved line to the last combination, trying to ride merely of my rhythm and eye, as there was not exactly any other option.  And then, as I am one stride too far away, I am all of a sudden on the ground.

Yep. On the ground, in front of everyone, at my first international. Awesome.

This is possibly the point in time, when you are supposed to have a crying moment.  Humiliated, embarrassed and disappointed. But hey, it happens. So, I picked myself up, collected my horse, and walked to the in gate, where the commentator threw me a look of ‘are you ok?’, I shrugged my shoulders, smiled and said S*%# happens.  He broke into laughter and said, ‘Gee they really do make Australians different’.  To which I could only agree.

So to many people that have ever doubted my resilience, dedication, love for my sport. To anyone that has called me spoilt, weak or a princess, this surely has to be some form of acknowledgement that I am none of the above. For how many of you, could get driven at your first international show, and have the ability to laugh about it.

Be careful as to kick me when I am down, for when I get back up, you are going to be in trouble.

The next step being the dreaded phone call to your parents. The people who wait in bated breath to hear that you’re doing ok, and preferably not falling off.  The people who love and support your dream, the people you live off, even though you are 23 years old, and most people your age have ‘real’ jobs, houses, cars, and money, and the people that want nothing more than for you to achieve your best. That phone call is the worst. But, in true Coman spirit, they are nothing but positive, and understanding at the idea that these things really do happen, and that horses are the one thing in this world that make sure your feet and/or other body parts, are planted firmly on the ground.

Besides, I nearly jumped a clean round.

So as I stated at the beginning, learning to dance in the rain is becoming a certain specialty of mine, but at least it is keeping things interesting. After all of this I know that, today I may be no one, nor tomorrow, but one day; I am going to be someone.

Next stop on Hayley’s train of entertainment. Lummen…

They say that it is always darkest before the dawn, and finally the winter has passed. I am ecstatic to report that the weather has started to improve and that the sun is even making some cautious, yet hopeful visits. I have officially survived my first European winter, and to be honest – thank God it is over! I must say, looking back my optimism was quite favourable, and to a certain extent I think my character may have shone through a little, with being able to let go of the bad days and always look forward to the good; because to be fair, there has been many of both.

At the end of this month I will be approaching my six-month anniversary from leaving home. Time really does fly, not necessarily when you are ’having fun’ but more, when you are persevering through each day, anxious for the moment when aspects of your life – your horses – start to improve. Through my so-called journey, I have not really experienced feelings of ‘home sickness’ and when people, many people start commenting on the idea that I must be missing home, I, of course agree that I miss my family, my friends, chooky, the weather (even in Victoria), speaking the language, pubs, Easymac and Cadbury, but I had not at one point felt overwhelmed by the idea that while I was here, living my life, that everything at home – time, people, relationships – were changing, forming, disappearing and being found.  For some reason, I had become so entwined in my own experiences, challenges and general life, which I had failed to acknowledge and see that time does not stand still, and to quite an extent, I was so far out of the ‘loop’.

And I did not like it.

For some peculiar reason, I was warming up in the practice area for a show, when I could feel something in the pocket of my jacket. I stopped, opened the zipper and retrieved a small, shiny two-dollar coin. And, in the middle of the practice area, surrounded by numerous horses, people and general spectators, was literally reduced to tears. Even that makes it sound more attractive than what it was, and for those that know me well, I am by no means a pretty crier. I was a blubbering mess, alone, on the other side of the world from the most important people in my life, and all I wanted to do was hug someone. Anyone. But to be fair, Europeans are not exactly the ‘hugging’, throw your arms around someone, kind of race. More so, they have a sense of awkwardness and an uncomfortable nature towards the idea that someone is… crying. After a few minutes, I re-gathered myself, continued warming up, jumped clear in the 1.30m class, and then packed up, and drove home; as you may have guessed, alone. And for an entire week I was somewhat of an emotional wreck. I do feel a lot of sorrow for my horse Dizzy, as many-a-time I sat in the corner of his stable, balling, only for him to nudge at my leg as if to say, ‘what the hell are you doing down there?’ It was an interesting week to say the least. I am putting it down to character building, for at least then I sound somewhat productive for my useless state of emotional madness.

Something we definitely take for granted at home is the attitude; the love, kindness, support, friendly, beautiful network of people that make unusual yet lifetime connections in the showjumping world. It is irrelevant as to the clothes you have, whether you’re up to date with the ‘Kingsland’ line of fashion, the expensive horses, the ridiculous trucks and obscene amount of money that can be won, consumed and lost. People are genuine. There is a certain sense of Australian spirit that stands out from all, and that in itself is simple. If someone needs a hand, a fence put up, a horse held, a leg up, to borrow a jacket, catch a lift, an IOU, a rum after a long day… you just do whatever it is that needs to be done. This, I have realised, does not translate across oceans, and this is indeed something that I miss dearly. In saying all of the above, I am a stubborn individual to say the least and at the end of the day I would rather be walking in circles trying to find a solution, than standing stationary – giving up… And so I keep going.

I am lucky to have a horse that is special, jumping well, continuing to improve and in a sense looking after me; who is being someone I can trust, turn to, cry to, laugh to and feel a sense of companionship with, and I would not trade that for the world. I have to say, that for a 23-year-old, I have been lucky to travel many parts of the world, meet fascinating people, see amazing sights, cities and cultures, experience love, happiness, inspiration for people and horses, and be lucky enough to have a wonderful support group. In saying this, there are many places in this world I do not feel at ease, but when I canter into the ring, regardless of whether anyone there knows me or supports me, I know I am home. And that is the most significant feeling of all.

On a related topic, the end of next month is also the beginning of an extremely exciting and enthralling time for a handful of Australian riders, as the selection trials for the Olympic Games of our present year commence. What an incredible time it shall be, not only for the importance and possibilities of the dreams and aspirations of individuals being lived out before our very eyes, but that once again we continue to have a higher number of riders that are capable, and very much competitive in being able to be selected for such a team. I do not at all want to be involved in the dreaded politics, that are always lingering around such events and decisions, but would merely like to offer a little advice to any fellow Australian following these individuals and results: Be Supportive. Place yourself in the shoes of someone trying to achieve the dream of ‘their’ lifetime, leave personal opinions, negativity, discrepancies, and grudges aside, and support those that are gutsy enough to try and reach their goals. Because at the end of the day, personal opinions, whether good nor bad, are not what makes someone capable of getting the job done at the Olympic Games. Courage, determination, strength and a love for wanting to do your country, our southern cross, proud, is what shines through. And I have nothing but total admiration for those that follow their hearts, and go against the odds, to show the world that Australians really can ride.

A huge good luck to all,

Hails

I left last month’s blog on a description of what it is like to be a rider competing at the lower level shows, in classes from 1.20-1.35m and working your way up, from the bottom. Literally. Since last writing I have been to more shows, and with time, it all seems to be getting a little easier.

I find it quite interesting that at home we are often criticised and make critique of the standard of the riders at small to large shows. Bear in mind, I mean purely the riders, not the horses they are sitting on. More often than not, the conclusion is drawn that the level of professionalism, style and grace needs to be better executed in order for Australian riders to have more resemblance to Europeans. I wanted to point out a small but noteworthy observation: excluding the biggest shows in Europe and the top 25-50 riders in the world, the normal, everyday riders in Europe are surprisingly basic. There is kicking, yanking, legs flying, pushing, pulling, and reins that are so long they could be tied around the body of the rider; somewhat different to the ‘perfect picture’ we create in our minds to refer to every rider that is from some part of Europe. I am not saying that we do not need to improve, as this would be somewhat ignorant, but we on a general scale are actually remarkably good. I have been exceptionally happy with my horse Zidane, who has been jumping clean rounds, and within time. I will continue to potter along with him until next month where I will have some starts at bigger shows.

It has also been a very different experience for me, being the outsider, the one that no one knows, the ‘random’ from ‘some’ country, the little girl that is trying to catch that small vertical before it goes up to 1.40m (you would be surprised how hard this is to do). I am not meaning to sound arrogant, but I come from a family that is very well known to the showjumping world. I have unbelievably talented parents who have both succeeded at the top of their sport, and are renowned for how masterful they are. This brings many a good opportunity as their wealth of knowledge flows to me and I instantly have an advantage over others that may not come from a horse background. But, it also brings a certain pressure and a lot of judgement, which whether you like it or not, is usually negative. I am not complaining at all, but our sport can be tough enough without the endless remarks about your riding, your position, the fact that you clearly cannot be talented because your dad obviously fixes all your horses, with you being able to just step on and succeed, whilst reaping the benefits. The fact that the only reason you were picked for a team or accepted into a show, was because of what your last name is… That all your horses must be easy, uncomplicated and perfect, and the shocking idea that you had a ‘Giant’ miss.

People do not see the hours of work and dedication you put in, the good rounds, the transformation of horses, the teams you were not selected for and the shows you did not get into. People only remember the bad over the good. So with this, it is somewhat nice to be absolutely no one. There is no pressure, no one watching, judging and waiting for you to make a mistake. But instead there are people that notice when you ride a good round and see that you are in some small way continuing to improve. In some of my experiences people at home seem to be waiting for you to make a mistake, simply so they can feel the need to point it out to you. “Really, I had no idea that I was two metres too far away from that oxer, and as a result was driven into the top rail,” slips into my mind… Unfortunately, to the disgust of many people, we all make mistakes, and I have certainly made a lot. Life would be boring without them.

I heard an interesting quote yesterday:

“If you do not plan to be present during my struggle, do not expect to be there during my success.”

It very much hit home for me, as I was reminded of the wonderful people who support me from the bottom – hopefully to the top. So far my European dream has claimed: eight kilos, many the sleepless night, stress, relationships, friendships, horses, all of my money and my home. But, sometimes you need to have a little faith that one day, it will all be worth it.

On my final note for this blog:

This month saw the passing of one of the most wonderful women known. I wanted to share a few words, and only a few as there is no single amount that can be written on paper, in order to do her life and herself, justice. Binnie Barclay: a beautiful individual who exuded such kindness and love. An honour to have known, and a lady that touched so many hearts within the equestrian and showjumping community. To her children, although nothing can be said to lessen your tragic loss, may you be able to find some small comfort in knowing how many people admired, and truly loved her. It was only made too clear, of the absolute love and pride she had for you all, with just the mention of your names bringing a light to her face. So it is with heavy hearts and deepest sympathies that we farewell another treasure that was taken far too soon, but Binnie, you were spectacular.

Hails X

Since writing my first blog I have received feedback (which was lovely whether positive or negative, due to the fact that either way someone had gone to the effort of reading it) and was thoroughly pleased with the idea that readers seemed to appreciate a point of view that was quite honest. Totally honest in fact. With this follow up there are a few subjects I wish to discuss, and offer my opinions and also experiences on, for further certain conversations to be stirred.

Firstly, I wanted to mention the idea, and certain aura that surrounds the many perceptions of riders that have chosen to be based in Europe for whatever reason, usually to further their career. I have noticed a growing trend, and perhaps ‘band-wagon’ notion, that involves people within Australia that seem to have a certain attitude towards riders that have been here, stayed here, and succeeded here.  Many people’s opinions seem to always fall back onto the concept of money, and, that some riders have only succeeded due to the result of how much money they have or have not paid for a horse. I say ’have not’ as nine times out of ten, the figure that is most talked about is the one that always comes from the last round of chinese whispers, and is usually grossly exaggerated. It seems a little petty, and perhaps ignorant for anyone to think, that someone can genuinely succeed only due to the fact that they are on a horse that they have paid X amount for, as most people, when you stop and think about it, would agree that it is almost impossible for someone to rely so heavily on just the horse’s ability. Perhaps this could be demonstrated simply by walking a course from The GCT, WEG or Olympics. This might put it into perspective I suspect… Personally, I think we as a nation need to support our riders to the most full extent; domestic and internationally based riders.

Instead of subjecting ourselves to emotions of jealously, fear and negativity, instead use those in a way that is going to help our sport grow and flourish so that one day, riders can make a career within their own country, and be sufficiently prepared, and equipped for the biggest events in the world, simply by what we jump on our own shores.

We need to use people like the famous Edwina, to promote our sport WITHIN Australia, to show that it can be rich, prestigious, and something worth dreaming of, as opposed to just trying to make ends meet, which I am not at all criticizing as I also know exactly how that feels. Also, there is an idea that, those riders based here, who are not jumping in the classes seen on TV, are perhaps not doing so much; when really they are jumping at 3,4 and 5* shows, weekend in and weekend out, earning their way to the top. Sometimes we need to give more credit, where credit is rightfully due.

Also, like in many sports, there are so many people who go unmentioned. The backbone of riders: the support crew. The ones helping with stress, nerves, and absolute meltdowns, which all riders face at one point or other. The ones picking up the pieces of broken dreams, horses, bones, confidence and all else that can be shattered. And then helping to rebuild, from the ground up. Usually out of the mere love for this certain person, and a heart big enough to sacrifice their own needs, wants and life to a certain degree in order to support them. For me, this is my parents; the two people in this world who love me enough to allow me to dream as large as I can dream. Working relentlessly, simply to be able to support my idea of what success could be. I felt the need to mention them, as not always do we remember to, and it is important to acknowledge that none of this would be even ‘dreamworthy’ without them. So, thank you.

Since my last blog I have also had my first outings and shows, upon a horse that is mine (well, technically Mum and Dad’s), but nonetheless, ours.  Shows. Are. Tough. Without having the introduction of such a large scale of competitiveness at home, it is crazy how many good horses and good riders there are.  People are relatively friendly, depending on where you are and what nationality they assume you to be. But, being on your own is difficult. At home, I have no issue driving our truck, with a full load of horses, to any destination within the country. But it was different with my first outing in a “horse van/ mini-lorry”, with my one horse, driving internationally to a small show in -5 degrees, arriving, viewing the start list of 160 horses, just within my class, tacking up – within my van, getting on, warming up indoors with 40-odd horses, and then listening ever so carefully for your name to be called in whatever strange pronunciation it is appearing in, then entering the ring in front of more people than we can gather at a World Cup show and starting your round; I was slightly terrified. But all was well, and I was incredibly relieved that it was over and done with. Then I packed up, drove the two and a half hours home, unloaded, unpacked, redelivered my van from where I had hired it, and was back in bed by two, up and ready to start work at six. And so the cycle continues.

I think it may take me some time in order to feel ’at home’ in the ring here. But, ever the optimist, seeing that very tiny light is enough to keep me persisting.

And so I conclude this blog from my warm little apartment, sheltering myself from the -20 temperature that awaits me at work in the morning, with my packet pasta, Home and Away spoken in Flemish, constant list of ‘things to do’ running through my mind, bills to be paid, emails to be done and horses to figure out.

And I will Figure it out.

Until Next Time…

Hails

My name is Hayley Coman, I am 23 and currently working and riding for Henk Nooren in Belgium. As many of you are unable to have opportunities such as this, I thought I might be able to give you a small thrill as to the happenings of one of the most prestigious and influential stables in the world. Home of so many elite riders including the likes of Penelope Leprevost, Kevin Staut, Michelle Robert, Olivier Gullion, and many more from numerous countries and backrounds. Being a mere little Australian girl, unassuming in many ways, I was overwhelmed to say the least, when I first discovered and was introduced to riders of this calibre, as to me, similar to most; they have only existed on Eurosport.

Me with Kevin Staut

Now having come back for my second time, I have appeared to have settled in a little more comfortably, or at least have devised a way to hide my nerves when in the company of such amazing riders. Attines, is the home of the infamous Henk Nooren, Dutch born, and trainer of the French Team. Henk has established one of the most solid and respected reputations for not only his own style and achievements as a rider, but for his unique and talented ability to transform both horses and riders in a sense that allows them to reach their peak. With style and a sense of cool, this one man has managed to turn around countries, horses and riders who had disappeared under the radar, to being on top and at number one: his name holding such value and significance within the horse business throughout the world.

Along with Henk is his wonderful team including wife Nicole, daughters Billy, Tess and Lisa along with all the horses, dogs, cats and two sheep. Set amongst the beautiful hills of Engis, Belgium, the property stands with imposing yet magnificent structure, with world class facilities and only the best provided to both horses and riders based here.

Having been brought up with an incredibly ‘horsey’ family, I thought that nothing could surprise me. It is places like this that make you realise that you are a very, very tiny fish in not a large pond, but an ocean! Having travelled overseas many times and never felt nervous, moving here, on my own, with only the money I have in my bank account, and a suitcase full or clothes and memories from home, has been difficult to say the least. Having full realisation that most riders would kill for this opportunity, I am indeed very thankful to say the least, but this only adds to the pressure you naturally put on yourself. Any rider who has done what I am doing, may or may not admit just how tough it is, and there is a common misperception in Australia, that the Europeans have it easy as it is all at their doorstep. This is in fact wrong, yes they have access to however many countries, shows, and horses but… they work harder than you can imagine. With a will and a very strong desire to succeed. The days are long, the conditions are challenging and the obstacles are countless, but I too am one of the fools, who can see the near invincible light at the end of the tunnel. This is the reason you get up every day, and the reason you take every obstacle with a certain amount of grace, but also an internal fight, that makes you want to keep going.

My new horse, JSH Zidane

I think many Australians who have based themselves in Europe would find similarities in the idea that you almost have to allow yourself to be a little arrogant, a little willing to brush off any negativity or intimidation you may succumb to as otherwise it will consume you. You must learn to feel like you deserve to be here, even though your mind is telling you you’re crazy, you learn to be tough, very tough and to work very hard. You expect nothing but perfection and take criticism without anger or stubbornness and very much listen to all the things you are told, but in a sense that doesn’t make you believe in yourself any less. You will have people at home, speaking harshly out of their own fear to at least try such a dream as they are too scared of failing, you will have people who do not support you, think you’re useless, untalented, wasting your time, money, sanity and to all of this you have to be able to say ‘fair enough’. And then continue on with your day.

Slightly different weather in Belgium compared to Australia's summer...

Henk Nooren’s stable is the central of the horse world within Europe, I plan to continue on this journey with its many downs and few ups. But these ups are what keep you going, day after day. I may have doubted my ability, talent and skills at one point, every rider does, but I have never doubted my will to succeed and my ability to work harder than anyone else to get there. This is the first part of my story, hopefully there will be more…

Hayley

Jumping the World Cup at SIEC back home in Australia on Just Lately