The faithful day
Oklahoma State Fairgrounds, Oklahoma City
Saturday, 9:47 AM
"Sometimes you bury the heartbreak so deep that only the win can unearth it."
– Unknown
***
The Oklahoma State Fairgrounds hit like a wall of noise and dust—arena dirt kicked up by nervous horses, funnel cake smoke drifting from striped tents. Leather conditioner mixed with hoof oil and manure. Funnel cake smoke drifted from striped tents. The announcer’s voice boomed, calling times that made my stomach clench.
I stood at the staging area, Bandit’s reins loose, watching the jumbotron.
15.8. 16.1. 15.9.
All fast. Faster than I’d ever run.
Regionals.
The word had lived in my head for a year, pulsing through every pre-dawn session, every blister, every run where Bandit and I pushed past exhaustion. This was it—the gateway to nationals. Proof that the abandoned baby left on a hospital step was enough.
I’d buried everything else to get here.
Pops was three days post-op in Tulsa, leg pinned and splinted. I’d sat beside him that first morning, his hand fragile in mine, promising through barely-held tears: I’ll win this. For you.
He’d squeezed back. “You go show ’em, kiddo.”
So I’d taken Elise’s check—the $15,000 lifeline I’d almost blown on surgery—and invested instead.
New boots. Custom Ariats, fitted like a second skin. New saddle, carbon fiber hybrid, balanced for speed. Competition-grade tack.
And hours. God, hours of drilling until my thighs burned and Bandit trembled. Running it in the dark, in the rain, until muscle memory took over and my brain could shut off.
Stop replaying that hospital call. Stop hearing Beau’s voice crack on I’m doing this because I lo— cut short by my own cowardice.
I didn’t think about Beau.
When I woke at 4 AM reaching across empty sheets, I rolled out and ran drills until sunrise. When my phone buzzed with Dallas numbers—twice Tuesday, once Wednesday, again Thursday—I let them ring. Deleted the voicemails unheard.
Bury it deep enough that maybe it would stop hurting.
“Win! There you are!”
Cassie jogged over, ponytail bouncing, wearing a shirt that read TEAM WINNIE in silver glitter. “You’re up in seventeen. How’re you feeling?”
“Fine.”
She stopped, studying my face. Her hand squeezed my arm. “Win. Real answer.”
I looked away, focusing on Bandit. He was keyed up, vibrating. “I’m fine, Cass. I have to be.”
She nodded. “Okay. But after you destroy this run? We’re talking.”
“Deal.” A lie.
“Also, Elise is having a meltdown.” She thrust her phone at me.
