Michaela waited for the gunshot that would signal the beginning of the race. Her Arabian mare, Athena, pawed at the ground but held her position.
They had been training together for this cross-country race for weeks, and now all that practice was going to pay off. She knew it as surely as Athena knew what to do when the gun went off. Michaela had scouted the route ahead of time so she would know every bend, every rise, every dip. These scenes flashed through her mind in succession. Her heart was already pounding.
BAM!
Horses leaped forward in a stampede of hoofbeats. “Go, Athena!” Michaela called, giving her one kick with her heels for emphasis. Athena moved into an opening in the ragged line of contestants.
Soon they had left town and moved into the open fields of the outskirts. Several hundred yards ahead, the racers would reach Winding River; the established course took them right through it and over the opposite bank. Michaela could see the ribbon of blue ahead as it reflected the clear sky.
As Michaela and Athena drew nearer the river, Michaela squinted to confirm what she thought she was seeing. Her brow furrowed. The river didn’t look right. Craning her neck forward, she realized what it was. Some rainstorms had passed through the area north of here this week, and the river had risen. It didn’t seem to be moving much faster than usual, so Michaela decided to continue on.
Fifty yards away, she could see other riders ahead and around her slowing to assess the situation. But in almost a split-second decision, Michaela kicked Athena hard and hollered loudly. Athena surged forward. They charged into the river, creating a massive burst of water. The river’s depth slowed them all too soon, but a glance back told Michaela that they had already moved fifteen yards in.
The waters rose halfway up the Arabian’s body; it soaked Michaela’s pants, and she could feel the wetness working its way down inside her boots. Athena fought the current; Michaela urged her on. The far bank slowly came closer. A short distance ahead, another horse and rider faltered and started to flag. To the right, another pair was moving downriver faster than they made forward progress. Eyes wide, Michaela tried to kick at Athena’s flanks, but the water prevented her. Athena’s head bobbed as she labored.
All competitors around them slowed to a crawl and were pulled downriver. Michaela and Athena pushed, pushed. Then, to Michaela’s dismay, clarity dawned on her. The higher waters meant that the river was also wider than it had been. They had farther to go than she had originally measured, fighting for every inch.
“Come on, Athena! You can do this! Fight! Let’s go!”
Athena stumbled a bit, and Michaela thought they were going under. But the Arabian righted herself and pressed on.
At last, the bank was within reach.
Michaela felt Athena start to give in to the pull of Winding River. But the bank was so close! Michaela managed one kick, water spraying everywhere, and punctuated it with a yell. Athena lurched forward and stretched her forelegs—and they hit solid ground.
Her breathing labored, nostrils flaring and snorting, Athena made it onto the bank and stopped. Michaela turned in the saddle and looked at the state of the race. Those being swept down the river were getting closer to the bank; they’d make it, but they would lose time getting back to the path. Others, noticing what Michaela had done, retraced their steps and then were entering the river at a gallop. Indeed, that had made all the difference.
“Good girl, good girl,” Michaela said to Athena, stroking and patting the Arabian’s neck. “You got your breath back? Okay good. Now let’s get going while we’re ahead.”
And off they went.
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