Sunday morning on PBS at 9/8 Central, circa 2007: a young Allie sits six inches away from a 12" box TV at 5am Alaska Time, wearing pajamas and braids as "Hello World" sings through the speakers. I proudly owned all 108 Saddle Club books, and whichever episodes of the show that did not air on our somewhat ancient cable channel, I watched via slightly sketchy video recordings of likely some other horse girl's TV screen posted on the early ages of YouTube. With what was likely a now-cringy screen alias like "PrinceMyBaby" (don't hate, he was my baby), a 12 year-old Allie comments on one such video: "I am so jealous that they can just go out on hacks together whenever they want. I have lots of trails to ride on at home, and my trainer's big arena when we haul to lessons, but never any amazing hacks in open fields with friends and jumps like the Saddle Club gets to.”

For years of my childhood, I dreamed of rides beyond our ski trails, cantering and jumping fallen logs and trotting through water. One of Alaska's only (if not the only, at the time) cross-country setup was in the woods behind Anchorage's main equestrian center. When 4-H Horse Camp was held there one summer, I experienced just a glimpse of that Saddle Club dream as my friends and I cantered carefully down the narrow winding trail, over the several maintained obstacles on the simple course. As my very young, very stubborn, and very opinionated Curly pony soared over a coop that stood at least six inches above our record show ring height, ears pricked and raring for more, I knew that cross-country was our calling. Our infrequent trips to the equestrian center would find Prince and I out on the trails at every chance we could get. While our Alaskan Hunter/Jumper circuit was already more bustling than an outsider would think possible with our small population, eventing is not exactly a popular sport in a state that experiences eight months of winter. Prince and I would not get the chance to pursue these endeavors until arriving in Colorado several years later, where we would begin our eventing journey.

Even as years passed with a few scattered events, and as my physical and athletic growth began to require new, taller horses, I never fully achieved that unadulterated freedom we all witnessed on The Saddle Club. I took what I could get in terms of affordable equestrianism, and my next opportunity for free riding did not come until I was paired with my young, anxious, green warmblood mare with enough Opinions and Attitude for us both, over a decade since my journeys into the Alaskan forest. After two years of slow and steady progress with my fiery NightMare™, giving her all the time (and rehab from injuries) she required, I finally began to catch glimpses of this freedom I chased in my adolescence.

After a hectic Monday at work last week, I raced my ridiculous compact car across the valley to the Golden Spike Event Center for cross-country schooling; a beautiful venue at which said NightMare and I will be competing in two short weeks at our second-ever event together. As I sat astride my young, brave, crazy, brilliant little mare, breathing deeply for the first time that day while my barn owners cantered by on their own horses, our trainer directed me out onto the course, saying, "Alright, trot the princess out and just go over all of the baby jumps you find." The grassy, rolling infield course is packed with dozens of different types and sizes of gorgeous jumps, with amazing stretches of field between. The trees and landscaping somehow transport you to another realm in which you don't even realize that you are actually on a racetrack. For a moment, as we crossed the track to access another section of the course, I had a glimpse of the future that my 12-year-old self dreamed of as a beautifully-maintained water complex came into view. It's taken a decade of growing, working, saving, training, nurturing, and most of all patience, but I almost feel as if I could now tell my younger self, "Look. We're doing it. We're on our way. Just you wait.”