As I entered the arena, the ginormous crowd of spectators hushed, and Mr. Morris barked over the megaphone for me to come closer—but not too close—to his golf cart.

The first order of business was inspecting my tack, and I nervously played back in my mind all the polishing and scrubbing, praying that I hadn't missed a single inch. I looked down at my boots and was shocked. How could I have not noticed getting a large splatter of mud up my left boot? And where the heck was my belt? I ALWAYS wear a belt.