To the seniors,

This is it. You finally made it. It’s your senior year and I know that for the most part, you can’t wait to be done with high school so you can move onto bigger and better and things. Maybe you’re moving on to college rodeo or even the other circuits, and in a few months you’ll be running or riding in the real world and chasing your dreams, and leaving behind the starting point you thought would never get you anywhere. Or maybe, some of you are like me, and when your senior year of high school rodeo comes to end, so does your rodeo career. Whether you’re continuing on the rodeo road, or saying goodbye to that chapter of your life forever, when your high school rodeo career ends, this is what it feels like, and make sure you take it all in and don’t take a single second of it for granted.

When the seasons starts, you show up to the arena you’ve competed at for the last four years like you own this place. This is your year, and no one is going to stop you from walking out of here with a legacy and as a champion. You walk around with the friends that have become your family on the weekends and you eat the really unhealthy but somewhat delicious concession stand food while you patiently wait for your event. Then your event comes around and you make your run, and you hear the announcer call out your name for the last first time. You don’t think much of it now; the season just started. You’re just getting started.

The weeks pass by and you’ve had a few bad runs among a lot of great ones. You’ve come out of the arena cheering a few times over a great run you didn’t think you had left in you, and then other weekends, you’ve come out of the arena angry at the world for the barrel you blew and the poles you demolished. In that moment, that hit pole is the end of the world. In that moment, nothing else matters but how much that one bad run is going to change the end of the year standings.

Suddenly the second half of the season is kicking off, and you’re in the car with your family with the horse trailer in tow, and for a split second you realize that you’re in your final stretch- this is the second half of your last rodeo season ever. This is it, your last chance. Your final countdown. It feels bittersweet for a moment, but before you know it, you’re running up that alleyway and you hear your friends urging you on and suddenly it doesn’t matter that pretty soon, it won’t be like this anymore; it’s like this now, and it’s going to last a lifetime.

A few weeks later your rodeo team is hosting their hometown rodeo, and it hits you as you stand in the alleyway, looking out at the arena, that you’ll probably never run in your hometown again. Suddenly all of your favorite memories of your hometown rodeos flash through your mind like a movie sequence, and you find yourself wanting time to stop. Nothing compares to the one weekend out of the year that your team hosts a rodeo in your hometown. It’s stressful and messy and everyone works hard and is exhausted by the end of it, but every second is memorable and every precious moment with your team is irreplaceable. Once the eventful weekend gets started, the thought that you’ll never do this again slips from your mind, and you find yourself laughing with your friends while you sit the arena to set the barrels and poles. Moments like this last a lifetime, right? Then suddenly, the weekend ends. You made your final run in your hometown, the stands are empty, and the stock is gone. That moment you thought would last a lifetime will never happen again. For a second, you feel sadness creeping into your chest, but it quickly subsides when you remember that 3 more months still await you; it’s not over yet.

The next thing you know, it’s the middle of April. Three more rodeos remain until the finals. Your class already voted on the senior song to be played in the Seniors’ Last Ride at the finals and you almost can’t fathom that this year, you’re the one that will enter the arena with roses in your hand and sadness in your heart. This year, you’ll be the one sent off to “bigger and better things” even though it’s hard to believe that anything could top the high school rodeo days. You make your run that day and look up at the timer for an extra split second, taking it in. It’s not over yet.

Without warning, the first weekend of May rolls around and you find yourself fighting back tears as you throw your saddle in the trailer for the final time. You thought it would last a lifetime, but it didn’t and in a few short hours, you’ll run up the alleyway of the arena that has been your home for the last 4 years for the final time. You only made the finals in one of your events, so after you make this run tonight, it’s all over for you in your other event. You show up to the rodeo, and your mother pins your back number on your shirt one last time and you find yourself remembering the day they handed you your first back number and you were so excited because it made you feel so official. You blinked and now, you would never wear it again. You walk up to the arena with your horse in tow and take a second to take it all in. You’ll never warm up in this arena again, and you’ll never do another grand entry. You’ll never again come out of that arena mad as hell and walk laps around the parking lot on your horse until you calm enough to not scream at someone if they bring up the fourth pole you’ve hit in a month in conversation. You’ll never again come out of that arena crying because you broke your personal record again and you never thought you could do that. Memories flash through your mind on repeat- the good and the bad, and the ones you thought you forgot. You remember laughing with your friends and you remember the first run you ever made- you know the one where you almost fell off in poles because you misjudged how much speed your horse would get up before you make the first turn. You’ll remember all the times your horse almost killed you before you made a run, because barrel horses are crazy and at the time, that seemed like the end of the world but now it’s not; it’s a moment you’ll never forget. You’re remembering the day you found out you made the finals for the first time and you’re remembering the day you found out your horse was up for horse of the year and you cried because the biggest honor you ever received was just to be nominated. How did it end so fast? You had a lifetime.

Night has fallen and you’re in the alleyway with your mom and tears are streaming down your face as you prepare to make your last barrel run, ever. You look around, taking it all in. This is it. The announcer calls your name one last time and you never forget the sound of your name bellowing through the speakers. Your horse takes off and 16.2 seconds later, you’re crossing the timers and you’re screaming, laughing and crying. You ran your personal best time in your last rodeo ever, and every emotion is running through your veins- excitement, sadness, pride, you name it. The next thing you know, you’re surrounded by your friends and they’re pulling you off your horse and they’re as excited as you are. You take it all in.

The night ends and you find yourself staring at the empty arena with tears streaming down your face. This isn’t home anymore; it’s just a place that holds your best memories. You pull yourself together with the reminder that finals is in two weeks, and at least you get to run one of your events there.

Finals week comes around and it’s bittersweet when at the finals banquet, they tell the seniors to stand up and you all look around at each other. “May you remember your high school rodeo days as being great, but may every day ahead of you be better than all of the days you had here.” In your heart, while you know wonderful days are ahead, you know that there will never be another day like the ones you had here. The weekend comes around, and the pressure is on to make the best runs you can. You're at the coliseum, not the regular old high school pen you've grown to love over the last few years. You feel like hotshot, just like you do every year at the finals because you're running up the same alley the pros have run up before. The first day of finals comes to an end, and you try not to think that tomorrow ends the life you’ve cherished for the last 4 years. The next morning, the rodeo staff is handing you roses and every one of your classmates is lined up in the alleyway and our parents are all awaiting us in the arena. You’ve watched this moment unfold 3 times in the last four years, but you never really imagined when it would be you. You think you’re going to hold it together, but then crowd starts moving up the alleyway and you break. Tears stream down your face and before you know it, your parents are standing beside you in that arena with the roses in their hands. You thought you had a lifetime until this moment. You were wrong.

As you lope your horse around the arena with your class, you take in every second of what that moment is and what it means. It’s the end of an era, but this moment is real and it’s happening, and it’s every kind of beautiful and bittersweet. Too soon, the song ends and you exit the arena. One run left.

Before you make that final run, you and all of your fellow competitors stand in a circle on your horses, hold hands, and pray and in that second, you know exactly why this sport has meant everything to you over the last 4 years- because it is a sport that promotes values like this, and those values will last a lifetime. They call your name for the last time, and shockingly, you aren’t crying. You make that final turn and you hear your friends and family screaming from the stands. “Go on.” “Make it count,” “Get her out of there.” “Get up and ride.” “This is it.” You take in the way it feels to have your horse pounding underneath of you and you urge her on. You pass the timers and it stops. The world around you seems to go silent. You look up at that timer and you breathe in. For a split second, everything is still. The world around you remains in motion, but you, who you are in that moment, and what that moment meant remains frozen in time. They say moments like that are the moments that define us, and I firmly believe that they’re right; those are the moments you don’t forget. Those are the moments that last a lifetime.

You walk out of the alley that day as a “has been.” You’re no longer a rodeo athlete. The only thing you have to show for those four years is a few scars, a couple of buckles, and some stories you might not ever tell. You thought it would last a lifetime, but even lifetimes end. The “lifetime” of high school rodeo ended, but morals are still alive, the lessons are still alive and the memories are still alive. Those things, they last longer than a lifetime. Those things are the legacy you swore you would leave behind when you entered that first rodeo of your senior year. They were right when they said better things were ahead- great things still came following those four years, but that final moment still remains frozen in time, and it will for every lifetime to come.

To this year’s seniors- it ends. You think you have forever, but trust me, you don’t, and you’ll miss it when it’s over. You’ll miss it more than anything. Take a few seconds, take a step back, and take in every single moment. When you look back, the bad runs matter just as much as the good runs and I don’t mean because of what they do to your final standings or checkbook, but because they happened and they mattered because they shape you. Don’t take them so seriously, though. That hit barrel won’t matter in a year, but your reaction to it will. Cherish the friendships, cherish the moment of glory when you make that killer run and you swear no one can stop you. Cherish it because you’ll never forget it, and you will never get it back.

Love,

A Rodeo “Has Been”