I still remember the first day I saw Nemesis, a four year old Dutch Warmblood mare. She was eagerly munching on grass in a lush green pasture in the spring of 1999. She was already mine, a gift from my newlywed husband, a newly-traded pitcher for the Texas Rangers. She was purchased from a reputable Grand Prix dressage trainer who had her on consignment at a stable in Argyle, Texas. At the time, I knew little about dressage, and the trainer assured me that Nemesis, despite her name, was a quiet and affable mare that would become a lovely amateur’s horse as long as I kept her in training. SOLD, I thought. I knew I would love her. I love all horses. I love their idiosyncratic smell, the sound of a stable full of them chewing their evening hay, the way they can whinny so loud it rumbles your soul. At twenty-nine years old, I was looking forward to my new life as a wife, Texan, horse owner, and new student to the art of dressage.

The first few months I lived in the Lone Star state I spent my afternoons frolicking at the stable. It fascinated me how pure the equine spirit truly is and I craved being around it. I became obsessed with learning everything I could about Nemesis and dressage. I read books, took as many lessons as I could, and asked my new barn buddies questions and their opinion on horse care and dressage. I was like a child let loose in a toy store and my new friends found my enthusiasm endearing. And on the outside, when I was at the stable, I was truly happy. What my new friends didn’t know was that on the inside, when I was away from the stable, I was slowly falling into a deep depression. Why? My six-month marriage was already failing miserably. The stable offered me respite from my problems at home and I found solace from my personal life when I arrived at the equestrian facility and entered the stable to the comforting sound of Nemesis’s welcoming whinnies and greetings from my dressage fraternity.
I’d be lying if I said that things always went smoothly with my rides, even with the opportunity to ride with a great trainer. Nemesis kept my mind and body active. She was a 16.1 hand bay and very strong compared to horses I’d ridden in the past. There were days I thought I should just give up and that I’d never learn to leg yield Nemesis. There were miserable rides where I left the ring crying, decent rides, and rides where I felt like I was on top of the world. I quickly learned that daily highs and lows, good rides and bad, were all part of learning dressage, but some days the added frustration of the challenging rides took a toll on my mood. I started keeping a journal to vent my frustrations and trouble shoot issues I was having both in my riding and my marriage. I did this for two years until one day I learned my husband was a serial philanderer and there was no way I was going to save the marriage. I was devastated and stopped keeping a journal.
The next few years were a blur. I moved back home to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The divorce which required me to travel back and forth from Texas was arduous and draining. I was leading a half-hearted life. I still boarded Nemesis at a dressage stable, but there always seemed to be an excuse as to why I couldn’t go to the stable. I loved this horse so much. Why wasn’t I showing up every day? One evening the depression grew so overwhelming that I picked up my journal again after a three year hiatus and began writing about my feelings. I found that I felt guilt over much more than not going to the stable every day. I felt guilt over the death of my loving, inspirational, and hard working father who suffered a massive heart attack one evening in my kitchen. He had passed away instantly before my eyes and I, a fourth year pre-med student at the time, was unable to save him. I felt guilt over giving up on a dream of becoming a doctor the day he died because of this tremendous loss. He always believed I could achieve anything I put my mind to even when I thought otherwise. I felt guilt over how I thought my father would feel about me aborting my plan to attend medical school and the passionless life I was leading now all because of one person who may have never really understood what love or marriage was. I felt guilt over how sorry I was feeling for myself after the divorce which was causing me to withhold from Nemesis the attention she deserved—the same horse who nickered at the sight of me, who would lay her head on my shoulders while I picked her stall over the years more times than I could count, the same horse who had been there for me every single day since the day I bought her.

That night I vowed that I would never neglect her or my passion for riding again. I drove to the stable the next day and rode. And I rode. And I rode. Six day ride weeks with Nemesis became commonplace. After four years I was competing at second level and schooling third level movements. As long as I showed up, Nemesis was there for me and ready to work. We were as one; we were a team. One morning while jotting down thoughts in my journal I wrote: “You have inspired me Nemesis. We have a story to tell. I’m going to write a novel.” This task was as daunting at times as my goal to become a third level rider had been years ago. I’d go down to the stable and think about this as I tacked Nemesis. Now close to eleven years old, she still never objected and was in a way, like my father, an inspiration. So, when I set my mind on writing “Running for Yellow”, I thought of her every time I didn’t feel like writing, and I wrote. And I wrote. And I wrote. I showed up at the page and wrote, trying to learn the craft of writing just as Nemesis learned her craft of dressage. And yes, I borrowed from my life. I weaved my father, my divorce, my comeback from my divorce, and dressage themes into the story. It’s paying off. “Running for Yellow” was published this spring and it is receiving great reviews.

So, thank you to the art of dressage for its perfect beauty that arouses a passion in riders like me to strive daily to improve in the sport. Thank you to my beloved Papà for your motivational words echoing in my ears while I was writing, telling me I could accomplish any goal I set for myself. And thank you to my sweet Nemesis, the inspiration of my life, for your work ethic that inspired me to show up at the page every day and write. I love you.

“Running for Yellow” is a coming of age novel about a dressage rider and a daughter (a medical student) named Chiara who breaks a promise to her Italian immigrant father that she would first complete her education before pursuing marriage.
Read more about “Running for Yellow” on christinavarrasso.com, and like it on Facebook. https://facebook.com/runningforyellow.