Donene Preview

HEART OF A CHAMPION 83 I felt strong and focused. The problem was I was still very incon- sistent with my roping, especially at events with multiple rounds. I was much better on the one-headers but to catch two or three in a row, the odds were not in my favor. I just did not have the skill set, yet. That season ended in September, at the Enid, Oklahoma rodeo se- ries. It was the farthest I’d ever travelled to a WPRA rodeo, and unfor- tunately, I did not qualify for the Finals. Leaving Enid, I realized that I had to change my workout routine. I needed to be physically stronger to tie calves competitively with these women. I was disappointed, but I’d had a great summer. I would strength train over the winter and come back stronger. Next year, I’d be ready.

84 DONENE TAYLOR DIGGING DEEPER – DO THE WORK DO YOU VALUE YOUR OWN HAPPINESS? As a parent, there can be pressure to put your own dreams aside for your family. That’s what it was like with my mom. I always knew there was a gap be- tween my mom and her happiness. Growing up, I never heard her talk about what she was passionate about. I never knew what she aspired to do, what sparked her imagination, what made heart beat a little faster or what brought her joy. I am very grateful for the life my parents provided me. But somewhere along the way, I made a decision not to be sad like my mom. And it wasn’t only about me. I just knew it would be a good thing for my boys to see their mom run down her dream and live life passion- ately and wholeheartedly. Living fired up with a passion, is a whole lot more gratifying and satisfying that letting the days go by. And it’s not just better for you: it’s better for everyone around you. If you’re not already running down your own happiness, it’s never too late to start. Maybe now’s the time. “For what it’s worth: It’s never too late to be whoever you want to be. I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over.” — F. SCOTT FITZGERALD, SHORT-STORY WRITER AND NOVELIST

HEART OF A CHAMPION 85 “You need to have ice water in your veins.” One year later, in October 1998, Dad drove me to Fort Worth, Texas, for the WPRA World Finals. I finally qualified in the tie-down roping— though it was only by the skin of my teeth. The WPRA regular rodeo season lasts for one year, extending September through September. The Top 15 money earners in each event earn a qualification for the Finals, based on their regular season money earnings. I had secured the 13th spot. Throughout the rodeo season it was my choice which competitions I would enter. It was up to me to enter the competitions on time and get myself there. There was no one paying me to compete nor did I have any sponsors helping me with expenses. Each roping competition I entered had an entry fee. Each compet- itor is responsible for paying their own entry fee. The entry fees vary from competition to competition. After the rodeo committee deducts production fees, and stock charge fees, the remaining entry fees become part of the purse. The purse is the prize money the competitors are competing for—and counts as points throughout the season. Often, money is added to the purse. This added money is usually given by sponsors of the competition. The top finishers in each event share the purse. A larger number of competitors and a higher entry fee charged ensures a greater purse, and that more prize money will be paid out. This also means more compet- itors who finish at the top will share in the purse. There is a predeter- mined payout scale in the WPRA rule book that is used to determine how the purse is divided and paid out. For instance, when the events pay the top 4 finishers, first place receives 40% of the purse, 2nd place would receive 30%, 3rd place receives 20% and 4th place receives 10% of the total purse. There are different payout scales for different ratios and scenarios. Each month in the WPRA News, the official publication of the Women’s Professional Rodeo Association, it lists the World Standings of the Top 15 in each event. These monthly standing updates are how each WPRA member keeps advised of the Top 15 in each event.

86 DONENE TAYLOR This year, the Finals were in the Fort Worth Stockyards at the Cowtown Coliseum—a touristy but historic place. I loved it—the cob- blestone streets, the Longhorn cattle drive, the beautiful October weather. But most of all I was filled with excitement. Just being there felt momentous. I teared up a few times throughout the event. I thought about how long it took me to get there—twenty years of long- ing to be at the WPRA World Finals. I thought, ‘This is what I been dreaming of.’ The Finals lasts three days—Friday night, Saturday night and Sun- day afternoon. The Top 15 qualifiers in each event get to compete in three rounds. Just like a regular season rodeo, each qualifier pays an entry fee to compete and there is extra money added to each event by sponsors. The top finishers in each round will earn money, along with the top finishers in the Average. The Average winners are those ropers who have the fastest cumulative time over the three rounds. The roper who finished the year with the most money won (includ- ing the regular rodeo season earnings and money she wins at the World Finals) is awarded the World Championship. The Average Champion of the Finals in each event is awarded to the roper who has the fastest cumulative time in their event during the three rounds of the Finals. Each title—the World Champion and the Average Champion—is held in high regard and is considered a great accomplishment. As the Finals got underway, I was unfocused and full of nerves. I came out of the box and just threw my rope. I roped like I did not even belong there. All my practice disappeared. None of my loops came close to catching—there weren’t even any “almost catches.” After each round, I got more and more tense, and my roping got worse. After the three rounds, I was devastated and humiliated. On the

HEART OF A CHAMPION 87 outside, I was cool, but in my head, there was a drunk monkey, jumping around and berating me for my failure. My inner critic was saying, ‘I can’t believe you missed. What a loser. What is wrong with you? I just want to go home. That was a terrible loop. You don’t belong here.’ In retrospect, I was focused on all the wrong things. My emotions were a roller coaster, spiking from high to low the entire time. I was concentrating on what other people thought of me. I was tense, and tight. In the heat of the moment, my negative thoughts and emotions were driving my every move. The Finals were my reality check. I did not like it. The Champions received their awards on Sunday evening in the middle of the rodeo arena. The All-Around Champion received a horse trailer, and each of the World Champions each got a beautiful saddle and buckle. I was excited to get to see the ceremony firsthand. It eased my disappointment at how I’d performed for a brief moment. The next morning, we headed out on our two-day drive home. While Dad drove, I looked out the passenger window for hours. I men- tally quit several times before I got home. But as we drove through Ardmore, Oklahoma, I had a thought. I was reminded that Ardmore was near where Barry Burk and his son Blair lived. Mr. Burk had been a professional tie-down roper in the 1960s and 1970s. Mr. Burk had qualified for the PRCA National Fi- nals 17 times in the tie-down roping. I had seen his ad in the Pro Rodeo Sports News, the official paper of the Professional Rodeo Cowboys As- sociation (PRCA). Barry offered lessons for roping and training horses. I wondered what lessons with Mr. Burk would be like. ‘Could he help me get better?’ I wondered. I said nothing to Dad, and the thought shifted to the back of my mind, while my emotions continued to heave from high to low. A couple months later, in December, Stan and I were watching the National Finals Rodeo on TV. These Finals are sometimes called the “Super Bowl of Rodeo.” It’s a ten-day event the PCRA put’s on in Las

88 DONENE TAYLOR Vegas, Nevada. I saw Barry in the roping box, helping Blair. My idea from October returned. I made an early New Year’s Goal: in January, I’d reach out to Mr. Burk for lessons. In March 1999, I had my first lesson at the Burks’. My own horse, Tyger, had been turned out all winter and I did not have him in shape for roping yet, so I roped on one of Mr. Burk’s younger horses. We trained for eight hours a day for three days. I learned what de- liberate practice was like—we ran drills, I got a bunch of feedback, and I felt like I was growing. Barry talked to me about releasing my rope with conviction and confidence. He called it ‘roping with authority.’ I had never caught as many calves in a row as I did there. I told Mr. Burk my goal: “I want to win the World in the WPRA in the tie-down roping.” Mr. Burk did not tell me I couldn’t do it, but he did say this: “I don’t know how you are going to do it. You are a mom, a nice lady and all, but you need to have ice water in your veins.” He continued, “Take Fred Whitfield for example, he is a fierce, fierce competitor. He goes for the throat every time.” I nodded in agreement. I knew exactly who Fred Whitfield was— he had been the World Champion Tie-Down Roper in the PRCA multiple times. Then I made a mistake. I assumed I knew what Mr. Burk meant when he said that I needed to have ice water in my veins. I thought, ‘I can easily do that. I am an expert feelings-stuffer and I know how to wear a mask.’ I had been doing that since I was a little girl. I thought he meant I needed to be stoic. That looking cool on the outside was all I needed. I knew I could easily master what I needed to look like on the outside, but I totally disregarded that I was a train wreck on the inside.

HEART OF A CHAMPION 89 Looking back, I know this is not what Mr. Burk meant. In hindsight, I should have just asked Mr. Burk what he meant. There was a valuable lesson staring at me in the face, but I missed it. Before I left Mr. Burk’s ranch, I bought his young horse—the one I’d been roping on while taking lessons. I knew Tyger was getting older and having a second horse would allow me to practice more, without wearing him out. Before I got home, I had the perfect name picked out for him: Iceman. Despite all my success at the Burks’—and my new horse—when I went home, my progress seemed to disappear. I tried to duplicate what I’d worked on at Mr. Burk’s, but I couldn’t do it. This was typical for me. I’d see some growth, but then it would seem to go away overnight. The problem was, I was working hard, but not working smart. In truth, I had no idea how long it would take to get the skill set I needed to run down this dream. It would be over fifteen years before I would get a handle on this. But at the same time, I kept having these little golden moments that kept me going. In August at the 1999 Wyoming State Fair during the WPRA Ro- deo, Tyger and I won the tie-down roping. It was the exact same rodeo where my “spark” was ignited back in 1995. It was one of the best runs that I’d ever made—a real special run––13 seconds. I roped the calf sharp, and my groundwork was solid. Just like the previous years, the level of competition was elite. I was in total admiration of all the great ropers who were there. Not only was the run amazing, it paid well, too—$400, which was a lot in the tie-down roping. Moments like that kept the fire alive. Sometimes I’d do goofy stuff, I’d mess up, but then I’d have a hit of success that would make it all worthwhile.

90 DONENE TAYLOR DIGGING DEEPER – DO THE WORK DO YOU HAVE ICE WATER IN YOUR VEINS? I misinterpreted what Mr. Burk meant when he said, “You need to have ice water in your veins.” I thought he meant I needed to play it cool on the outside, and because I was used to wearing a mask—performing for other people and caring about what other people thought—I figured it would be a piece of cake for me. It would take me time to learn what it really means to play it cool. To stop attaching all my self-worth and emotion to the outcome of my efforts. To stay calm on the inside, no matter what’s happening around you— that’s what it really means to have ice water in your veins. “You must be in control yourself before you can control your performance.” — DR. KEN RAVIZZA, WORLD RENOWNED SPORTS PSYCHOLOGIST

HEART OF A CHAMPION 91 “Let your hair down and have fun!” In October 2001, the WPRA World Finals were held at the Cowtown Col- iseum, in Fort Worth, Texas. Again, I qualified in the tie-down roping. Tyger was aging and not doing well. I had begun competing on Iceman. As the year progressed, Iceman and I regressed. He started ducking out to the left just as I was about to deliver my rope. I reached out to Troy, like I usually did when my roping world was falling apart. Troy asked if I wanted to compete on Frisky at the Finals. Troy has qualified eight consecutive years for the PRCA National Fi- nals Rodeo. Frisky was an important part of Troy’s stellar career. Frisky was definitely one of a kind. He could pick up his game or lower his game; Frisky could do it all. Troy tuned him up perfectly to fit me. Before heading out to the Finals with Frisky I still couldn’t believe I was going to compete on Troy’s horse. It was obvious how special Frisky was to Troy and his family. However, my level of anxiety ratchetted up a bunch of notches along with my enthusiasm. I unequivocally did not want to mess this up. I’d never had a horse like this in my care before. We loaded Frisky into the horse trailer and as we headed down Troy’s driveway to go to the Women’s World Finals, Troy stopped us. I rolled down my window, and Troy leaned his head in. “Ride him like you stole him!” he said. I laughed and nodded. “Okay, Troy,” I laughed. “I will.” Dad and I arrived on Thursday afternoon. The weather was great, and I felt confident. I had Troy’s horse, Troy’s saddle, and I’d roped very well at Troy’s leading up to the Finals. I was sure I was going to do really well. I figured I would win the average, with the fastest time on three head. ‘Heck,’ I thought to myself, ‘I might even win the thing this year.’ Things didn’t start off quite right, however. The first two rounds I top-notched both of my calves. Meaning, when I delivered my rope it caught only the top part of the calf’s head. The rope went around his ears but not over his nose. When you top-notch, your rope does not

92 DONENE TAYLOR stay on the calf. You do not get a time. Many rodeo announcers will tell the spectators, “You must catch them with the long rope in order to tie them with the short rope.” So far, I had two no times. After those runs, I tried to figure out what I was doing wrong. What was I missing? The shot was right there. I had everything I needed: I’d been working on tying calves from the post. I was in such great shape. And the calves were a great size—not too big or too wild. So, what was the problem? I thought back to what Mr. Burk said about roping with authority. Maybe that was the key. I asked myself, ‘Am I holding back?’ I called Troy over the next few days and kept him updated. I asked him for advice before I went into the third and final round. “Donene,” Troy said, “just let your hair down and have fun!” On the third round on Sunday afternoon, I was determined to catch. I wanted to tie a calf down so bad, and this was my chance. The TV crews were circling around, filming for a highlight show. Before I roped, my dad reminded me how to get out of the box. I nodded. I was all set to go. This time, as I backed into the box, I knew I would go all out and not hold back. I reminded myself of Troy’s advice, ‘Let your hair down and have fun.’ Frisky ran right to the spot I need to rope from. I fired my rope in there with authority. It was good. I stepped off and tied the calf like I belonged there! I was so happy; I had a huge smile on my face. I looked over at Dad, sitting in the stands by the roping chutes. I gave him a thumbs up, and Frisky a pat. I thought, ‘Troy was right! He always gives the best advice!’ The run was 12.6 seconds—a very respectable run. As I walked back to the warm-up pen to loosen up my cinches, many of the girls con- gratulated me. It was all over my face just how pleased I was. I won third that day. In that moment, I thought life could not get

HEART OF A CHAMPION 93 any better. I thought to myself, ‘I know I can rope with these women. I know I can do it!’ I won just under $300 that day. During the awards ceremony, my dream felt closer than ever. Someday I would be the one walking up to accept the World Championship Saddle. On the trip home, I felt fantastic. I was gaining momentum.

94 DONENE TAYLOR DIGGING DEEPER – DO THE WORK WHO’S YOUR ROLE MODEL? I have learned so much more from Troy (and his whole family) besides how to rope and tie calves. He’s taught me how to be a better person. The majority of the lessons I learned were caught, not taught. In other words, I learned by watching what Troy said and did, and how he treated and interacted with others. Troy greatly influenced my life. I experienced firsthand his elite mindset and absorbed his contagious positive energy. He and his whole family were role models for me—they not only talked the talk; they also walked the walk—even when they thought no one was watching them. I believe I have won the role model lottery of life. Many of the role models I have had in my life probably never even knew they had as much impact and influence on my life as they did. Each has exhibited the highest character and led by example. Choosing positive role models continues to be a strategy I use today to help me become the best version of myself. When it comes to role models, choose wisely. Observe and learn from people who exemplify the kind of person you want to be. When you find a role model, watch for the ‘caught not taught’ moments. Learn from their example. “The greatest gift you can give anyone is your honest self.” —FRED ROGERS, WRITER, CREATOR AND PERSONALITY OF THE TELEVISION SERIES, “MISTER ROGERS’ NEIGHBORHOOD”

HEART OF A CHAMPION 95 If You Change Nothing, Nothing Will Change Despite placing at the Finals, I still had to deal with my inconsistent roping, and the fact that Iceman wasn’t working for me. Part of the issue was that my rope angle was incorrect. Instead of keeping my rope to the right side of my horse and my body, I swung it towards the front. At times, I broke the center plane with my hand while swinging, and it was very unbalanced. Sometimes it was in front of my horse’s head. As you can imagine, horses don’t like having a rope swung in front of their head. Some can be more forgiving of this than others. Some of my previous horses were more mature and solid, and allowed me to get away with roping like this. But Iceman was young, just 7 years old. And he did not like it. The other problem is that I would change up the speed of my rope before delivering it. At the time, I thought I had to do this in order to get enough momentum to get the rope out to the calf. These days, I swing my rope with continuous momentum, from my first swing through the delivery. But I hadn’t learned this yet. As a result, every time I roped, Iceman would duck to the left in anticipation of me de- livering my rope to the calf. Iceman was the kind of horse that needed me to execute my tech- nique and mechanics correctly, in order for him to do his job correctly. If Iceman was going to be a good fit for me, I needed to stop swinging at the wrong angle, I needed to stop swinging near his head and ears, and I needed to stop tipping him off by speeding up my rope’s swing prior to releasing it. The result was that, unsurprisingly, I had no chance of being com- petitive on Iceman the way I was roping. It was ugly. I could not get a shot off before he would duck to the left. That’s why Troy let me take Frisky to the 2001 Finals. When I came back from the Finals and returned Frisky to Troy, he told me I had two choices. He said, “Donene, we can either change your roping, or you will need to get a different horse.”

96 DONENE TAYLOR It was at that moment that I made a crucial mistake. Instead of asking Troy what he thought, or at least reflecting on the issue, I just said, “I need to get a new horse.” I knew that changing my roping style would be difficult, and it would take a lot of time and effort. So, I opted not to change. The decision would come back to haunt me. In time, I would learn that if you change nothing, nothing will change.

HEART OF A CHAMPION 97 DIGGING DEEPER – DO THE WORK ARE YOU LOOKING BACK, OR LOOKING FORWARD? I look back on my decision not to change and wish I chose differently. I thought I was taking a shortcut but really, it just took me longer to get to where I needed to go. At times, I’ve been disheartened when I’ve looked back on how long it took for me to get somewhere or change my behavior. In these times, I’ve thought to myself, ‘Why did it take me this long to get this lesson?’ But these types of “why” questions keep us stuck in the past instead of progressing forward. So instead of wondering ‘why,’ I now think to my- self: ‘I am so thankful I found this lesson and now I am taking the action I need to press forward.’ An attitude of gratitude is more positive and pro- ductive. I’ve come to learn that we are all running our own race, in our own time. “Don’t let the fear of the time it will take to accomplish something stand in the way of your doing it. The time will pass anyway; we might just as well put that passing time to the best possible use.” — EARL NIGHTINGALE, SPEAKER AND AUTHOR

Chapter 4 Nothing Is Carved in Stone I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul. In 2002, I sold Iceman and got a new horse—Detroit. Detroit was an older horse, 17 years old. He was solid, and he allowed me to get by with my current and incorrect roping and riding style. Troy had helped me find a horse that would be forgiving of my mistakes. I told Troy flat out that I didn’t want to change, I just wanted to get a new horse. I wanted to avoid putting in the effort to change up

HEART OF A CHAMPION 99 my roping. I figured it would somehow get better in time, or I would just get luckier and catch a break. I liked Detroit. He didn’t want to be loved on, he didn’t need extra brushing or attention, he didn’t like to trail ride. He wanted to do his job and be left alone. That was just his personality. He was always on the muscle, ready to work, and I was OK with that. But riding Detroit did not magically make me rope better. I was still inconsistent. At my last couple of rodeos before the Finals I missed all my calves and failed to qualify. I felt like a failure. I had qualified for the WPRA World Finals for three years, so this seemed like a big step backwards. The 2002 rodeo season ended, and I felt like I had nothing to show for it. Feeling dis- appointed with myself, feeling utterly lost, I fell back on old tendencies. I would eat and throw up. The bulimia practice was always violent and painful, but I did it anyway. I knew I had an eating disorder, but I thought, ‘I’ve got it under control. I only do it when I’m really stressed.’ At the same time, I stopped working out, I stopped riding, I stopped roping my dummy. I just went to work, took care of my family, and ate and threw up in secret. It was a dark place. And things were about to get worse. A couple weeks later, in September, Tyger died. He was 23 years old and had been enjoying retirement for a couple years. Suddenly, without warning, he passed away in the night. It hit me so hard. I loved Tyger with all my heart. Two weeks later, Mom called. Dad was sick. Dad had been diagnosed with Myasthenia Graves, a life-threaten- ing autoimmune disease, back in 1998. He’d been on medication and doing well, but Mom revealed that he’d been having symptoms for a while: droopy eyelids, double vision, difficulty breathing, swallowing, and muscle weakness. He’d refused to treat the symptoms with ur- gency. Now he was staying in the intensive care unit, on a ventilator.

100 DONENE TAYLOR The news hit me like a brick. On the outside, I was supportive and positive. But on the inside, I was worried sick. I was concerned for Dad because I loved him, of course. But I also relied on him immensely. I had followed him and done exactly what he said since I was a little girl, in and out of the arena. He was the one who helped me practice. He drove me to my events—in fact, he refused to let me drive unless he was completely exhausted. He helped me financially with calves and some other expenses. We used his truck; I didn’t have my own. Most of all, I really thought I couldn’t win without my dad. I thought I couldn’t do any of this without him. In my mind, I was nothing without him. I didn’t believe I was smart enough, tough enough, or knowledge- able enough on my own. While Dad was in the hospital, I put up a stoic front—just like I did when competing. But secretly, I was an emotional wreck. I would come home from the hospital and binge and purge. When I wasn’t do- ing that, I would starve myself. At the same time, OCD tendencies began to emerge. I began wash- ing my hands incessantly. I could not touch any surfaces, like door knobs, light switches, cabinet handles, the refrigerator door handle, wa- ter faucets, or any other surface. I had to clean everything before I touched it, or I’d need to use a paper towel as a barrier to protect my hands. If I had to touch a surface, I’d wash my hands for a long time afterwards. Daily tasks at work and home would take me hours because if I touched a surface or touched it ‘wrong’ I would have to start all over again. I did not want anyone to do my chores for me. I had to make sure it was all done to my specifications. I was a checker. I would check all the light switches, locks, appli- ances, etc. I would find myself doing tasks in a series of three—turning on and off the light switches, locking doors, cleaning, and so on. Eve- rything would have to be done three times. Also, I fell into the pattern of doing different hand gestures and picking out phrases to repeat three times each, just like when I was a little girl.

HEART OF A CHAMPION 101 It caused me much anxiety to go to town to shop. As I filled up my cart with household supplies at Target, I would get stuck figuring out which checkout clerk looked the healthiest because I knew they would be touching everything. I would have to wash the items I purchased when I got home if I believed they were not clean enough to put away in the cabinets. Eating was difficult and took a lot of time. Nobody could prepare my food or touch my food or even come within a few feet of it. I had made up an imaginary sterile plane that no one could cross when it came to the food I would eat. It became easier not to eat than to go through all the rules and rituals I had to submit to in order to have a meal. I feared that if I failed to follow one of my rules or rituals, some- thing bad would happen. This made life extremely difficult for my fam- ily and I. I tried to maintain some type of normalcy for the kids, so when they would “contaminate” items I wouldn’t say anything, I would just spend hours washing my hands throughout the day and performing my little rituals in my head. The pay-off for me from following my dozens of rules and rituals was sense of comfort and control. It gave me a momentary release from the anxiety I was feeling. If just for a second; everything was right in the world; I was in control. Even as I spiraled down, I had the sense to follow up with Julie, my counselor. I had worked with her off and on for eight years. When I was doing well, I would step away from counseling, but I always re- turned. This time, I knew I was in real trouble. I sat down with Julie and told her the truth. I had never experienced anything at this magnitude. “Julie,” I said. “I’m scared.” Julie knew I needed help with both my eating disorder and my ob- sessive-compulsive disorder. She encouraged me to go to a treatment center that helped patients with dual disorders. At first, I wasn’t sure. But every week when we met, Julie would ask me again.

102 DONENE TAYLOR Weeks later, I finally agreed. “Okay,” I said. “I’m in.” I would leave the day after Christmas. On December 26, 2002, Dad and I flew to Arizona. I weighed just under 90 pounds. My hands were so chapped and cracked from con- stant washing that I couldn’t make a gentle fist without them bleeding. I was so weak that just standing up seemed to take effort. I felt defeated, ashamed, and scared. I had no idea what to expect. On my second day at the treatment center I called Stan, crying and upset. “You have to come get me,” I said. “I don’t want to be here. I really think I can do this on my own.” Stan paused. “I think if you could do it on your own, you would have done it by now,” he said. A part of me knew he was right. The first week I was a fish out of water. I had a lot of anxiety. I was not the only one who experiencing it; treatment can be messy and un- comfortable. We weren’t allowed to exercise except for a short walk in the even- ing. Our diets were monitored, and everyone had an individualized meal plan. I secretly kept track of how many calories I was eating each day, fearful of getting fat. I never shared my worries with any of the therapists, though. I was still stuffing my feelings. During the first week, I noticed how each of the women handled their anxiety. One patient threw her food against the wall. Another threw-up outside in the flower beds. One patient took off and went for a walk without permission. One patient actually ran away, and they bought her back. Several would cuss and have verbal outbursts with other patients and the staff. I got it. I understood where they all were

HEART OF A CHAMPION 103 coming from. I acted out in my own way: After I checked in with the nurses at 5 am on the dot every morning, I went back to my room, turned off my bedroom light, turned on the bathroom light and cracked the door. Then I did my fast-paced routine of cardio, core exercises, lots of lunges, and push-ups. Then I would shower and get ready for breakfast. After I worked out I felt so relaxed. Nothing got to me much during the day. It gave me a release from stress, an OCD fix, and I burned off those extra calories I was fixated on. I felt pretty satisfied with myself. I thought, ‘I can do this!’ I actively participated in therapy and I made some gains, but I did not go all-in. I thought, ‘I’m just a little bit slicker than everyone else.’ But in truth, I was cheating myself, and cheating my family. The therapists did not believe I was making the progress I needed to, and they recommended that after my eight weeks I transfer to an- other treatment center that would focus on my obsessive-compulsive disorder, but I assured them, “I got this!” I would have said just about anything to get home. Before I was discharged, the counsellors recommended that I stop rid- ing and competing. They believed it was a huge contributor to my disorders. In March 2003, I went back to work at State Farm, part-time. I felt defeated. I was 39 years old, and I hated my job, and I hated that I couldn’t ride. I believed that I was lousy as a mom, lousy as a wife, and lousy at my job. I began to think, ‘If I die, I die.’ I no longer saw my value as a human being. In April, I started saddling up Detroit, when Stan pulled into the driveway and saw what I was doing. He rushed over, visibly upset. “What are you doing?” he asked, sounding desperate. “They said not to ride.”

104 DONENE TAYLOR I shrugged. “I don’t think they got it right,” I said. “I’m going to get him legged up and start roping.” “I can’t do this again,” said Stan. “I am not putting our marriage on the line.” I unsaddled Detroit and put him in his pasture. Over the summer, I got a little bit of joy and focus back when I helped Hunter and Roper ride their ponies in a little local rodeo. Help- ing them gave me a sense of purpose, and a feeling of fun. But when the rodeo was over, I began to spiral down again. I decreased my calo- ries even further and dropped a lot of weight quickly. My obsessive- compulsive disorder came back with a vengeance with even crazier rules and rituals that I felt compelled to follow. I could no longer give my kids a kiss or hug. I couldn’t shake hands at work. I would stand at the sink and wash my hands for hours and cry because I could not get them clean enough. I felt terrible. I was tired, weak and malnourished. I had a constant negative thought loop running through my mind. I couldn’t stay warm, I couldn’t sleep, and not surprisingly, I was doing a terrible job at work. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus, and my OCD habits kept me very preoccupied and distracted throughout the day. By September 2003, I’d lost 20 pounds. By October, I lost another 15 pounds. At 5’2”, I weighed 85 pounds. My wedding ring would not stay on. My clothes hung on me. I was quite a sight, wearing size 7 pants while I was a size 0. Stan told me one night, “I’m scared that one morning I’ll reach out to touch you and you’ll be cold.” I was slowly killing myself. I felt like a prisoner to my disorders. I didn’t have the tools or the guts to change anything, yet I knew I must change. I had continued working closely with Julie since returning from the treatment center in Arizona. She continued to counsel, support, and encourage me. It had been a turbulent eight months for my family. I

HEART OF A CHAMPION 105 felt guilty, shameful, and worthless. I felt completely beaten down. I had hit rock bottom. My dream and desire to win the World popped into my mind from time to time. I had moments when I would allow myself to dream about it, just for a little while. In those times, I thought about how much I enjoyed roping and going to the Finals. I thought about winning, how much I’d always wanted to win, and how I really believed I could do it. I thought about Detroit, and how well he would perform. I thought about how good it felt to make a solid run, and how much fun I’d have. Finally, I began think: ‘Am I going to accept this is my lot in life and just live it out like this, which won’t be for much longer? Or am I going to figure this out and find a way to come back?’ At last, I made a choice. I said to myself, “I am going to figure this out.” My dream of winning the World was bubbling up again. If I were going to follow it, I would have to choose life. Julie gave me the name of a different treatment center. I was going to get back up and try again.

106 DONENE TAYLOR DIGGING DEEPER – DO THE WORK DO YOU NEED HOPE? Through the challenges of my life I have learned that even amidst chaos, uncertainty, and hopelessness, life can turn around in an instant. I learned to believe in “HOPE”: Hold On, Possibilities Exist. “Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” — CONFUCIUS, CHINESE TEACHER AND PHILOSOPHER

HEART OF A CHAMPION 107 Believe in Second Chances A week later, I’d resigned from my job and was on my way to an eating disorder treatment center in Wickenburg, Arizona, called Remuda Ranch. Going back to treatment again was one of the hardest, most mind- boggling decisions I’d ever made. One again, it was a big commitment of both money, and time. I’d be there for a couple of months, from the end of October to the end of December. Before I went, I asked myself a lot of questions: ‘Is it going to work this time? What will it be like this time? Will things actually change? What will people say?’ I kept wondering whether I could just figure it out on my own, or if going again meant that I was weak. But once I committed, I was all-in. I drove down with Mom and Dad. It was a long, unpleasant drive. I felt sick, light-headed, and weak the whole time, but I tried to keep my feelings to myself. Meanwhile, my parents acted like it was a vacation— just another road trip. I knew they were worried on the inside. We were all actors in a play, wearing a mask, pretending everything was alright. When I arrived, the doctor examined me and found that my heart was not beating right, due to malnutrition and the number of prescrip- tion medications (Seroquel, Lexapro, and Remeron) I’d been doped up on since the previous treatment center. The doctor told me, “We need to gradually take you off all these medications.” It was like a metaphor for what was ahead. No more feeling numb. No more tuning out. This time in treatment, I would need to show up for myself. I knew if I wanted more, I’d have to become more. I needed to really work on me. My secret mantra became, “The anorexic girl will not win the World.” I was on a mission. I didn’t know how it all would come together. I just knew I had a super strong why. I had a second chance for my marriage, my family, my dream, my

108 DONENE TAYLOR life. And I wasn’t going to miss it. The Remuda Ranch is a 14-acre campus, consisting of multiple build- ings, housing, a church, pathways to walk on, space for outdoor activi- ties, and best of all, a horse barn and large arena. It was a long walk to the barns—maybe three football fields long. The barn sat at the top of a slight hill. As I walked up the incline, I felt a sense of growing excitement. As I approached, I could smell all the smells of the barn: the hay, the manure, the horses. Familiar smells. Good smells. In the large tack room, I could smell the horse sweat on the equip- ment, the leather, the dust, the grain. It was all so familiar. It made me feel at peace. It made me smile. At the ranch, horses were part of the therapy. There was a list of rules to obey if we were to keep our horse privileges: we were to always wear a helmet, follow the saddling procedures, and get on our horse using a mounting platform. This was different from how I did it at home, but I didn’t care. Most patients were outside their comfort zone with the horses, and a couple patients who were experienced with horses lost their privileges because they thought they were above fol- lowing the rules. Not me. I was plumb tickled to get to brush them, comb out their manes and tails, clean out their feet, and saddle them. I loved to be near the horses; I would breathe in deep to capture the whole essence of being there. It was calming to hear and feel their breath, hear them nicker, feel the softness of their muzzle and ears, pet their necks, and best of all, get to ride. We each were assigned a horse for the time we stayed. I had Crys- tal. She was half Arabian, half Quarter Horse. She was kind and had a great handle on her. All the horses seemed super kind and responsive. Sometimes the other patients would ask me for help. I kept to myself,

HEART OF A CHAMPION 109 but if asked, I was happy to help them saddle their horse, give strategies to help them stay in the middle of their horse, demonstrate how to pick up their horse’s feet, or help them maneuver through the pole bending pattern. It was fun. I was in my element. Being up at the barns, I remembered how much I loved riding and how much I’d truly missed it. The rhythmic movement of walking, trotting, and loping made me feel at peace. I felt in control again, as I decided where, we would go, turn, stop, and back up. Riding my horse, I was in the driver’s seat. After feeling so out of control for so long, it was a good feeling. Being on a horse gives me a feeling of freedom that I’ve never been able to duplicate. We rode in the arena and worked different patterns, including bar- rels and poles. We partnered up and were required to do patterns with a partner, staying in synchronization. We rode in the arena once a week and did long trail rides twice a week. The trail rides were awesome. The Arizona sunshine, big blue sky, fresh air, and lovely breeze all felt so good. As we rode in the desert, we’d pass big, tall, Saguaro cacti, and other desert vegetation. Sometimes the patients would visit and chat, and other times we’d just be quiet. I can still hear the horse’s hooves hitting the rocks and dirt. When we rode, it was like all my senses came alive. Riding made me feel like I could breathe again. Life suddenly seemed so good. I was happy to be alive. Each time I rode I thought, ‘God, I do love this.’ Several other patients at the ranch were also suffering from obses- sive-compulsive disorder. A number of them asked me why it didn’t bother me to be around the dirt, manure, horse dander, or smells. I explained that it’s never bothered me—it’s something I look forward to. I began to realize that I was intentionally choosing what to obsess about. My OCD wasn’t constant—my mind had power over that. I started to see that my OCD tendencies could be used for good. After all, they served me well as a competitor. Being disciplined to do the same drills over and over ‘till I had them figured out, staying focused

110 DONENE TAYLOR on the same goal all those years, remaining committed to working out whether I felt like it or not, and loving to practice… these were all good things. But I’d been allowing the OCD to take over and debilitate me. I was allowing myself to be powerless. But I did have power. Lots of power. I just needed to learn how to tap into it and activate it. It would take me a long time to learn how to really harness this power, to take control of myself, my thoughts, my emotions, and my actions. But the seeds of change had been planted.

HEART OF A CHAMPION 111 DIGGING DEEPER – DO THE WORK WHAT MAKES YOUR SPIRIT COME ALIVE? Having the opportunity to ride Crystal at the Remuda Ranch helped me to rediscover myself and reconnect with what made my soul happy. Instantly, I began feeling whole again. I began to under- stand that I am my most authentic and most productive when my soul is happy. Over the years, I have discovered the top three things that make my soul happy: investing time into the things I love, investing time outdoors, and practicing meditation. What makes your soul happy? What helps you be your most authentic and most productive self? I encourage you to invest time into yourself. You will not regret it. “The Soul is the truth of who we are.” — MARIANNE WILLIAMSON, AUTHOR AND ACTIVIST

112 DONENE TAYLOR Make the Jump My second day at the Remuda Ranch, about a dozen of us went out to a “challenge course.” The challenge was to climb up a pole, similar to a telephone pole, roughly 30 feet or so tall. We each had a safety harness on. Once we climbed to the top of the telephone pole, we’d stand on a platform fac- ing a trapeze bar—just like in a circus. We couldn’t just reach out and grab the trapeze bar, and we couldn’t jump towards it half-hearted. In order to catch the bar, we had to commit—take a big jump forward and grab on. Once we grabbed the bar, we could let go and fall into the net below. (And if we missed the bar, the net would catch us.) I stood there, waiting for my turn, wearing my cowboy boots. I’d never done anything like that before. Neither had many of the other patients. In fact, there were a couple people who wouldn’t climb the pole at all, and a few who got to the top of the pole but refused to jump. While waiting for my turn, I thought to myself, ‘I can do this.’ I started strategizing how to make the jump. I could see that I would need to bend my knees and spring forward with my hips. I started to practice these movements while waiting. Just two days prior, I’d felt terrible. But I’d begun eating as soon as I’d arrived. What’s more, I’d experienced a mental shift. I told myself I would trust the program and do whatever I was told. “I will overcome this,” I’d said to myself. “I will do everything they say to do.” I felt better than I had in days standing at the bottom of the pole. I had a few good meals in me, and now I had a rush of adrenaline. I climbed to the top of the pole and stood on the top of the plat- form. The trapeze bar was a lot further than I’d thought it would be. But I remembered my strategy. I bent my knees just like I practiced while on the ground. I took a breath. And I jumped. I caught the bar! I grabbed it tight and held on as it swung back and forth. After a few swings, I let go and fell to the net. Everyone cheered.

HEART OF A CHAMPION 113 I caught the lesson from that challenge, too. If I wanted to get well and live my life as it was meant to lived, then I must do the inner work—the hard stuff that I’d been refusing to do. I needed to make the jump. No one could make it for me.

114 DONENE TAYLOR DIGGING DEEPER – DO THE WORK DO YOU TRUST YOURSELF? My second day at the Remuda Ranch set the stage for a lesson that would ultimately help me get unstuck from the vicious cycles of my eating disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder. I learned I needed to trust myself–trust my voice, trust my instincts, trust my abilities. However, in order to trust what I had, I needed to accept full responsi- bility for what my life looked like. I needed to open up my mind to see things from a different perspective, do things I had never done and become someone I had never been before. I learned I needed to let go and take the leap. Trust the process. Believe in where it would take me. And embrace the change every step of the way. Are you trusting yourself? If not, why not? Maybe it’s time. “If it is to be, it is up to me.” — WILLIAM H. JOHNSON, ARTIST

HEART OF A CHAMPION 115 Step up and Out There were about forty patients at the Remuda Ranch while I was there. Just like my first treatment center experience, we were a pretty diverse bunch. There was a basketball player, an Olympic gymnast, an acrobat who worked at Cirque de Soleil, and a model. There were col- lege students, stay-at-home moms, and professional women. These disorders do not discriminate. Some of the women called themselves ‘professional patients’— they’d been to treatment multiple times. As it was, I felt terrible that I was putting my family through this all a second time. I was determined that this would be the last time. I was going to do the work and get better. That meant opening myself up and sharing. Feeling my feelings instead of stuffing them down inside. Part way through my stay we had a family week where we could invite family members to join us. I called up Stan and invited him. Stan said, “I think you and I are really good. You need to invite your mom and dad.” ‘Dang it!’ I thought. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but I knew he was right. My therapists had told me it was important to be able to talk honestly in a safe environment with my parents, so we could allow the healing to begin. With a pit of nerves in my stomach, I called Dad and invited both him and Mom to family week. “Both of us will be there,” he said. When my parents arrived, I knew they were nervous, just as I was. But I’d visualized how I wanted the week to go. I had trust in the ther- apists and my plan. My parents and I, along with seven other patients and families, were seated in a beautiful outdoor gazebo. We sat in a large circle, tak- ing turns sharing. While I listened to the other patients talk, my heart was racing, and I was sweating. I felt like I was going to ride into the roping box and compete. When it was my turn, I gently eased into the stories I had to tell.

116 DONENE TAYLOR My parents listened quietly. Then I went to my ‘scary place’—revealing things I’d been really hesitant to talk about. I asked Mom about the time in the basement when she told me about her friend who thought I had an eating disorder. Before I could finish the story, Mom inter- rupted me, saying, “I don’t remember that.” I looked into her eyes, thinking, ‘Surely she has to remember that!’ I tried explaining some more details and again she cut me off say- ing, “I don’t remember.” For a couple seconds, I felt nothing but anger. Of course, she could remember. I thought, ‘how in the heck am I going to do family week if they don’t remember anything?’ I took a breath. I know if my parents were pushed, they could shut down, explode, or possibly leave. I grew up with that my entire life. I needed to make a quick decision. I decided to shift gears. To keep the lines of communication open, I turned to the time in my life when I was married to Darryl. That was comfortable grounds for my parents. They both got interested and had a lot to add to that conversation. When my turn was over I thought, ‘This was not helpful for me or my parents.’ I had already resolved everything with my first marriage through working with Julie, my counselor, back home. For me, that was all water under the bridge. I was just trying to appease them. I went back to the Ranch that night thinking about the day and wondering how I was going to get things back on track. I thought, ‘This could be a very long week.’ Then it became clear to me. I realized that I didn’t need my parents to acknowledge or remember anything. I didn’t need them to share their point of view. I didn’t need them to say they were sorry or discuss how each of us could have done things differently. In fact, I realized, my parents were not the ones who needed to change. I needed to change. It was time for me to stop being a little girl, stop blaming my parents, stop seeing myself as a victim. It was up to me to live my life

HEART OF A CHAMPION 117 differently. I needed to change my mindset. I knew my parents always gave me their best. None of us is perfect. I reflected on the countless mistakes I had made as a wife, mother, daughter, sister, and friend. I decided to unequivocally forgive everyone in my life that had hurt me. And I decided to unequivocally forgive myself. After all, I’d messed up, a lot. I decided to take complete own- ership of everything that happened in my life. I was starting to connect the dots. It would take practice. But I had a start. After eight weeks, just before I was discharged, my therapist at the ranch recommended I pursue my goal to become a roping World Champion. This advice was completely opposite from the previous treatment center’s recommendation. Needless to say, I was excited. I returned home in December, just in time to ring in the New Year with Stan, Hunter, and Roper. I decided that the next year, 2004, would be my year of recovery. Each day I took small steps to separate myself further and further from the disorders. Every day I was getting a little healthier, and each month it got a little easier. Slowly, I started working out again and put some muscle back on. I started to ride but didn’t rope or compete. I was scared of relapsing into my disorders, so I approached everything with caution. I did not want to mess this up again. A year went by. Then, on December 25, 2004, after a year of small and gradual steps forward, I opened up my Christmas card from Stan. There was a check in it. Inside, Stan had written, “Go buy back your WPRA card.”

118 DONENE TAYLOR DIGGING DEEPER – DO THE WORK WHO OR WHAT ARE YOU GIVING YOUR POWER TO? During my stay at the Remuda Ranch I had a major shift in my attitude and perspective. Going in, I was blaming and complaining about things outside of my control for my eating disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder. When I was discharged, I had taken ownership over my disorders. I under- stood that I had power over myself, my choices, my behavior. I had a new place to begin but it would take practice. It’s a misconcep- tion that when you leave a treatment center you are “healed.” The healing process has begun but it will take time. Lots of practice and lots of time. If you feel out of control, let me ask you this: Who or what are you giving your power to? It’s up to you to take your power back, and live life wholeheartedly like you were meant to live it. “You’ve Always Had The Power, My Dear, You Just Had To Learn It For Yourself.” — GILDA, THE GOOD WITCH, IN THE MOVIE, “WIZARD OF OZ”

Chapter 5 Go Get Your Dream I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul. In 2005, my first year back after finishing treatment at the Remuda Ranch, I qualified in the tie-down roping for the WPRA World Finals. Dad drove Detroit and I to the Cowtown Coliseum in Fort Worth, Texas, where the Finals were held. Stan, Hunter, Roper, and Justin flew down to watch. I split third and fourth place in the first round, won the second round, and I was thinking the Average was mine to win. But the calf faded right, and as usual I failed to drive my horse into position, and I took an unlikely, “low-percentage” shot. Old habits are hard to break, especially when you are not working on them, and I missed my calf in

120 DONENE TAYLOR the third round. Nonetheless, I had a lot of fun with Stan, the boys, Justin and my Dad. I returned home energized. I just knew next year would be my year to win it. But 2006 rolled around and the first few months did not start out like I thought they would. When I roped, I missed almost all my calves. I felt embarrassed. I would ask myself, ‘Why can’t I catch a break?’ I quickly spiraled downward with negative self-talk, a poor attitude, and a victim-like mentality. In the heat of self-loathing and humiliation, I quit. I turned Detroit out and sold my calves. I was done. Despite having given up, I kept up on the standings and how all the other women were doing as they rodeoed that year. In October, that desire in my heart—my dream to win the World—started to bubble up again. I began to think to myself, ‘Hey, it wasn’t that bad,’ ‘I know I can do better,’ and, ‘I really do want to win it!’ I thought back to how Dad had always driven me to the rodeos. I thought, ‘What if I did it myself?’ I imagined travelling from rodeo to rodeo, competing with the best—and doing it on my own terms. The thought excited me. I knew it was time. But in order to be independent, I would need a truck. After a month of reflection, I told Stan what I was thinking. “I re- ally think I need to drive myself and bring Hunter and Roper with me,” I said. “Could we get me a truck to pull my 3-horse trailer?” Stan agreed, and in November he bought me a truck. I felt so grateful to have Stan’s support. By getting me a truck, he was telling me I could run down this dream—and I could do it on my own. I picked out the truck: a maroon, 2007 GMC Sierra 2500HD, with four doors, and a huge back seat. Plenty of room for kids, and an en- tertainment center in the back where they could play DVDs and video games. It even had OnStar and XM radio. It was the first vehicle Stan and I had bought new off the lot. It was also the first truck I had that could pull a horse trailer. Driving it home that night I couldn’t believe it: I had my very own truck.

HEART OF A CHAMPION 121 I said to myself, “I am going to rodeo so hard. I am going down the road and nothing is going to hold me back. I am going to win the World.” I still had a long journey ahead. But this truck, and everything it symbolized, was going to help me get there.

122 DONENE TAYLOR DIGGING DEEPER – DO THE WORK WHAT ACTION CAN YOU TAKE TODAY TO STEER YOURSELF IN THE DIRECTION OF YOUR GOALS? Dreams don’t just happen because you want them to. I needed to start making my dream happen the way I saw it happening. Sometimes it’s the small, concrete ac- tions that really count. Getting my own truck was an important step. It meant I could drive myself to the rodeos—and more importantly, it meant I was driving my life in the direction I wanted to go in. If you feel stuck, look for a small action you can take to move yourself forward. It might be bigger than you think. “You must strive to find your own voice because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are going to find it at all.” — ROBIN WILLIAMS AS JOHN KEATING IN THE MOVIE, DEAD POETS SOCIETY

HEART OF A CHAMPION 123 “Skeered but doing it anyway.” The following year, 2007, I roped and travelled more than I ever had be- fore. Hunter and Roper came along for many of the trips. Having them join me really lightened the atmosphere and raised the energy level during each trip. They didn’t care how I did. Heck, most of the time they didn’t even ask. Unlike Dad, they did not go over every detail and talk about my runs the entire time. I still struggled with my PGA—Post- Game Analysis—but they made it much harder to wallow in my disap- pointments. They wanted to talk about the next fun thing we could do; they wanted to know if we could go to Chuck E. Cheese or stop at Toys ‘R’ Us. As I drove, they watched movies in the backseat with the surround sound coming through the truck speakers. They loved it, and so did I. On June 8th and 9th the boys, Detroit, and I went to Gallup, New Mexico for two rodeos held in Red Rock State Park. The scenic Red Rock cliffs gave it an Amphitheatre feel. It was beautiful and unlike anything I had ever seen before. I won fourth in the first rodeo but during my run in the second rodeo Detroit pulled up on his own. He was in pain. I had no idea what just happened. I instantly got off of him and several girls ran out into the arena, took the saddle off of him and carried it back to my trailer. I had tears rolling down my face as I led him out of the arena. A couple of the girls gave me some anti-inflammatory medication and electro- lytes for Detroit. His acute pain eventually subsided, but it was appar- ent that he strained a muscle in his back. We headed home the next morning. Detroit was feeling better, but I had no idea what his prognosis would be. Driving home with the boys made the trip more bearable but I was worried. I felt so guilty that he got hurt while I was roping on him. Back home, the vet recommended some laser treatments and an undetermined amount of time off. While Detroit healed, I needed to find another horse. I called Troy. “Do you know of any horses for sale that may fit me?”

124 DONENE TAYLOR “I think I have just the one,” he said. On July 7, I bought a horse—named Todd—from Troy for $12,000. I had never invested that amount of money in a horse before, but in truth, he was worth much, much more. Troy was kind enough to sell him to me, because $12,000 was all I had. Troy’s brother, also named Todd, had trained him, so he was extremely well-trained. A great little horse. Just what I needed. That month, we also got a new family member: a puppy, Rex. Rex is a miniature Sheltie who we got from Troy’s wife, Martee. Boy, I had to do more selling to Stan to get that free puppy than I did to bring home that $12,000 horse. I had to really up my negotiating skills to bring that free puppy home. But I’m so glad I did. Roper latched onto Rex, and Rex latched onto him right back. As I’d find out on the road, Rex would really help me out, too. I was proud to be taking more control over my own life, but the truth is, while driving myself to each of the rodeos I was scared. I was scared of all the things that could go wrong. I was afraid of not being vigilant enough to keep my boys safe, of wrecking my truck and trailer, of hurting my horses if I had to brake suddenly, of hitting someone, or someone hitting me. I was afraid of bad roads, bad weather, getting robbed or hurt or assaulted while stopped for gas or at a rest area, wildlife jumping out on to the road, my horses getting sick on the road, a flat tire or blow out, getting lost, my truck breaking down, or not getting to the competition on time. In my mind, there were a million things that could go wrong. However, my anxiety was less than my ‘why’—the reason behind the things I did. My drive to go to the rodeos far outweighed my scared feelings. After a while, I just got used to being scared. It was just part

HEART OF A CHAMPION 125 of the deal. I made the decision to act differently than I felt. One of my girlfriends, Kari Nixon (now a three-time World Cham- pion herself) had a bumper sticker on her trailer that said ‘Not Skeered.’ That sticker inspired me. I joked to Stan, “I need a bumper sticker that says ‘Skeered but doing it anyway.’” There were definitely some times when being scared was justified. In September I headed to a rodeo in Sonora, Arizona. Sonora is less than an hour from the Mexico Border—a long way from home. At first, I wasn’t even sure if I should go. It was an event where women could compete with the men. The guys would be given handicaps, and any money I won would count towards the WPRA World Standings. At that point, we were down to the end of the season, and I was seventy dollars out of first in the World Standings. It looked like I would be in second place heading into the World Finals, and I wanted to go in as #1. I guess it was my competitive spirit. Now, even though we all are given handicaps, roping with the men is still a challenge. I’d be roping with the kind of calves that they’re used to roping—and they are tough. The event wouldn’t pay more than a few hundred dollars to the winner, and I knew it was a roll of the dice. But if I drew a calf that would let me shine, I figured I had a shot at it. While thinking it over, I asked Troy, “Should I go?” “I travelled a lot further, for a lot less,” he said. Coming from Troy, who’d won the World in 1990, that was good enough for me. I packed us up and away we went—me, Roper, Todd, and little puppy Rex. We stopped at Troy’s first to practice, and then drove straight from Troy’s place through to New Mexico. Around 1:00 am we hit a pretty heavy rainstorm and needed to stop. I found us a little motel in Belton, New Mexico where we could stay for the night. I parked my truck and trailer in a vacant parking lot next to the motel and got Roper settled into the motel room, where he climbed right into bed and turned on the TV. Meanwhile, I went back outside

126 DONENE TAYLOR to the trailer to take care of Todd and Rex. My trailer was a three-horse slant trailer, so Todd had room to move around and stretch out. I fed him, got him some water, and took his trailering boots off. I closed the trailer door and locked it with the padlock. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a man appeared. The guy was in his twenties, with tattoos all over his neck and arms. He appeared to be under the influence of something. Being a woman alone, late at night, in a strange town, I went on high alert. I had the dog with me, but I didn’t hold out much hope for our quiet, gentle little puppy who’d never even let out a single bark. The guy took a step forward. I took a step back. “You got any money?” he asked. “Man, I don’t have any money on me, it’s all up in the room.” My heart was pounding, and my mind was racing, but on the outside, I acted calm, even nonchalant. He took a couple more steps towards me, and I casually took a cou- ple more steps back. “You sure you don’t have any money?” At that point, Rex started barking. And barking. And barking. His bark echoed loudly into the empty streets. In response, the guy took a couple steps away. But he didn’t leave. “Come on,” he said. “You’ve got to have some money. I need some money.” At the same time, my mind was working. I thought, ‘I know I can outrun this guy. He’s under the influence of something. And I’m an athlete.’ Then I slid my hand into the front pocket of my hoodie. He saw that and took another step back. ‘Okay,’ I thought. ‘Okay, I’m getting some control here.’ I felt a surge of control, and my body language must have reflected it because he fi- nally backed off. “I’m going to bed now,” I said. And he finally walked off. Rex’s puppy barks echoed behind him.

HEART OF A CHAMPION 127 I lingered a little longer on the other side of my trailer, just to make sure everything was locked up properly. I checked on Todd one more time, and everything was as it needed to be. I headed back to the room where I found Roper fast asleep. As I crawled into bed, I thought, ‘I just did that.’ The next day we arrived at the roping. It was a two header. We’d be staying overnight in Sonora at a refurbished barn, and of all the places I’ve stayed, it still stands out as one of the coolest. There’s a lot of history in that area. Sonora, Arizona is where they do a lot of the filming for old western movies. It has a lot of character. The first evening, my calf was wild, but I caught him. Even after I got him flanked, his hind feet were still kicking and I got a hoof on the right side of my face, right along my eye. But I got him tied solid, and I made a good run. I didn’t place with the men. That little calf, he was just too tough for me to shine on. Now I had a nasty looking scrape and hoof print on the side of my face to show for my effort. The next calf I drew was also a fast one. I knew he was going to run hard leaving the chute and zig zag down the arena, and that’s what he did. I couldn’t even catch up to him, but I gave it my best. As we headed home that night, we had to drive up over a hill, and on the other side of it we saw a bunch of police vehicles. About four of them were sitting there with their lights flashing. As we saw them, I said to Roper, “you got your seat belt on?” “Yeah,” he said. I didn’t know what was going to happen there. As we slowed down, they waved us through. That’s when I realized they were Border Police. When we got home, I thought about everything we’d done and saw.

128 DONENE TAYLOR That trip was the scariest trip I think I’d ever had, but boy, I learned a lot. I was the only girl at those ropings. I thought, ‘I’m willing to do the things that no one else is willing to do. And that’s not a bad thing.’ My courage meter raised a few notches that trip. I’d had to navigate through things I’d never experienced before. I had to fly by the seat of my pants a little. And it was up to me to get us to the rodeo and home safely. Rex found his voice on that trip and I was certainly finding mine too.

HEART OF A CHAMPION 129 DIGGING DEEPER – DO THE WORK CAN YOU VENTURE JUST A TINY BIT OUTSIDE YOUR COMFORT ZONE? One tiny step of courage will lead to another, and then another. In 2007, I was learning that I was much stronger than I’d ever thought I was. Before I knew it, I was doing things I had only dreamed of. It’s OK to go against the grain, to do things that are outside of the norm. Sometimes it will feel uncomfortable and scary. Achieving a goal often means doing things that no one else is willing to do. “A dream is your creative vision for your life in the future. You must break out of your current comfort zone and become comfortable with the unfamiliar and the unknown.” — DENIS WAITLEY, AUTHOR AND MOTIVATIONAL SPEAKER

130 DONENE TAYLOR Larger than Life October. Time for the WPRA World Finals. The 2007 Finals were held in Alvarado, Texas. I wanted to finish this year like I started – empowered. I wanted to see if I could do it on my own terms. I decided to go with Hunter, Roper, and Rex—no Dad this year. I felt really compelled to pass the test that I set for myself. Dad didn’t understand why I wanted to go on my own. Most people didn’t. “Why are you doing this?” I was asked again and again. But I knew why, and that’s what mattered. I really believed it was my year to win. I didn’t have the facts to back it up—my skill set hadn’t improved that much, and I knew I was in- consistent. But I felt like it was my time. A part of me just thought that I would have luck on my side, and things would fall into place. I had made a few 11-second roping runs throughout the year, and I had won some tougher ropings, but I also had some epic failures, and I had missed some calves that I should never have missed. I just kept turning a blind eye and hoping for the best. Leading up to the 2007 Finals, I was ranked second in the World Standings. I was $70 behind the number one tie-down roper. I wasn’t first, but it was the best start I’ve ever had going into the Finals. Hunter, Roper, Rex, and I headed down to Texas. Along the way, we stopped to rest at a motel near Blackwell, Oklahoma. In the morn- ing, I took Todd out of the trailer, fed and watered him, and cleaned the trailer. I repacked our suitcases from the night before. We had a lot of stuff for this journey: a week’s worth of clothes, hay, buckets, roping dummy, 30-gallon water bottles for Todd, and so on. The tailgate was up, and I thought we looked like The Beverly Hillbillies. There was a lot of dew on the grass that morning and my boots were wet. As I went to load my heavy suitcase into the truck, I stepped up on the hitch that connects the truck to the trailer, and my wet boot slipped off the hitch. With a thud, I fell down and hit the trailer hitch with my right shoulder.

HEART OF A CHAMPION 131 I thought, ‘Dang, that hurts.’ But I got up and brushed myself off. I didn’t think it was anything serious, and besides, I needed to move on so we could stay on schedule. I finished loading up the truck, loaded Todd, got the kids and the puppy, and on we went to the Finals. We arrived a day before the Finals began. I wasn’t feeling great that morning; my shoulder hurt, and I felt unsure about the setup. The start, or the ‘get out,’ to begin a roping run, is personal for each roper. Each roper will leave the roping box behind a barrier; a stretched rope in front of the roping box which is tied to a rope around the calf’s neck. The barrier is intended to give the calf a head start. The calf must release the barrier before the roper leaves the box. If the roper leaves to soon they are given a 10-second penalty for breaking the barrier. Each calf leaves the chute a bit differently and each horse will leave the box a bit differently too. The start will vary from rodeo to rodeo, and each setup can have its own challenges. Getting a good start is important in setting up a good run, so it’s best to have a look at the setup in advance and get a strategy for how you’ll get out. I called Troy and asked him what he thought, but without seeing the setup, he couldn’t really help. He suggested I look for someone there who might be able to help me out. “Who else is there?” he asked. “Is there someone else you can ask?” “I’m not sure,” I said. “Is Lari Dee Guy there?” “Yes.” I knew who Lari Dee Guy was. In fact, she was a hero of mine. She had won 2 National Intercollegiate Championships, along with several other Championships in many different rodeo, and roping associations. To date she has won eight World Championships in the Women’s Professional Rodeo Association and she is not finished yet! I

132 DONENE TAYLOR watched her roping video each morning as I worked out and I had con- templated her roping schools in the past. “Go ask her,” suggested Troy. “She’ll know.” The thought made me uncomfortable. “Oh, I don’t know about that Troy, I don’t know her. I can’t do that.” “She’ll visit with you. Go ask her.” “I really can’t do that, Troy,” I repeated. “I’m not comfortable doing that. I don’t know her.” Ever-patient, Troy tried again. “Just walk up to her and tell her I said that she would help you get out.” I still wasn’t convinced. “I’m not sure.” Finally, Troy began to rightfully lose patience with me. With more authority in his voice he said, “Just go ask Lari Dee.” Reluctantly, I agreed. “OK,” I said. “I’ll go ask her.” After our call, I headed back into the barn, on the watch for Lari Dee. Within minutes, I spotted her at the other end of the arena, by herself. I could see that she had big body language—a natural confi- dence about her. Walking over to her, I was a bundle of nerves. I was so intimidated, I felt like my heart was beating out of my chest. I quickly tried to figure out what to say to break the ice. I was used to relentlessly asking Troy for help, but this was totally outside my comfort zone. I thought, ‘Here I am, the #2 tie-down roper coming in and I don’t even know how to get out.’ I was embarrassed and, in my mind, Lari Dee was larger than life. As I walked over to Lari Dee, I smiled. She smiled back. I intro- duced myself and said that I really liked her breakaway roping video. I explained that I had learned a lot from it, which was true. Then I ex- plained that I was visiting with Troy today. “He said you could help me with getting out of the box,” I ex- plained. “I’m not sure how to read it.” Lari Dee said she was not exactly sure yet, either, and wanted to see some ropers go first to know exactly what she would do. She suggested