Someone later told me that out on the arena floor they could hear the faint sound of me screaming down in the training room. That kind of pain will literally break you. The trainers gave me as much Motrin as they could and kept bringing me ice, which I crushed in my hands. (That somehow helped.) My equipment sponsor at that time was Bruce Caldwell, and he came down to see what was wrong. I kept fighting with him about calling an ambulance, when I could get my breath. I had no medical insurance and had just gotten married. We needed to make money, not lose it. I did NOT want to spend the night in a hospital a thousand miles from home.
After about three hours, I passed the thing, and when I went back out to the arena, I was surprised to find that the meet was still going on. The bar was at 18' and I still didn't have any misses. I had not technically withdrawn from the competition. I still had three jumps left, and there was a $3,000 check riding on clearing that bar. I wasn't trying to be a hero. I was just trying to pay the rent. I didn't make it, but I did get my legs over it on my second attempt.
