My life is a barrel race
Its when you muster the courage to mount that big bay mare.
The one I called Joanie.
Its the pain you feel hitting the ground after being thrown by that colt.
Tasting the arena dirt before you turn that second barrel.
But you have to get up and shake off the pain and get back on.
Its hearing your name being called to collect your prize money.
And living off that money until the next show.
Its driving home late at night with nothing but gas station coffee to keep you awake.
Its also walking around school with a limp because you turned a barrel too soon.
Its feeling her heart beat beneath the saddle before a run.
My life is written with scraped shins,
bloody and bruised.
You have to walk out of that pen with your head held high.
Because at the end of the season you come home with a trophy saddle and a new belt buckle with your name on it.
