Nicole Lakin Gives Moving Words of Inspiration During the Opening Ceremonies

During the opening ceremonies today, riders, officials and volunteers gathered as organizers Brian and Penny Ross addressed the teams, their coodrinators and their families. But it was Nicole Lakin, gold medal team member for the 2006 NAJYRC Junior Showjumping Team, and Individual Silver medalist, who addressed the crowd with her personal story, that was the inspirational message of the day. Nicole generously provided us with the text, so we can share it with our readers:

I am excited and honored to be here today, for the opening ceremonies of the 2007 North American Young Riders’ Championships. I was asked to share my experience with all of you, of last year’s competition, which is no small feat for me, so I ask you to bear with me.

About two years ago, I decided that I wanted to compete here, and set a goal for myself to qualify for the zone 2 Showjumping team. It was a far-reaching goal, but I figured that the only major obstacle that I would have to face was my own nerves and doubts in myself. But a few months into the show season, everything changed. After falling off of my horse in a class in Florida, I was forced to go to a local medical center for chest x-rays. Although I had cracked a rib or two, there was something else on the x-ray that spun my world up-side down. The doctors found a sizable tumor located behind my heart. I was flown home immediately and underwent a fairly invasive surgery to test the tumor and some other organs to see ho far it had spread. After a week of waiting and recovering from surgery, we were finally informed of my prognosis, which was good, as long as I was willing to undergo an aggressive treatment of chemotherapy.

Those of you, who know me, know that I am a fairly easy going person. And many of you may be surprised to hear this, but I was freaking out.

I had cancer. I felt like my life had come to a crashing halt. I pleaded with the doctors to allow me a trip to Florida to see my horses before I would submit myself to being a pincushion. Those few days were incredible for me. The support and love came from everyone I knew, and even from the places where I least expected it. I was incredibly weak from the surgery, but sitting on my horses and being surrounded by people who cared about me gave me a renewed sense of energy and willpower.

I felt ready to fight, under one condition. I had to be able to ride.

The unrelenting love that I felt when I was with my horses was something that I can’t quite explain, but for the first time, although I may have thought it before, I knew that without a doubt that a connection with my horses was necessary for my health.

I returned home and started chemotherapy, which drained me of energy, made me constantly sick to my stomach, ached in every muscle of my body, and caused other physical symptoms that were less than pleasant.

But mentally, I had never felt so wonderful! I was able to joke about my situation, laugh about it, and most importantly talk about it with anyone who wanted to hear. I didn’t miss a show, and even had a few successes, although I was often forced to return to my hotel room soon after competing because I was prone to overheating and exhaustion.

But not of that mattered. It was just part of what I had to do. The pleasure that I felt when I was riding was worth symptoms ten times worse. When I was on a horse, I was a rider, not a cancer patient.

That summer my trainers, Frank and Stacia Madden, who I have to mention were two of my biggest supporters during this time, received a phone call from Ralph Caristo asking if I would like to represent Zone 2 in the Junior Championships. I was of course elated, though I wasn’t sure how it would be possible. My year so far has been incredible in so many ways, both good and bad, and this was just one of the most pleasant surprises I could have asked for. I arrived here, last year, hoping for a good experience, as I was certainly not at the top of my game. I had completed my chemotherapy, but I was still not myself. I had lost so much strength, and had gained weight from many of the medications, but since receiving that phone call, I had done everything in my power to get back to normal.

The first day I was excited but also extremely nervous. I sat anxiously through the opening ceremony, and listened to the winners from previous years speak, trying to soak up any bit of advise that they had to offer. But my fears and anxieties were quickly deflated by the kindness and support of my team members and chef d’equipe. When my time came in the ring on the first day of competition, I felt what it really means to be on a team. The energy was electrifying. Everyone was cheering for me and wanted me to do well and badly as I did. My team set me up to succeed, and it was all there was left to do. For the entire week I forgot that I had cancer, and may never be cancer-free. For the entire week, I was able to really appreciate what it meant to be here. I was part of a team. My horse was counting on me, and so were my teammates. My successes were also their successes, and their successes, mine. It meant that I had reached my goal, but I wasn’t the only one who was befitting of that experience. I realized that this unique event had been an opportunity for me to grow as both a rider and as a person. It was an opportunity for me to learn and to have fun doing it.

So, if I have to give you all one piece of advice, one valuable thing that I think I learned from last year’s experience, it would be this: