I Don't Know Who I Am When I'm Not Riding

Until recently, October was the last time my legs touched a saddle. At the time, the leaves were just starting to brown after a particularly fruitful summer season. The rain was good to us. The fires stayed relatively contained. The sky hung big, and bright, and blue.

Dixie and I had been lessoning twice a week like clockwork. We were regimented and ready each time we stepped into the arena. Finding the proper flexion, keeping her balanced, and building my stamina were all beginning to fall into rhythm.

It was hard, but anything worth having is worth working for.

I love how quick the results show up in your everyday experience when working with young horses. Especially when you're working with a smart, motivated Thoroughbred, like my Unbridled Dixie. If you do it correctly and consistently, you will find yourself with a 1,200 pound animal that reads your thoughts before you think them.

And it is pure magic.

Common conversations in the horse world center around money and the financial chops it takes to survive in this sport, let alone reach a competitive level (which requires extensive travel for both horse and rider).

Many people will never set foot in this sport because they take one look at the financials and say "I cannot afford it". It's an absolute shame, because I can't recommend a better upbringing than being taught the discipline and demanding nature of equestrian sports.

In this sport, you will never have enough money. But that's just how it goes. The people that stay in this sport or come back to it are most often the motivated, hard working, high achievers in the workplace. Every barn I ride at is filled with incredibly smart women with big jobs – because they wanted horses.

I've never met a financially savvy individual who recommended anyone get into horse sports. I once read the only sport more expensive than equestrian is Formula 1 racing, and I can remember thinking, "yeah, that tracks". The truth is that the people who are in the sport and can afford it are usually the ones that lose interest.

Equestrian sports have almost zero commercial appeal in America because it's mostly rich people who flew in on private jets riding horses worth more than houses wearing gear that costs, on average, tens of thousands of dollars. It's completely unrelatable.

There are nearly no underdogs in United States showjumping. Few cinderella stories. If you look at the names of the people who top the world ranking list – more often than not they were born to the sport. Individuals in America compete with generational dynasties, often backed by billion dollar corporations (quietly, of course).

Horse prices have inflated drastically. When I was growing up, you could spend less than $10,000 and have a pretty great intermediate horse. Thead days if you want to be winning on the rated circuits, you probably need to buy a horse in the $100,000+ range.

Like the black sheep that I am, I decided (and had) to find my own path. I chose not to subscribe to the nonsense in an industry that hasn't exactly been a shining example of what a great sport should look like.

We made Ken dolls out of George Morris before we realized what he was doing behind closed doors. That doll still sits in my closet packaged in plastic. I can't bring myself to throw it away. Perhaps as a reminder that perception and popular opinion can change, but integrity and character will always hold true.

I decided back in 2022 that I would have to buy young and spend the next few years developing my Thoroughbred mare into the horse I wanted. I have never been anything but honest about the fact that there is no world in which I could ever afford to spend $100,000 on a horse.

And even if I could, I am not sure that I would.

It hasn't been an easy road and not one I'd recommend for the novice or the faint of heart. My path is paved in blood, sweat, tears, and a whole lot of money I miss dearly. But the thing is, in the moments clouded by salty tears and buried in self doubt, my horse was the one thing that kept me going.

When someone once said to me I shouldn't have a horse because I had a checklist of other things that society says I should have accomplished before I purchase said horse, I knew that person didn't truly know who I was.

Because I don't know who I am when I'm not riding.

As I swung my leg over Dixie for our usual weekend lesson in the lower jump arena last fall, it never crossed my mind that would be the last day I'd spend in the saddle all season. Like any young mare, Dixie sometimes expresses her opinions impolitely with a kick-out or a buck. This had become a bit of a habit when asking for the upward transition to the canter.

Her left side has always been more challenging for her. We were doing an exercise of two canter poles on a large circle at the short end of the arena. The goal of the exercise was to practice balance, alignment, and straightness over the poles. When I failed to prevent her from bulging too far into my right leg, she got crooked in the canter, thrown off balance, frustrated, and then responded by kicking her heels up higher than both of our heads.

I instinctively sat back and gripped tight.

She landed, my upper body went forward and to the left but the core strength I've spent the last two years developing with barre workouts helped me sustain my seat despite the forward momentum. I felt a pop in my lower back when I landed back in the saddle.

I stayed on, but my spine seared with pain. It turns out decades of doing sports take a toll on any athlete's body. Mine is no different.

We're only human, after all.

Physical therapy was both the reality check and the blessing that I would come to rely on to present day. Like many equestrians, I have put my body to the ringer and haven't always taken the time to come back properly. I didn't have a choice when I was riding horses for a living. I am now very lucky to have choices.

Being sidelined from the saddle brought the realization that I relied on riding as my mental health and emotional outlet.

When I'm riding, I relax and rely on the muscle memory. I get to go on autopilot, but riding is never boring because every ride is different. Especially with Dixie. It's the perfect balance of something familiar yet something challenging. A new adventure and a new problem to be solved. Progress to be made and levels to climb.

I knew that not being able to ride while I recovered was going to be difficult, but I kept showing up at the barn every single day anyways. I couldn't stand to think of missing out on any of the magic moments where Dixie makes progress. Especially since she continues to impress her vets, farriers, dentists, and various other professionals we engage with to help her develop into the best she can be.

A year ago, this mare had many doubters. And now, there are few.

Not riding forced me to find comfort in other barn activities. Every day I spent a lot of time in Dixie's pen, doing some much needed soul searching. There have been days where it felt like I came full circle - rediscovering the comfort of daily rhythms and routines that helped to calm my mind and soothe my soul.

We've grown much closer as a result of the time we‘ve spent together. I feed her post-workout snacks, refill her water buckets, muck her stall, and make a point to put hands on her every single day. It's the most involved I've been with horses since I left the industry all those years ago and it reminded me why it's so important to build connection with your equine partners out of the tack. Riding is only one small part of a high performing team.

Now knowing that my mobility was in peril and just how close I came to a completely different reality, I show up at the barn knowing I am blessed to just be walking, let alone swinging my leg over a saddle and riding. I constantly have to remind myself how blessed I am to still be able to do barre workouts, weight lifting, and running again. My future came very close to being one of limitation and for that I have made a point to wake up every single day grateful.

We didn't come this far just to come this far. Next chapter starts here.