Category: Blog

Here we go again. New year, same story. It’s a different actor this time though, as now it’s my beloved Beau who’s ringing in the new year on stall rest and not me. I was gleefully looking forward to the first off season in three years where I could do the thing you’re supposed to do in the off season. You know, train…

Life has this funny way of re-routing all of the chapters I want to write. I was training for a marathon when I broke my leg. I dreamed of what that would feel like, all the battles to be fought and won as I trained, I saw that finish line in my mind’s eye. In an instant, that story line was gone and replaced with surgery and 12 weeks unable to walk. I was planning a victorious comeback last fall, and had been steadily working towards new goals when I learned I had to have surgery, again. There went those hopes and dreams. Another chapter on the cutting room floor.

And that brings us to the present.

Beau was going better than he ever had. There was power in the trot. He was becoming more sensitive to the seat aids in the lateral movements. And most exciting of all, he was really starting find a new degree of collection in the canter. I felt like we were on the right track heading towards our goal of Fourth Level in the new year. Then one day something was just not quite right.

Soon after that, it became apparent that he was very not right and as fast I could, I had him on a trailer heading toward a specialty vet clinic in Ohio. I had not slept in days. I could barely eat. I couldn’t focus at work. I was just sick with worry, knowing in my gut that whatever answers awaited us were not going to be good ones. And unfortunately, my gut was right. Even though I knew deep down I was not going to get good news, I still was not prepared to see that ultrasound which revealed a tear in the suspensory ligament.

In that single moment, each dream I held for our future was erased. Each goal we were working towards, halted. Another chapter re-written. I was doing a pretty good job of holding it together until the diagnostic stages were completed and it was time to decide what to do next. I was about to answer a simple question posed by the vet, when Beau turned his head and looked at me with those giant brown doe-eyes. My heart shattered when I looked into his eyes and the only sound that came out of my mouth was an uncontrollable sob.

It remains impossible to put into words the overwhelming emotion that moment held. In those giant eyes, I saw the soul of a creature that had given me more than I could ever ask for. I felt overwhelming gratitude for my boy, my once-in-a-lifetime horse. I felt pain at letting go of the dreams I held for us and I felt grief for the loss of everything we’d worked so hard to do. I felt confusion and panic at trying to balance the medical, financial, and emotional considerations that went into planning his rehabilitation. In the days that followed, I bounced between hopeful delusions that he would make a miraculous recovery and unshakable despair that life as I knew it was over. It took a week for the emotion roller coaster to run its course then I clicked into gear: I had a new goal. Work tirelessly day in and day out to get this horse better, whatever “better” may mean at the end of 6 months.

Each day, the sadness was replaced with a sense of purpose. This horse has carried me through all the trials and tribulations of my adult life. He has made dreams come true. He has taught me everything I know about dressage, about horsemanship, and an awful lot about life. When I was broken, he helped me heal. The universe was just giving me a chance to return the favor.

So each day, we walk. Week by week, we walk a little bit more. I stand in the rain and watch him eat grass. I take wraps off, put wraps on. I groom him daily so he glows like a show horse ought to. I put ice packs on the injured leg and treat it with light therapy. I massage him weekly to help with the stiffness that comes with stall rest.  And each time I use my hands to release tension, ease soreness, help him relax, I feel grateful that I have this skill to help my best friend feel better.

This is not the chapter I planned to write this winter, not by a long shot. I like to believe it’s possible that it has a happy ending, even if it is not the ending I hoped for or dreamed of. I’m searching for the silver linings which will surely be there–they always are.  I have become more conscious about how the simple act of being around horses makes me feel whole. How listening to hooves clicking down a barn aisle and the happy sound of teeth munching hay bring me peace. How a day revolving around walking him in circles for 15 minutes somehow feels like a day well worth while.

In the new year, we look forward to challenges to come. But as horse people, we don’t always get to choose our own challenges. The last couple chapters in my own broken leg diary have taught me a thing or two about healing, and the parallels the healing process shares with training: patience, consistency, determination.  We’ve got this. Just 159 days to go…

There could not be a more perfect day to be writing this one. After our final qualifying show didn’t go according to plan, we decided to enter a schooling show to hopefully end the season on a good note. A crazy week at work and with massage clients meant a long streak of late nights and early mornings trying to make the time to ride and train. There’s still a laundry list of prep for any show, but at least this one is right in our backyard. Friday was an amazing day with a marathon massage day at Coventry Equestrian Center making sure some of my very favorite equines were in tip top shape for their final shows of the year. I had to squeeze in a ride and a run before my first client, so my tack was not so sparkling and my pony did not get a bath. But I would head down centerline, ready or not.

Like most horse show mornings, the alarm starts going off at 5:00 and everyone slowly stumbles around in various levels of consciousness until somehow the boots and clothes are packed, the coffee is made, the dog is fed and off we go. Arriving at the barn, the frantic prep immediately begins. I have a severe case of braiding anxiety that makes me panic about running out of time until my braids are done, and I can breathe easy that I won’t be spending an extra un-budgeted 20 minutes redoing ugly braids. (Unless he scratches them out on a wall. Or with his feet. That has happened). I was feeling satisfied with the state of mud removal and about to get rolling with the braids, when I heard some rumors trickling down the barn aisle… “The arena is too wet. You can’t ride in it. The show has to be cancelled.” Just in case they weren’t true, I kept grooming but it wasn’t long until the official call was made: no horse show.

I vaguely recalled seeing that the outdoor arena was underwater when we drove in, but I was too sleepy and too enamored with the sunrise for that to register as a problem. Standing there with my very clean and very grumpy horse (I had interrupted his breakfast that morning) I felt very mixed emotions to this news. Secretly happy that I didn’t have to half pass through tiny lakes, a little relieved because I was a bit less than confident heading into the show, but definitely bummed that our season ended with us doing less that our best, and a lot of regret that I had poured in so much work into training for it and woken up so. freaking. early.

But that’s horses. Plan all you want, prep every last detail, work your tail off and STILL the room for error is alarming. The was put into brilliant focus for me last week while I stole every free moment I could to watch the World Equestrian Games coverage. Here you have riders with more talent and training that most of us mere mortals have in one foot and horses… don’t even get me started on the horses. The quality of the top top horses is stunning. They hardly seem earthly, the way they move… And yet, the best in the world still go into the ring and have mistakes. I watched Steffen Peters’ young Suppenkasper with awe, and despite his great athleticism and Steffen’s skillful riding, green mistakes still occur in the piaffe. I watched Jessica von Bredow-Werndl ride a breathtaking test to hold the overnight lead for Germany, yet in an interview she said her mare was not quite herself because of the humidity. And the one that pulled at my heartstrings the hardest was Canada’s Megan Lane. Scoring only a 60.9% after some early and very costly mistakes, she came out of the ring fighting tears of disappointment knowing that she and her horse could have performed better, knowing that it was not the way she had planned on her test on the world’s stage to go. These horses and riders have teams of professionals–trainers, grooms, vets, you name it–making sure things go right, and still they don’t. The riders are mounted on the best horses in the world, with financial resources that you and I can only dream of–and still the plans go awry.

But then… sometimes the stars align and things go right. Non-horse people, we’re sorry we blow up your social media with pictures of us in awkward helmets and horses wearing ribbons, but… it’s just so rare and so exciting when things actually DO go according to plan. Just ask Isabel Werth, the most decorated equestrian Olympian in history and winner of this year’s team gold. After scoring a scorching 84%, she comes out of the ring with tears freely flowing. She might make it look easy, but the road to meeting your goals is never easy, not even when you’re Isabel Werth.

And then there are the underdogs who remind me that a gold medal is not everyone’s goal, and you can still enjoy the journey you’re on. Julio Mendoza’s Chardonnay was having a blast in that ring–throwing in flying changes just about everywhere, just for fun. The test was not mistake free and was not going to win any medals, but you wouldn’t know that by the sheer joy on Julio’s face. And while a 60.9% crushes one rider’s dreams, it makes another’s come true. On nearly the exact same score, Ellesse Tzinberg comes of the ring elated–she’s competed in her first world games and is the first dressage rider to represent the Philippines.

After three days of competition, the 15 best dressage horses and riders in the world have fought for their chance to ride for an individual medal. And it rains. And rains some more. And this world-class venue with largely unlimited resources still cannot overcome the obstacles mother nature decided to throw at them. The freestyle is cancelled, the horses fly home to stables across the world and there will be no individual champions at this WEG.

I cannot fathom the disappointment that has to come with losing the opportunity to do what you’ve worked so hard for. There may never be another chance for some of these horses and riders. I cannot even imagine what that flight home must have felt like. And yet, we keep doing this. We know that there is a one in a million chance that things could work out and we roll the dice anyways. We plan our lives around these creatures who are far too fickle to plan for. And we devote ourselves to a sport that requires a partnership with an animal who is as delicate as he is powerful. If this isn’t a recipe for heartbreak, I don’t know what it is. But the victories are oh so sweet, because they are rare and they are hard-earned.

Yet we keep doing it. Because somewhere along the way we have learned the lesson that most of us already have or someday will learn–there are no sure things. The things that can go wrong, will go wrong. If you are going to ride, show, train or love horses, be ready to accept Murphy’s Law. It’s a bitter pill to swallow sometimes, an expensive one too, but try as we might to plan around it-that’s horses. As I look back over my season wrought with missed changes and missed scores, ill-timed time off, terrifying trailering detours, plus all the run of the mill challenges, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed. But I also feel proud. We didn’t win medals of any kind this year, but I am wiser, tougher, and just maybe a bit more cynical for having gone through it. I just have to look back and say to myself, “we live to fight another day.”

Launch day was one year ago today!

I started this post over and over again, trying to reflect on the progress of the past year, about the risks taken and the goals achieved, but it kept falling short. And then, like it always seems to, the light bulb goes off and I realize that it’s something else entirely that I need to be writing about.
It was hard to write a reflection of the past year because the past is not nearly as inspiring as the future. Anniversaries are exciting not because of the time that has passed, but because of the foundation that has been laid for the future. I have learned a great deal in the past 12 months, but instead of being comfortable with where I’m at, I only want to learn more. I have learned to listen to a horse with my hands, to pay attention to patterns and changes with the horse’s body, to take note of signs as subtle as a blink or an exhale and react accordingly. I learned those beautiful things that no book can teach you, because so many people were willing to put their trust in me to work with their horses, to allow me use what I already knew and still learn more.

And along the way, there were those “horse puzzles” that sent me writing to my massage mentors and fellow ESMT’s to pick their brains and together we learned more and more. I have been fortunate enough to work with and learn from many regular clients whose horses’ progress give me such valuable feedback about the relationship between what I’m feeling and how the horse is performing. There is no better feeling than being a catalyst for happy horses (and therefore happy riders) and much like EVERYTHING ELSE WITH HORSES EVER, the experience of one small joy sparks that fire of wanting more.

The joyous feeling of helping a horse feel better, relax a little, and work more happily has become completely addicting. But a year ago, it terrified me to launch this business–anytime you try something new, there is a chance you could fail. I worried about all the ways which that might happen, and all of the things that could go wrong, but everything in the “pro’s” column told me to take that leap anyways. Sometimes big dreams require big risks, and I had been dreaming but not risking anything.
What I didn’t expect to realize though was exactly how badly I needed to find this path. Plugging along at a job I like but don’t love, I wasn’t fulfilled. Research is fascinating and I’m good at my job, but it’s not what I’m meant to do. (Please tell me my boss won’t ever read this…) When I signed up for certification training, I had no idea I was signing up for the thing I was meant to do. Each happy horse has brought me joy like my desk job never will, and every tricky case has inspired me the way that only equine pursuits can.

Day after day, it’s what I look forward to. After a year of this, working most weekends, and any evening I can get something scheduled… my enthusiasm has never wavered, it only grows. I am incredibly grateful to so many people for the encouragement I needed to get this started (Art Lindsay, Kelly Collier, Patrick Metzler, Anita Buzzy Prentiss), the crew who is always on call to answer questions (Samantha Stilley Potts, Triumphant Touch, Cheyenne McDaniel) and to the ever-supportive professionals who have helped me in countless ways over the years (Robin Birk, Lisa Hall, Kristin Hermann). But most of all, to all of you who have trusted me to work with your horses. I have learned so much from these patient teachers, and I am going to invest more of myself into learning all I can to continue to help your happy athletes.


Stay tuned for more exciting news soon..

It’s a pretty typical question to be asked after a horse show:

“Well, how did it go?”

And usually it’s pretty straightforward to answer: “Really good! He was a super boy and we won all the things!” Or, “Not so good, he had an inexplicable meltdown and we almost died.”

But after this horse show, it was not at all easy to answer, “How did it go?” On paper, it was kind of an epic fail. Despite marching around the Brave Horse show grounds like he owned the place, and giving me a stellar warm up before our test Saturday morning, he trotted down centerline and began flinging his head up and down, up and down, up and down. My horse does a lot of dumb things and has a lot of bad habits, but THIS is not one of them. Before I even halted at X my brain went into panic mode and I thought, “this might be bad.” Sure enough, each half halt elicited another sassy head toss, leg aids resulted in bucking, soooooo to say it was a disaster was quite an understatement.

But after this horse show, it was not at all easy to answer, “How did it go?”

On paper, it was kind of an epic fail. Despite marching around the Brave Horse show grounds like he owned the place, and giving me a stellar warm up before our test Saturday morning, he trotted down centerline and began flinging his head up and down, up and down, up and down. My horse does a lot of dumb things and has a lot of bad habits, but THIS is not one of them. Before I even halted at X my brain went into panic mode and I thought, “this might be bad.” Sure enough, each half halt elicited another sassy head toss, leg aids resulted in bucking, soooooo to say it was a disaster was quite an understatement.

Sunday we got to take another crack at it, and while I was thrilled with how drama-free was it was, the judge clearly was not. And in a way, that feeling was even worse than the meltdown–if he’s not even good enough when he’s being good enough, where do I go from here? On paper, this show was not a success. We didn’t meet our goals, we didn’t get our scores, we didn’t win all the things. So if someone asked how it went, that is one answer: “bad.”

But the 15 total minutes spent in the show ring was such a small part of the weekend. And while that may have sucked, everything else did not. I gave massages to several friends’ horses and was thrilled to get feedback about good rides, better scores, and happy horses. I met some new clients at this show and massaged handfuls of young horses, tense horses, upper level horses, you name it. So while on one hand, I’m feeling crushed by Disaster Test 3, my heart is joyful because I get to do what I love and because I know how much it helps the horses. I was torn somewhere between, “What am I even doing here?” and “It is magic that I’ve finally found my purpose.” How then can I answer the “How did it go” question besides saying, “It was soul crushing devastation and successful beyond my wildest dreams?”

That is certainly a succinct way to put it, if not all that informative. I was telling a non-horsey friend of mine about the weekend and finally found the right answer. There are paper goals and then there are heart goals. If you look at the paper goals, we failed, no question about it. I want do this, qualify for that, etc. etc. Nope, nope, nope. But those aren’t the only goals, those are just the ones that people focus on and talk about, they are the goals that are easiest to convey. The ones that take a backseat to the accolades and the ribbons are the heart goals. And that weekend, those were met a thousand times over. Of course, I like blue ribbons and beautiful scores, who doesn’t? But when I send in that entry, I have other goals in mind. I want to catch up with friends and acquaintances, I want to clean tack late at night sharing drinks and laughs. I want to hear stories of others’ journeys, triumphs, and struggles. I want to experience the connections with my equestrian community, other people who do what I do and love what I love. I want to ride my lovely horse in a beautiful new place, fawn over perfect fluffy footing, watch dressage tests and feel inspired. I want the first thing I do in the morning to be cleaning a stall instead of checking work email. I want to spend afternoons hand grazing and laughing at the silly things our horses do instead of counting down the hours until I can escape the office. And I want to spent every spare minute giving massages, helping riders understand how their horses are feeling and helping the horses release tension and soreness so they can perform their best for the riders who love them.

So despite the Saturday disaster that triggered some, “What am I doing with my life?” soul searching and some serious, “WTF is wrong with him?” head scratching, I drove home feeling oddly serene (even if it was hard to explain to everyone else why achieving the worst score of my dressage career equaled a good weekend). Even I didn’t get it then, but in hindsight it’s easy to see why. It’s not HOW you do, it’s WHAT you do. I spent a weekend doing what I love, with great people and beautiful horses. This is a sport that will bruise your ego yet fill your soul. How I did at the show was learn which one is more important to me ❤

I don’t think my mom knew what she was signing up for when she took me to a riding lesson for the very first time one summer afternoon more than two decades ago. But as an eight year old, I was just as fiercely persistent as I am now, so it only took me about two years of unrelenting questioning to finally make it happen. Yes, she knew some of what she was in for, but I’ll bet if you ask her, she was never expecting THIS.

She knew it was a dangerous sport. I’ll never forget her locking the minivan doors in the lesson stable’s parking lot, telling me the horrific story of Christopher Reeve’s paralysis as a last ditch effort to get me to change my mind. (No such luck). She knew it would not be a glamorous life, and warned me that horses smell and they poop a lot. (Still not deterred). Then there was the harsh reality that this was an expensive pastime, one not easily attainable by average suburban families. But nothing was diverting my attention away from how badly I wanted to ride a horse, so she, like most other unsuspecting future horse show moms, decided to sacrifice the time and the money and entertain the idea. It might just be a phase, after all.

(Spoiler alert: it was not).

So my mom began her journey as a horse show mom. This is not a life for the faint of heart. I’m sure anyone would cringe to add up the hours she spent driving me to and from riding lessons every week for years. Then there’s the fun of seeing your kid tossed into the dirt (or getting the “I’m in the hospital” phone calls). She has spent far too much time freezing inside barns, being bitten by flies, sneezed on by horses, and fielding teenage meltdowns about lost riding clothes. Bless her heart for trying to help improve my riding technique (“maybe you should do what your instructor says and try to put your heels down”) and trying to make me feel better after going off course in a show (“but I thought you looked the prettiest”). And then every horse show mom’s worst nightmare: thanks to me, my littlest sister also caught the horse show bug. Sorry, Mom.

The list of things she did is endless. But there is one thing that stands out, the very, very best thing she ever did. Not once during the past two decades of living this crazy horse girl life did she ever tell me she didn’t think I could do it. Never, not once. One of the coolest things about my mom is how much she believes in dreams. And I think believing you can do something is about the most powerful tool you can have. She may not have given me a pony, or an endless supply of riding lessons, but she gave me something far better than all of that: the belief that dreams can come true. I have to credit her for making me work so damn hard to get those riding lessons as a kid and also for never suggesting that working that hard wasn’t worth it.

I like to think that she did get something out of her sacrifice. And not just quelling the incessant pleading of an eight-year-old. I hope that she sees how her sacrifices brought me joy, how the horses helped an awkward teenager’s confidence to grow, and how being a horsewoman has given me purpose and happiness in my adult life. I doubt she had visions of crafting a horse’s ring bearer sash for her daughter’s wedding and she probably did not expect to celebrate birthdays in Kentucky Horse Park nor did she want to have her oldest daughter constantly late and covered in hay, dust and sweat at most family functions. But I imagine she dreamed of raising tough, capable women and I know she sees beyond the barn hair and the dirty fingernails to the passionate, determined woman she’s raised.

So thank you to my horse show mom! And happy Mother’s Day out to all the current and future horse show moms out there… I promise your support and sacrifice is all worth it.Someday.