Introducing the Chronicle’s newest blogger, DIY amateur jumper rider Susan Glover…

Some musings on the pros and cons of being an older, DIY-er ammy in the jumper ring.

I am a typical amateur in many ways. Similar to most of us I work hard to afford my horses and showing, and look on being able to compete in this sport as a great privilege. I also have a non-horse career, a non-horsey husband, and a lot of other interests and responsibilities outside of the barn.

I sometimes struggle to find the energy to get out to ride, or feel guilty that I am riding instead of doing something else to which I really should be attending. I think all of this is pretty common to my type—the not-so-young ammy rider. And, we all share the joys of aging (read: sarcasm).

For example, I did something awful to my back last year and was out of the saddle and the show ring until late July. What did I do to my back, you ask? Shrug, I’m not really sure—I got old?

I also struggle with a lack of confidence in my abilities in the saddle, wondering why my friend who is half my age has so much more skill in the saddle, or how that kid who is perhaps one third my age managed to beat me (again!) in the children’s/adult jumper classic. I’m not as limber as I used to be and for the first time in my life I’m having to think about stuff like exercising to be fit enough to ride.

What happened to riding two horses five times a week and getting all of the exercise I needed from that? Didn’t that used to work? Like…last month?

In other ways, I am atypical. I don’t have any children, and I think that changes things for a lot of women who ride because they have more to worry about if they get hurt. For example, I don’t really fear falling off (cue ominous music—why did she say that???).

Seriously, though, I don’t—it happens, it hurts more than it used to, and no one enjoys it, but it’s just not a worry for me. It’s embarrassing, and that is really the thing I dislike the most about it—the last time I fell off was at a very large, very prestigious horse show. I got stage fright, riding in the grand prix ring in front of a lot of spectators there to see the hunter derby later that day, and after I’d lied fairly consistently to my poor horse the first half of our course he decided he was finished with me and chucked me into an oxer. Right in front of the stands. Hey, everybody! Hi! Thanks for coming out!

I also love jumping big fences, which is lucky since I compete in the jumpers. It’s sheer, unadulterated joy to me. I have discovered that this is unusual for a lot of people my age (sigh, 45), but I can’t help it. I love it.

It helps that my wunderkind of a young horse thinks jumping is super-fun, too, but even with my previous jumper, who was a grumpy jerk, I still enjoyed leaping over big things. So I’m lucky in that sense and my goals are to move up the levels with my current horse until my skills or his reach their peak—probably mine, he is pretty fantastic.

A third thing that makes me somewhat different from many, if not a majority, of my fellow competitors is that I do a lot of things myself. I sometimes don’t even have a trainer at the show—if it is a smaller rated show and I’m going in my usual division (high adult amateur jumpers) I really don’t need a trainer. I would probably benefit from having one, and at the very least I usually try to get a young trainer friend of mine to help me out, but I’ve competed quite a bit with only a ground person to help.

This is not the norm for the hunter/jumper world and I have certainly gotten my share of odd looks at these shows. Even when I have my trainer (who is actually an eventer, which is why he is usually not able to attend my shows), or when I meet up with the other wonderful trainer I use at shows, I still do everything outside of the warm-up ring myself. I trailer my horse in, take care of him myself, muck, feed, tack up, cool down—everything.

There are a good number of us who do this, I am not totally alone, and the barn I meet up with at the bigger shows always has a couple of us DIY-ers doing self-care, tacked onto the end of their aisle. But it is outside of the norm—and if I had a bigger show budget you can bet your booty I’d be happily not mucking at the end of the show day and instead working my way through a margarita. Or two. Three?

I don’t take care of my horse at home, but he isn’t at my trainer’s barn—I board my jumper and my older horse, who events with the fabulous kid who is leasing him, at a barn run by an eventer. So in this I am also outside of the hunter/jumper norm—we aren’t in a program and it’s up to me to keep on top of my and my horse’s training.

I make all of the decisions about showing, when to take lessons, and so on. I rely on my trainer for his exceedingly valuable advice but I am pretty much the show manager for myself. I ride with other trainers—I even sometimes ride with another big-deal event trainer besides my own big-deal event trainer. I grew up in a big hunter/jumper show barn so these are all new skills for me and the learning curve has been steep.

That is a polite way of saying that sometimes I make dumb decisions.

Being a DIY jumper rider like this can be a bit lonely, especially if you are blessed with the gift of shyness, as I am. I know the hunter world—I grew up in it—and if you are not in the clique of a barn you are an Outsider. It isn’t that people are nasty, necessarily, it’s that they have their own circle of friends and you aren’t in it.

I’ve managed to make friends with a few other DIY ammies like me and that has been great, but at shows where I am truly alone it can get a little sad for me. Everyone else is out to dinner and there I am back in the temporary stalls mucking, wrapping, and fussing with the fancy personalized cover I got to hide my cheap plastic trunk (I don’t think it fools anyone but it makes me feel better). It gets lonely when you’re the only one left—just you and your horse, sharing a hard cider. Honestly. He loves hard cider, although he usually only gets a sip or two, to his disgust.

So why do we do it? I can’t speak for anyone else, but again I think my sentiment is common—I love horses. I love riding. I love showing. I love all of it. I am fiercely competitive, and I love feeling like all of my hard, every-day flatwork, getting yelled at for being a dope by my trainer, carefully budgeting for this or that show—I love feeling like it’s paying off.

I’ve done the work, I’ve tried my best, and if I’m lucky and ride well sometimes I manage to win back my show fees and have a pretty ribbon or two. My amazing young horse and I are developing a partnership that I think will carry us through many more years of showing.

This is a journey, and like everything in life while my goals are clear my path isn’t always—and that’s fine. Look for us in the show ring, or back at the barn. My horse is the one begging for another sip of cider and I’m the one laughing at him and enjoying every minute of this amazing trip.

Susan Glover is an assistant professor in the Department of Government at American University (D.C.), specializing in comparative politics. She shows her Argentinian Warmblood The Red Spy in the adult amateur jumper division in the Mid-Atlantic area.