I haven’t written in months, and to be honest, it has taken me months to want to write about something horse-related.
My last blog was in June and was about the loss of my own father. Shortly thereafter, a very close friend unexpectedly lost her father. When real tragedy strikes in life, the whole horse thing seems terribly unimportant.
With the scale of life adjusted, the moments in the saddle ranked lower than the moments with the people I love. I spent the summer visiting family, and seeing my best friend get married, and in general focusing my energy on things having nothing to do with horses.
Did I train and compete this summer? Yes, I did. Some shows were bad and others were good. Lizzie won her fourth preliminary event, so that was a highlight. But no matter how great a ride was, I couldn’t seem to get the bubble of the horse world to inflate again. I struggled to feel that sense of immersion in the joy of riding.
I kept showing up to ride every day, doing my lessons, and planning my competition schedule, but it all took a backseat to my business and my family. I cycled the questions we all face at times: Why do I spend all my money on this? When will I want to start a family? Are the few moments in the saddle worth the thousands of hours I spend commuting to and from the barn each year?
And for months, the answer was just silence.
Still In
This past weekend I took my 6-year-old OTTB mare, Khaleesi, to Morven Park (Va.) for the preliminary horse trials. I hoped that it would be my last qualifier for her one-star, but my motivation to even do an international event—like everything—was waning.
She’s a funny horse to have a partnership with. Day to day, she is grumpy and has a list of things she hates: when you buckle the front of her blankets, when you tighten her girth, when you brush her tail with too much vigor, when you get within 10 feet with a curry comb, when you try and wash her with anything except lukewarm water.
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We don’t cuddle, lest I lose a hunk of flesh. But you take this same horse to a competition, and she is the best partner you could hope to have. If it is physically possible, she will find a way to do it.
Due to all the rain this past week, the footing at Morven was a bit compromised. We ran on Sunday, and at the end of the one-star and preliminary divisions that totaled over 100 horses. Dressage was fine; she is very fit and it showed, but she was otherwise obedient. The show jumping was on a grass hill, and the fences were not moved at all during the hundreds of horses that went.
By the time it was Lizzie and my turn, the turf was destroyed. The few horses in front of us had stops and there were some rider falls, mostly at the first jump, as the horses were just unable to sort out the footing and scared themselves sliding before the fences.
Lizzie is not the world’s best show jumper. She wants to be careful, and her jump has evolved tremendously over the past two years since she came off the track, but the conditions were trying for the experienced horses so I was very concerned about her confidence.
We had the perfect spot to the first fence, but the mud at the base took her by surprise, and her front legs were slow off the ground. First fence down. We then turned to the second fence, and she jumped aggressively this time to compensate for the mud, but still hit the back rail behind. Second fence down. Then we had a related line downhill to a vertical. Some slipping ensued, and the third fence came down.
I sat up a bit in the saddle, thinking we had better just retire so her confidence doesn’t get ruined, when I felt her thunder ahead for a few strides and lift her head up, ears pricked, looking for the next jump. Well, if she was still in, I guess I could be.
We did a tight turn to a combination, and left it all up! We then headed down a line to a triple bar, and she jumped beautifully and clean. I couldn’t believe her heart as I heard her grunt over every single effort, hurling herself out the footing.
We finished the entire rest of the course, including the triple combination, clean. I couldn’t believe it. I was the happiest four-rail rider you have ever seen.
I’m Back
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Off we went to cross-country, knowing it was a big course for the level. I am very confident in her ability cross-country—she is as honest and bold as they come at this age, so I was excited to head out the box.
Despite the condition of the turf, she left long and bold at the first fence, and I thought, “Ok, we are going to have one of THOSE days!” And the rest of the course she was totally dominant. I kept seeing a good distance to the big fences, and then when we hit the worst of the mud in the final strides, my spot would disappear. Again and again we got there on half strides, and she either tapped the ground and jumped easily across, or dialed in her scope and soared from a bit of a long spot.
And not once did anything affect her confidence. She landed every time, the scrappy thing she is, looking for the next one. For the first time, I got the feeling she was taking care of me around a course.
Lizzie displayed the mentality that day that I myself have been struggling to find. She didn’t care that we got the short end of the stick on the order of go, she didn’t sit and try to ponder the fairness of the questions, she didn’t let some mistakes and hard moments get into her head: she just kept going forward.
I am always the optimist in a group, always the person telling everyone to pick their chin up, and that tomorrow is another day, and that we are all so lucky. But after the personal tragedies suffered this summer, I stopped feeling that way deep down. I let a melancholy cloud settle over my inner self, and just kept going through the motions of my life and hoping the passion would somehow materialize again.
In the middle of my cross-country course this weekend, it all came rushing back. Lizzie gave me the pep talk that I have desperately needed. By the time we crossed the finish flags, I remembered why I ride. I remembered why I drive thousands of hours to the barn, and spend all my money on horses. I ride because it gives me the perspective I need for the rest of life. I go inside the horse bubble because those moments give me the passion and compassion I need for the rest of life. I do this completely-irrelevant-in-the-scheme-of-life sport because, if the purpose of life is to feel and to appreciate this moment, it gives me that.
Ribbons and lessons and everything aside, the reason I am the person I am today is because a horse has taught me about life. After learning a few lessons from Lizzie this weekend, I am no longer bitter at life and the tragedies that come with it. I am back to writing, I am back to genuine smiles, I am back to the person outside the barn that my horses have taught me to be.
One of the Chronicle’s bloggers, Kristin Carpenter juggles her riding with running her own company, Linder Educational Coaching, running the shows and events at Morningside Training Farm in The Plains, Va., and riding. She has two horses now—In A Trance and Lizzie. She grew up in Louisiana and bought “Trance,” a green off-the-track Thoroughbred, as a teenager. Together, they ended up competing at the North American Young Riders Championships and the Bromont CCI**. She’s now bringing another OTTB, Lizzie, up through the ranks.
