Jessica Pye is a former full-time professional event rider who has competed through the Advanced/4* level. Through her career, Jessica has learned from coaches including Karen and David O’Connor, Capt. Mark Phillips, Mike Huber, Missy and Jessica Ransehousen, Debbie Divecchia, and Emilee Spinelli. She holds a Master’s degree in Industrial/Organizational Psychology and often blends her expertise in the corporate world with fresh perspective on the equestrian world. In her latest blog, Jessica writes about her newest venture in horses: ownership with the intent to grow the sport. You can follow Jessica on her blog here.

Photo courtesy of Jessica Pye.

2022 is a year of change for me. It’s more obviously becoming the year of my life that I’ve been trying to have for the past five years. And the deeper I get into it, the more I think it might be the year a lot of people have been trying to have. I’ll have to explain that.

I’m 36 years old, married, no kids but three dogs. I’m an event rider (as much as I am anything else in my life) and I’ve been eventing since the age of 12 and riding since age six. I’ve run Advanced/CCI4*S on two horses, Intermediate/Prelim on more, been performance-listed and won Young Riders a couple of times. I’ve been a working student, barn manager, trainer, assistant trainer, done beginner lessons, run summer camps, broke young horses, groomed (although not very well – I can’t braid to save my life), etc. I’ve found that most professionals in eventing have done similar jobs and a lot of them. Survival at its finest. I’ve also completed my Bachelor’s degree in psychology and my Master’s degree in Industrial/Organizational Psychology and worked in corporate America at the director level (that’s a whole separate blog!).

My goal was always to do a five star and make a senior U.S. team. I lived for it and breathed for it and nearly killed myself for it. Would it ever happen? Who knows? Maybe not. I think a lot of people can relate. But what I’ve recently learned is that there is absolutely nothing wrong with changing your goals throughout your life to better suit your needs (and/or the needs of your family). Your new future is different. It’s not better or worse.

I love eventing, I want to stay involved, and I’ve spent the last several years trying to decide the best way to do that. I found that events didn’t really get me excited anymore. I no longer have the passion, the bravery (I admittedly was barely brave enough back in the day) and honestly, the dedication required to run Intermediate/Advanced. I feel like I had my “horse of a lifetime” an unbelievable three times in my earlier years and expecting another one or two of those is just greedy.

And although I rarely talked about it, because I always feared it would bias those most important in the eventing world, I’m fairly blind. Not in the comical or normal way, but in an actual way. In a “I struggle to shake hands and retrieve items people try to hand to me” way. In a “I have zero depth perception and often run into walls walking around my house” way. Or in a “I can’t read street signs, business names or see the menu on the TV with my glasses on or contacts in” way. So, seeing where a cross country fence is from a distance, galloping at 520 mpm, trying to find the face of it, let alone the correct line, has always been a somewhat terrifying challenge. And I assure you that even if I lucked into another wonderful horse who moved mountains for my sight-deficient butt, NO ONE wants to see this partially blind, approaching 40-year-old lady, ride it around stiff and scared. Me most of all!

The idea of running Prelim and below for the next ten years didn’t appeal to me. I thought maybe I’d try jumpers (I grew up in the hunter/jumper world) or dressage (I’ve been told it’s my strength) but nothing really got me too excited. Those disciplines also require 6 a.m. mornings in 28 degrees, all day Saturday and Sunday most weekends at horse shows and countless miles pulling a horse in a trailer across the country. I’m older now.

Sitting on my patio and watching my dogs play in the backyard beats trying not to vomit getting ready for cross country any day. I have a husband who I love and want to spend time with (many fellow eventers have children!) and all of that makes any eventing, but particularly upper-level eventing, even harder. I am going to finish this paragraph in a way that I think is a very important: It is ok that your family, your children, your mental health, your physical health and your overall well-being, come before the horses. I promise, it’s ok.

Several years ago, I had a really fabulous owner. I won’t name her because she’s doesn’t love a lot of attention, but she found me at a point in my life where I was still really hungry and passionate and capable and I simply didn’t have the funds to even own a horse, let alone own a nice horse and compete it!

I think many eventers find themselves in a similar situation in their early and mid-twenties. It’s this awful transitional period where you love horses and competing but you’re just broke and trying to figure your life out and you keep hoping that somehow you can make it work. That owner offered to buy not one, but two horses for me. She supported my horsey dreams fully for about three years, allowed me to adventure to the east coast and compete at the upper levels, gave me a renewed faith in people in many ways after a long period of typical horse industry antics and she trusted me. She trusted me with her horses, she trusted me financially, for quite a while she trusted me to teach her children.

Because she trusted me, I made sure I never gave her a reason not to. I took the utmost care with her horses and was always mindful of the finances, and I happily sent the one horse that had been my primary campaigner (and my only ride at that point) back to her when I decided he didn’t want to run Advanced. Although he had some success at Intermediate, and although he had all the right pieces to be a big-time event horse, I knew he would make a lovely horse for her daughters and I knew he’d be happier doing it. I’m happy to say that is exactly what he’s doing now. I miss that horse every single day but I have never once regretted that decision. That owner showed me tremendous generosity and kindness and I want to pay it forward.

I am somewhat saddened to say that in the last few years eventing, in my opinion, has become more of a pay to play game than an actual sport. What was always been expensive and elitist has now really upped the ante. Thoroughbreds are now the outlier and imported horses the norm. Instead of a couple Advanced horses, people have four or six horses. Instead of a string of three or four, they have now have 10 to 15. You have to travel to Europe (often completely on your own dime) to compete and be considered for team selection. It’s clear that the selectors look for this level of horsepower (aka wealth) and that leaves a lot of good riders, and even a lot of good combinations, in the dust.

I could write a book on the state of the sport and explain exactly why I call it a pay to play game. But I won’t. I’m not even going to complain anymore. I decided that instead of being upset and screaming “unfair” or “bullshit,” instead of wishing the sport would change and morph back into a reflection of its earlier years, and instead of feeling sorry for the excellent riders I often saw lacking competitive horses, I would be part of the solution.

I will do what I can to help, which at this point means supporting one talented and under-recognized rider with one very nice horse. We can’t all own dozens of horses, multiple barns, support multiple riders, etc. Of course we can’t. But a lot of us who love the sport, want to stay involved and don’t necessarily want to compete anymore could help one rider on one horse. Essentially, I want to help someone “pay to play,” and although it’s just one horse, maybe it’s the right horse and the right combination. Maybe that one horse added on to a smaller string will make the difference.

I want our U.S. teams to be competitive. Really, really competitive. I want us to win. One piece (of a much larger pie) of that problem is that we absolutely need a bigger pool of good riders to choose from. If we can only pick from the most affluent of those good riders among us then we’re not really utilizing some of our best talent. Period.

It literally took me five to six years to reach this point. And during those years I’ve talked to countless horse professionals and amateurs and considered their feedback and learned from their experiences. I’ve consulted sports psychologists and therapists. And I know two things with absolute certainty:

1) A lot of people, more than you think, are unhappy and therefore ashamed, trying to live the elite/upper-level/all consuming eventing life.

2) Becoming an owner was the last piece of the puzzle to my own happiness.

I love and enjoy my horse. I groom him, ride him, chauffeur him, give him treats and cheer for him. I take an occasional lesson. I might even do a dressage show when I feel like it. And all of that is made more fun for me because there is no real timeline or competitive goal and therefore no stress. But, I do feel like I’m part of someone else’s competitive goal. There are still things that need to be accomplished when I ride the horse.

I look forward to the events now. I get to support a very good young pro in her quest to make it big and take on the eventing universe with all the fervor and perseverance I once had. In a small way, I’m helping grow the sport I love.