Photo by Lindsay Gilbert.

Today, I didn’t complete an event. For the first time ever, I halted at X and did not gallop through the finish flags. Today, I did not even step onto the cross country course.

Of all the things that can go wrong during an event, none of them happened. We did not make an unplanned exit from the dressage ring or become the victims of an untimely dismount in stadium. No outside factor or spite of the eventing gods forced us to end on a letter and not a number. Instead, I made the decision myself.

Today, I did something I have never done before. Today, I scratched.

I knew this day would eventually come. Every time I fill out my entry one of my goals is to end on a number and not a letter. Up until today I have always been able to check that box and feel accomplished knowing I had achieved that goal. Yet, I knew one day I wouldn’t, it was just a matter of time. And I always wondered how I would feel when that day came.

Frustrated, defeated, ashamed?

Much to my surprise, I did not feel any of those things. Packing up the trailer, loading my horse and heading home early, sitting in the cool, air conditioned cab of the truck, I felt better. 

I felt better because I knew today was not our day and I chose to act in my horse’s best interest. A fussy dressage test turned into an argumentative show jumping warm up that was completely uncharacteristic for my horse. And while we addressed the issues and solved the argument for a pleasant, rideable stadium round, I knew Java’s heart was not in it.

Could I have forced the matter, sticking hard and fast to my main goal of ending on a number and not a letter? Sure. And would we have done it? Most likely. But would I have felt accomplished? Would I have felt good? No.

Because the goals we set for ourselves as riders mean nothing if the horse is not on board. Regardless of the triumphs won, the boxes checked, the feats accomplished — we walk away having achieved nothing if not acting in the best interest of our horse. Only when our goals align with those of our horse can we truly realize success.

Today, the goals I had set for myself did not align with Java’s needs. We did not accomplish the things I had originally set out to do, we drove away with a long list of boxes left unchecked. But still I left with a contentment and optimism that only conquering your goals can provide. Because I didn’t actually fail to achieve my goals, my goals just changed. They went from self-serving goals intended to make me feel accomplished, to selfless goals intended to make my horse feel comfortable and confident.

Today, I didn’t finish an event. But ending on a letter and not a number was the biggest success in my relationship with my horse.

My happy place. Photo courtesy of Lindsay Gilbert.

We talk about sexual harassment in the barn; we talk about bullying in the equine industry. We work hard to bring light to the problems we face and to find solutions to make our sport a safer, more inclusive environment.

But, there is one issue we all sweep under the rug. One evil that we face on a daily basis, whose grips no one can escape. Yet, we all turn a blind eye and refuse to acknowledge its existence.

Why? Because we are all guilty.

As equestrians, the biggest, most common threat to the safety and inclusion of our various sports comes in the simple form of gossip. The trash-talking, criticizing and rumor-spreading that goes on behind each others’ backs breeds an unsportsmanlike negativity that all riders are affected by. And it needs to end.

The equine industry propagates it. The barn environment is like a petri dish, offering the perfect conditions for rapid production of this awful vice. There are participants in all aspects of the sport with polarizing opinions on everything from hoof care to blanketing. Add in the love we have for these animals, the massive amounts of money we spend and the stress we all face trying to become better athletes and horse owners — it’s no surprise we turn to gossip and criticism to vent frustrations.

Yet, we all have one thing in common. With the negativity we face in all the other aspects of our lives, horses are meant to be our safe haven. So why is the equine industry anything but?

All it takes is one step to start the change.

Together, we can become a more welcoming, understanding and kind group of people. Together we can make gossip, rumors and criticism a thing of the past. By addressing issues head-on, not behind closed doors, focusing on yourself instead of others, and generally being kind, the equine industry can once again become a safe-haven for all involved.

Address Issues

If there’s an issue, address it. If you feel compelled to speak up, do so. It’s as simple as that.

Problems cannot be solved behind closed doors, whispering about the parties in question. Gossip does not foster solutions. Rather, we can only learn by inclusive conversation that facilitates understanding.

So, if there’s an issue, work on it together. Start an open and honest conversation and work together to find solutions. If you attack problems head on, with an open mind and kind heart, there is no problem that can’t be solved.

Focus on Yourself

If there is no outright issue and you aren’t involved, leave it alone. We were all taught at one point, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” As time goes on, this principle tends to slip through the cracks. But by living by these words, the world becomes a more positive, uplifting place.

By criticizing others, gossiping and spreading rumors, all we are doing is creating a world of negativity and misunderstanding. We must understand that from an outside-looking-in perspective, there is a lot that can be missed and without being wholly involved in a situation, we can’t possibly have all the information.

So, if there is no true problem to be solved and nothing nice to say, simply don’t say anything. Rather, spend your energy focusing on something you know well — yourself. Work on addressing the issues that you face and becoming a better, more positive person by leaving others alone.

Be Kind

This seems simple, but it is the most important thing a person can do. Be kind.

There is another core principle that seems to be missing in the equestrian world — treat others as you would like to be treated. If something you are about to say or do would hurt if the tables were turned, simply don’t do it. As equestrians, we are all in this together. We all have the same passions, face the same problems and feel the same joys and frustrations. While our personal experiences may be unique, we all have a lot in common.

By being a kind and understanding person, the world becomes just a little bit brighter.

Together, we can make a change. We can become a more welcoming and inclusive industry. We can build each other up instead of tearing each other down. We can start open and honest conversations without the blame and criticism. We can stop gossiping and start learning about each other.

We are all guilty. But we are all capable of overcoming our imperfections and making this crazy, stressful, amazing world we chose to be a part of a safer, more understanding place.

Sometimes I think I attract difficult horses. Standing out in my pasture right now I have not one, not two, but three really tough mounts. Although, when it comes down to it, I realize I’ve chosen this life for myself. I’ve had lots of easy horses, horses that I could have taken through the levels and raked in the ribbons with, horses that could have had me in a totally different place by now. But, I moved them on, I let others take over and enjoy their wonderful brains and their solid foundations. The ones I decided to hold on to are the tough ones, the ones who enjoy testing me with riddles that seem impossible to solve.

I’ve chosen this path because I truly enjoy the puzzle. For me, the reward lies in the process of figuring out what pieces fit where and seeing the bigger picture when everything finally comes together.

It sounds romanticized as a write this, like I’m seeing the world through the rose-colored glasses of my computer screen. In all reality, those difficult horses frustrate me on a daily basis and make me question everything I think I know about training. They make me think outside the box to try to solve the problems they throw at me day and in day out.

However, I’m never alone in trying to put together the puzzle. Along with amazing trainers, good friends and as much training knowledge as I can possibly Google, I am fortunate enough to have a well-respected equine veterinarian and surgeon as a barn owner. I pick his brain about the issues I’m facing with my horses and every once in a while, between the conversations about work, clients and how damn cold it is outside, he teaches me a thing or two.

One day, as I complained about particularly frustrating horse, the issues I thought he had and the numerous different solutions I had come up with, he turned to me and said, “Lindsay, let me tell you something … Everyone wants to think they’re dealing with a zebra when, in fact, all you really have is a duck.”

I hung my head sheepishly because I knew he was reprimanding me in his own way for my crazy notions and fairy tale ideas.

He went on to explain that zebras are interesting and exciting, but they’re rare. Ducks, on the other hand, are boring and easy to overlook, but they’re common. He said that as a veterinarian for nearly 30 years, most of the issues horses have are ducks, and very few are ever actually zebras. That is to say, you should attempt to solve your problems using the most common solution before jumping to conclusions about a rare condition or treatment.

For example, when your horse is tossing his head under saddle, the duck tells you to check his teeth and possibly the fit of his tack. The zebra has you convinced that his TMJ is bothering him, he’s out in his poll and has kissing spine.

Once you’ve ruled out all the ducks, only then should you begin to think that maybe, just maybe, you have a zebra.

Quack.

Yesterday, I pulled up to the barn and waited for my student like usual. I expected to see her walk in the from the field excited for her first lesson back and ready to jump. Instead, I saw a hanging head, tears in her eyes, her mud-covered horse dragging along at the end of the lead rope and I heard the words that have crossed every rider’s mind a dozen times…

“I’m done. I don’t want to ride. I don’t want a horse anymore.”

My heart sank for her as she fought through tears and tried to explain that horses are a lot of work and it just wasn’t fun anymore. And I knew exactly where she was coming from. How many times have I battled between my passion and the work that has to be put in to pursue that passion?

A lot. The answer is a lot. No one tells you as a little girl how many sleepless nights you’ll have wondering when an abscess will drain, how many tears you’ll cry when your horse doesn’t feel like being caught, and how many times your heart will break when you felt like you gave it your all and it still wasn’t good enough. Or maybe they did tell me, I just wasn’t listening … In any case, it’s scary, it’s hard and it doesn’t get any easier.

Run! She’ll never catch us! Photo by Lindsay Gilbert.

What are you doing on the ground? Photo by Lindsay Gilbert.

I felt that same feeling when I opened my email and saw the subject line that read: Your Thoroughbred Makeover Application Has Been Accepted. I was ecstatic, elated, excited (and I’m sure a bunch of other e-words I can’t think of right now) but at the same time, my heart sank. I knew this journey would not be an easy one. It would mean more late nights, tears and anxiety wondering if my training methods would hold up against the time crunch, wondering if I had chosen the right horse, wondering if I would make a fool out of myself when it came to packing up and heading to the Kentucky Horse Park.

But, just like my student promised to give it her best shot and leave the negative thoughts on the ground, I, too, will do the same. And the feeling she felt after nailing her three-stride line on a horse that had just weeks before left her with stitches in her lip, the same feeling I had when she dismounted, hugged her horse and thanked me for the best lesson, that’s the feeling that keeps us all going, that promises things will get better (but only after they get worse) and that convinces us to pursue a crazy dream that we never know if we can accomplish until we get there.

Lindsay is the owner of Transitions Sport Horses, based in Lexington, Kentucky. She participated in the 2016 Retired Racehorse Project Thoroughbred Makeover on Rebel Annie and is back again in 2017 with Hot Java. Keep up with their journey here on EN and via her blog, Making It to the Thoroughbred Makeover!

Photo courtesy of Natasia Lind.

Last Saturday morning, on an unseasonably warm day in February, I hooked up my trailer and tried not to think about what I was doing. I loaded my 17-hand dragon of a Thoroughbred and hauled 10 minutes down the road to a small dressage show at the Kentucky Horse Park. I hadn’t had the courage to show him in over a year. I was nervous, I was scared of him, and I was fully ready to be publicly embarrassed by what I knew would be a sad attempt at dressage.

But, trying to take my mind off the impending train wreck, I made three goals: one easy, one attainable, and one possibly pushing it.

• Make it to the show and finish our test.
• Stay soft, supple and thinking the majority of the time.
• Potentially score higher than one other competitor.

With my three goals in mind, I saddled up my dragon horse and crossed every bone in my body that we’d make it through in one piece.

Much to my surprise, my dragon turned into a puppy from the moment a stepped into the stirrups. Lou carried me through an extremely hectic warm-up without so much as batting an eye. He tested me as we stepped into the covered arena, questioning whether we really had to go dance in the sandbox and not quite believing me when I told him that the letters were not horse-eating monsters. But, with the help of some wonderful friends offering advice and support, we trotted down centerline and, three minutes later, we halted at X still in one piece.

Staying soft and supple, surprisingly. Photo courtesy of Natasia Lind.

I fought back tears as I thanked the judge and choked back a sob when she told me I had a nice horse on my hands. I knew that, I had always known that, but I never thought it would come to fruition. So, as we headed back to the trailer I couldn’t contain my smile that we had actually accomplished something in our partnership. The color of the ribbon, if I even got one, didn’t even cross my mind, because in my heart I knew that we had just passed a huge milestone and no score, comment, ribbon (or lack thereof) could take that away.

So, later, when I headed back into the show office to collect my test, eager to see what the judge had said and to start working harder on any shortcomings they pointed out, I was in awe to see a blue ribbon clipped to a test with my number on it!

Lou wondering what all the fuss is about. Photo courtesy of Brooke Schafer.

That blue ribbon didn’t mean that I was better than the other riders. It didn’t mean my horse was fancier or that we worked harder. It didn’t tell me that we were superior in any way. No, that $3 blue ribbon quietly told me that there was hope. It humbled me as it whispered “I told you so, if you had just listened before.” It reminded me that for so long doubt and uncertainty had ruled me, letting opportunities pass me by that should have been mine for the taking. If I had just had the courage to try.

A year ago, all of the hope that originally filled me when I brought Lou home was gone. After our move to the bluegrass state, he was unmanageable, he was dangerous. With many tears and sleepless nights I had accepted the fact that what I thought was my upper level prospect was only ever going to be a fancy, prancing pasture ornament. When people would ask me about him, my dejected response was always something along the lines of “He’s broken,” “His brain doesn’t work,” or “Who knows what’s going to happen with him.”

I had tried my best to figure him out and my best didn’t seem to be good enough. The horse that once had a bright future had totally dissolved before my eyes. I was ready to give up when, one fateful day, I spent FOUR LONG HOURS (seriously) trying to catch him. Right then and there, I told myself something needed to change. This was not an abused pony that was fearful of people. He had no excuse and neither did I. He had my number and it was all my fault. But I was not going to let what could possibly be the best horse that I’d ever had get away because I had given up. I don’t wear defeat well, so I made a change.

We moved to a new barn, established a routine and I faced my fears. Day in and day out, I watched my horse change. He came out of his shell, he started meeting me at the fence, he started enjoying my company and really trying under saddle. Days, weeks and months went by and progress came slowly at first, and then all at once.

But there was one thing I still wasn’t facing. My fear of taking him off the property, of doing something with him, of actually showing, still ate away at me. What if he reverted back to his old ways? What if I lost my horse again? What if I wasn’t good enough?

Why I decided to enter him, I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t let myself think about it. Why I actually went through with it, I have no clue. But what I do know is walking away with a happy horse and a successful test is slowly sparking a fire within me. A fire to face my fears, to silence the doubt inside me and to relentlessly chase my dreams.

So, here we go. You have no idea what you’ve started, Lou.

Lindsay is the owner of Transitions Sport Horses, based in Lexington, Kentucky. She participated in the 2016 Retired Racehorse Project Thoroughbred Makeover on Rebel Annie and is back again in 2017 with Hot Java. Keep up with their journey here on EN and via her blog, Making It to the Thoroughbred Makeover!

Hits a little closer to home when you find yourself in this situation (me, circa 2008). Photo courtesy of Lindsay Gilbert.

We’ve all heard horse sale horror stories. The number of blatant lies being told, the amount of deceit and deception running rampant in the horse industry is appalling. Maybe it happens due to pure neglect, maybe it’s a lack of knowledge or just general apathy. Maybe people get into this profession for all the wrong reasons. We may never know, but the problem lies right before our eyes, and who is responsible for picking up the slack? We all are.

The number of blatant lies being told, the amount of deceit and deception running rampant in the horse industry is appalling. I hear stories about horses that were misrepresented to buyers, people who ended up hurt and horses who stepped onto the wrong trailer because someone decided not to tell the truth. And the fact of the matter is for every lie that’s told, every excuse that’s made, and every attempt to cover up the truth, there’s someone who has to pick up the pieces and clean up the mess. Someone like me.

I got into this profession for the love of a horse. I’m not one looking for a quick profit and it’s not about the money, it’s about the process of taking horses with uncertain futures and giving them the skills necessary to succeed. It’s about the joy that comes with every frustrating, thankless moment of finding them their perfect match or their next step in life. To me, it’s not a game, it’s not about coming out on top, or the pursuit of a dollar.

No. To me, and to every other person out there selling horses, it’s a responsibility.

We are privileged to have these amazing animals come into our lives, to affect us in so many ways. And how do we repay them? It should be with honesty, integrity, and with every effort made to secure them a bright future and a long, happy life. There is no animal in this world that deserves to be misrepresented and no buyer who should be blinded to the truth.

Photo courtesy of Lindsay Gilbert.

Misrepresenting horses is annoying at best and downright dangerous at the worst. Just yesterday, I was speaking to someone about a horse I have for sale. One I advertised as green but willing, with a solid foundation who would make a wonderful youth horse in the near future. So when the buyer asked me if the horse had a bucking problem, I was as a little taken aback. When he mentioned he can’t handle a horse who puts his head between his knees and acts like a bronco, I was confused.

Did he not read my ad? Did the words “Youth Horse” mean something different to him?

It hurt me knowing that this buyer had to question my word because it meant that, at some point, someone had lied to him. They had put him on a horse who was not a youth horse and had a dangerous habit. When buyers have to question the validity of my statements because somewhere along the road they were lied to, that’s not OK.

Here’s the thing– I understand the frustration. I know what it’s like to have horses that are hard to sell. In fact, I have two standing in my barn right now. Two horses that may live out their days with me because they’re unsellable. They’re tough, mentally and physically, and it’s my responsibility as their current owner, their trainer, and their person to see they never end up in a bad situation. I owe that to these horses. And so does every single other person with a horse they call their own. If you can’t offer a safe place until the right home comes along, if you can’t afford to wait it out and ensure your horse is placed in the right home, then don’t own a horse.

Because every time you resort to lying to make the sale, every time you cover up the truth or misrepresent your horse, someone is hurt. It might not be you and it might not be the person next to you but somewhere down the line there will be pain.

Perhaps it’s physical pain — broken bones on a person who was uninformed about the nasty flipping habit a horse had. Maybe it’s emotional pain — sleepless nights and tears cried over a horse that will never be what the buyer was promised. Financial pain — the money spent on vet bills for an undisclosed injury, or on professional trainers to fix problems no one told them about.

And if this is you, if you’re in the business of selling horses, you owe it to that animal and to every other horse owner out there- to every buyer, seller, trainer, and rider- to tell the truth, to be honest and let buyers make an informed decision about whether that horse is right for them. Anything less than that, even the smallest white lie or tiny misrepresentation, can have huge consequences.

Lindsay is the owner of Transitions Sport Horses, based in Lexington, Kentucky. She participated in the 2016 Retired Racehorse Project Thoroughbred Makeover on Rebel Annie and is back again in 2017 with Hot Java. Keep up with their journey here on EN and via her blog, Making It to the Thoroughbred Makeover!

Milo figuring it out over a baby jump. Photo courtesy of Lindsay Gilbert.

Heels down … up in two point … hands pressed into a crest release, knuckles white around the reins. Eyes up … remember to breath … trot, trot, trot … and pop over the fence.

We all remember the first time we ever jumped. The saintly school horse that made us fall in love with the feeling of flying. The over-before-it-started adrenaline rush of the 6″ cross-rail that made us smile bigger than ever and beg our trainer to let us do it again.

There’s an art-like science to teaching the basics of jumping to a new rider. Building their confidence, keeping them excited for the sport, all while training their body and mind a very specific skill set. It’s no different when starting young horses over fences.

It’s getting to the point in Rebel’s training where it’s time to start popping her over small fences, building the foundation and laying the groundwork for an actual future in eventing. Every trainer hopes that first cross-rail will knock their socks off, leaving their jaw on the ground and increase their horse’s price tag tenfold. We all hope for a careful jumper, with a knack for seeing distances when the rider can’t, who is bold but focused, and when asked to jump replies with “How high!?”

But, every horse slated for a jumping career has to start somewhere. With the first pop over a ground pole, the first steer towards a baby jump, with fingers crossed and a silent wish that the horse underneath you happens to put their feet in the correct place and keep their brain in their head.

In my years of training and the dozens of young horses I’ve held on tight and wished for the best with, I’ve compiled my insights in what I like to call “The Basics of Baby Jumping”:

Figuring it out without worrying about a rider. Photo courtesy of Lindsay Gilbert.

1. Start at the beginning

Like most things in life, we must start at the beginning. And if that’s not vague enough for you, here’s what I mean: Do not flip to the end of the book, do not pass go, do not collect $200 dollars.

This is the boring stuff, but it must be done. I’m talking ground work, lunging over poles, lunging over cavalettis, making sure the basics are instilled on the flat and under saddle before you ever even mutter the word “jump.” It’s imperative for the sanity of your horse that they can understand, without a rider on their back, that they can make it safely from one side of an obstacle to another without the world ending.

And in laying the foundation for a solid citizen over fences, you must make sure your horse is able to perform basic movements on the flat. A solid walk, trot and canter, an understanding of steering, stopping, half halts and maybe even some bending and correctly using/balancing their body (if you want to get fancy!) need to be deeply ingrained in your horse’s mind. You need to have control over your horse on the flat before you can even begin to ask for it over fences.

Yes, I know dressage can be boring, but you’ll thank me later.

2. K.I.S.S.

Keep it simple, stupid.

The last thing we want to do is overwhelm and confuse our equine partners as they’re learning a new skill. You may have dreams of galloping down the to the water complex, dropping off the bank and soaring over the skinny brush, but for now let’s stick to single cross-rail fences. No crazy fillers, no weird distractions, just simple, easy, confidence-building fences.

Keep in mind, crossrail fences are the ideal jump for babies as they encourage horses to stay straight and in the center of the fence. Single obstacles are best to start out because the horse only has to focus on one thing at a time. When they’re ready for a line or a course, keep the jumps spread out with a straightforward approach as they have time to focus on their fence, recover and then focus on the their second fence.

3. Stay positive.

Just as all things in life, and especially where horses are involved, things may not go as planned. There will be roadblocks — duck outs, refusals, and weird deer-leap jump attempts. But no matter what your horse throws your way, keep your eyes up, your heels down and your tone positive.

The one thing I can’t stress enough is to keep trying and to keep an encouraging attitude. In order to build a calm and confident jumper, you need to overlook the missteps and the faults. A flat out refusal at a fence may feel frustrating and scary, but by reacting in a negative way, kicking and whipping your mount over the jump, they only learn to be fearful of the fence and not trusting of you as a trainer.

So when mistakes happen and things go awry, adjust, give your horse a pat for the effort and keep trying.

Channeling my inner “listener.” Photo courtesy of Lindsay Gilbert.

4. Listen

In learning a new skill, your horse will be looking to you for guidance and support. When they are confused or misunderstand the question, make sure you’re listening to what your horse is actually saying.

A runout doesn’t mean your horse is being “bad,” but rather that they don’t understand and you need more outside leg. A refusal doesn’t mean your horse wants you to jump the fence without them, but that they aren’t deriving confidence from you as their rider and that they aren’t in front of your leg. A rushing horse is probably one that is nervous or scared and just holding their breath and hoping they get to the other side of the fence in one piece.

There are a million ways your horse can tell you what they’re feeling and what they need. Attempts at communication from the flick of an ear to the swish of the tail. When you are able to pick up on these subtle cues and acknowledge them, adjusting your training methods accordingly, your horse will thank you in the form of their best effort.

And at the end of the day, you may not end up with a knock-your-socks-off upper level eventer. But, maybe you will. That first jump, and the dozens after them, will make or break your horse’s confidence, directly affecting their abilities in the future.

So, there you have it. My insights into teaching your green bean how to jump. Oh, an one last thought … keep the wine handy!

Lindsay is the owner of Transitions Sport Horses, based in Lexington, Kentucky. She participated in the 2016 Retired Racehorse Project Thoroughbred Makeover on Rebel Annie and is back again in 2017 with Hot Java. Keep up with their journey here on EN and via her blog, Making It to the Thoroughbred Makeover!

Photo by Lindsay Gilbert.

A month has come and gone since Java officially started her life as an OTTB. And in true Thoroughbred Makeover form, it has flown by in the blink of an eye. Thirty-something days together and we have logged two rides under saddle. But that’s OK, because even though we have a timeline and a goal we are working towards eight short months from now, I’m in no rush.

When Java’s trainer pulled her out of her stall at Turfway, she was obviously sore, possibly lame, and had a heart of gold. I had no idea if the slight lameness was purely soreness from her race three days earlier or if there was an underlying problem that would affect her in a second career.

But one thing I did know was that she desperately needed down time. Time to unwind from the stresses of running 43 times in three years, time to let her muscles relax, time to let her brain recharge and time to learn what was expected of her in this new role as sport horse to-be.

Following my gut and my vet’s opinions, I took a chance. I skipped the pre-purchase exam, loaded her up and took her home. Maybe I’m a little risk-averse, maybe I’m slightly crazy (that’s another blog). But no, instead I just believe that the track is not the best place to test for soundness. In my opinion all the poking and prodding, flexions and other various tests are better carried out after muscles have had a chance to heal, any drugs have left their system and their body has had a chance to recharge. So instead, I opted for a post-purchase exam.

The first order of business was transitioning her to a life of turnout. The small herd setting would help her with basic ground manners and show her how to start enjoying her new, relaxed lifestyle. The ample grazing opportunities would help her gut health and give her a much needed reset after the high-energy diet and possible drugs she was exposed to at the track. The room to move would help her sore muscles recoup and heal from the hard training day in and day out. So, with these benefits in mind, she went outside to make some friends.

Photo by Lindsay Gilbert.

And a few weeks later, when I felt like Java was in a better place mentally and physically, I loaded up on muffins and mimosas to calm my nerves and my wonderful vet came to tell me whether Java would ever be an eventer. As luck (and a trained eye) would have it, Java’s x-rays came back clean. Other than some body soreness, Java was perfectly healthy and ready to tackle our new adventure.

So with the all-clear and some muscle relaxants to help her transition easier, Java is officially an eventer-in-training! So far, that training has primarily been ground work as her muscles continue to heal. We are forming a partnership and I’m setting expectations before ever stepping into the stirrups. She’s learning how to use her body differently on the lunge, how to steer and stop while ground driving, and how patience really is a virtue, no matter what her buddies at the track might say.

But all this slow and steady work of seemingly not doing much at all has paid off already. Our first real ride together was cool, calm and collected! Java offered me a nice walk and trot, was steering like a pro and tried her best to offer me brakes when I asked for them.

So, with eight months to go, two rides down, and a happy healthy horse on my hands, we are heading in the right direction!

Lindsay is the owner of Transitions Sport Horses, based in Lexington, Kentucky. She participated in the 2016 Retired Racehorse Project Thoroughbred Makeover on Rebel Annie and is back again in 2017 with Hot Java. Keep up with their journey here on EN and via her blog, Making It to the Thoroughbred Makeover!

Photo courtesy of Lindsay Gilbert.

Hey you, yes you … random stranger that is just a little bit too nosy. And you, close friend who rolls your eyes at my dreams that are maybe slightly too big for your imagination. And you, family member who snarkily suggests I actually use my degree. All of you wonderful, well-meaning individuals who really don’t get it. Today, I salute you.

Here’s to those who don’t understand. To those who ask questions like “why are you wasting your time and money, it’s just a horse” or those who share my passion but not my crazy obsession with taking on difficult horses.

You fuel my fire, you are the reason I do what I do. To you, it’s just a horse. To you, it’s a waste of time. To you, my talents are better utilized elsewhere. But I will prove you wrong.

I may not have the fanciest barn or five-figure warmbloods. The nickers coming from my stalls may not be from graded stakes winners or grand prix jumpers, but they are horses bound for greatness nonetheless. You may not see it, but I do.

You may not be able to see past the outer layer, the hard candy coating, to the soft center inside. You may not want to spend the time and energy figuring out the puzzle, putting it together piece by piece until everything fits seamlessly. Instead of broken pieces scattered on the ground, I can see the end result, the beautiful masterpiece that could be if someone cared enough to try. I revel in the little moments, the daily victories that my horses and I share. I know they are destined for greatness in their own way and it’s my job to get them there.

You see a frightened pony that doesn’t trust anyone’s motives. I see a horse that will one day be a little girl’s best friend. You see a gangly Thoroughbred that doesn’t know where to put his feet. I see an upper-level eventer in the making, destined for eating up a cross-country course like it’s second nature. You see a horse that’s hard to understand, one that no one has bothered to figure out just yet. I see my calling.

We may just be walking our lives away, spending our days hacking and trying to stay calm. We may be working through trust issues instead of working on getting that six stride line just right. But, all these days spent doing what you think is nothing will lead up to something great.

And the tears I shed over the difficult horse, the one who rears instead of walks, who can’t seem to relax, who doesn’t quite get it — those tears will be the same ones I cry when we actually finish a cross country course, and the same happy tears that well in my eyes when those difficult horses go on to make someone else the happiest they’ve ever been. That’s what I do, that’s what I live for.

So, thank you, naysayers. Thank you, disbelievers. Thank you for everyone who questioned me or my horses. This ride’s for you. I appreciate your unwillingness to see what I can do and what my horses can be. Because of you, I tack up every day with a fire in my belly and a determination in my soul. My bank account might be empty, I may not be using my fancy degree, and the fences I jump might be comical in size — but my heart is full. And one day, when we make it, I’ll toast every single person who didn’t believe we could.

Lindsay is the owner of Transitions Sport Horses, based in Lexington, Kentucky. She participated in the 2016 Retired Racehorse Project Thoroughbred Makeover on Rebel Annie and is back again in 2017 with Hot Java. Keep up with their journey here on EN and via her blog, Making It to the Thoroughbred Makeover!