Classic Eventing Nation

In this excerpt from the bestselling book World-Class Grooming for Horses by pro grooms Cat Hill and Emma Ford, Cat tells us about one particularly “eventful” trip home from the Pan Ams.

Photo courtesy of Trafalgar Square Books.

Quarantine Nightmare!

When we came home after the Pan American Games in Brazil in 2007, the five US Eventing Team horses had a seven-day quarantine in Miami to check for ehrlichia (a tick-borne disease common in Brazil). My charge, Mara DePuy’s Nicki Henley, was injured so I was asked to stay in Miami and take care of the quarantined horses since my horse needed the most “tender loving care.”

Quarantine is a tough place: only one person is allowed in the stables at a time and only for an hour. Our gold-medal winning equine team went from four or five meals a day of the highest quality grain and constant care and intense exercise routines to concrete boxes with no windows, cheap hay, and one scoop of straight oats twice a day.

I would literally run into the aisleway and fly through getting Nicki into an ice boot, race through the other horse’s stalls to put my hands on them, check legs, and run a brush over them, change Phillip Dutton’s Truluck’s hoof wrap (he had pulled a shoe on cross-country), to finally get Nicki out of ice and re-wrapped.

The last day we were there, Truluck (“Milo”) wasn’t acting like his normal, cuddly self. I talked to the vets on staff and told them I thought he might be colicking. A vet came, took his temperature, and said he was fine. After a great deal of persuading, I convinced her to let me come back in two hours to check on him.

Many phone calls to Phillip and the United States Olympic Committee, and two hours later, Milo certainly was colicking, but since he still wasn’t running a temperature the vets weren’t buying my urgency. After much handwringing I was allowed to walk him in the aisle. He settled a little and I was asked to leave for the night. So I did what any sane, rational groom would do: I sat in his stall and refused to leave. I screamed, I swore, I was physically dragged out of the barn yelling that I was calling the news and exposing abuse. I then called Phillip, crying, apologizing.

The vet ended up checking on Milo and deciding (once he had a temperature) that he needed more specialized care, and they transferred him to Wellington Equine where his colic was treated.

So, after being up all night with this situation, I was thrilled to see the rigs pull in at 9:00 a.m. to take us home to Virginia! We loaded all the gear and horses into the semi-trailers, and I asked the shippers where the hay was. They looked at me blankly and said no one asked them to bring hay. Luckily, the Canadian team was loading their horses at the same time and they were able to spare half a bale. That was one flake per horse!

I then attempted to climb into the cab and the shippers obviously thought I was crazy; they had not expected me to ride up front with them. So I bunked down on some trunks that were stacked in the back with the horses and settled in for the long ride home. We sat at a standstill in traffic during a wicked thunderstorm, but finally made it to the Florida border. The horses were out of hay, wet, and miserable, and I was about the same.

When we stopped in line at the agricultural stop on the way out of Florida, I jumped out of the truck and visited every livestock trailer there, asking if I could buy some hay. I ended up buying two bales for an absurd sum of money.

A long 10 hours later we made it to Virginia. I can honestly say I have never been happier to see High Acre farm in my life!

This excerpt from World-Class Grooming for Horses by Cat Hill and Emma Ford is reprinted with permission from Trafalgar Square Books (www.horseandriderbooks.com).

New allegations continue to surface daily in what has been labeled a “sexual assault epidemic” in America. More and more Silence Breakers are starting to feel like they have a safe space to share their own stories, with the #MeToo movement on social media playing a critical role in empowering those who once felt like they had no voice. It should come as no surprise that our equestrian community is not immune from the epidemic. Today we share an anonymous letter we hope will give others in our community the courage to find a voice. You are not alone. 

Dear younger self,

I remember you. The horse-crazy kid who gets dropped off at the barn after school every day and loiters there from sunup to sundown all summer long. Mucking stalls, riding everything you can, bombing around bareback without a care in the world. You are eager to learn, to be the very best, and you hang on your trainer’s every word. You devour horse magazines cover to cover, cutting out photos of top riders and pinning them to your bedroom walls.

I remember you. The starry-eyed teenager with gold-plated Olympic dreams. Jumps are getting higher; things are getting serious; the sport of eventing has become your whole world. Your trainer takes a particular interest in you, gives you the ride on a nice horse that will take you to the next level. You are the star student and you thrive on the attention — it makes you feel special, even exceptional. It makes you feel seen.

You are also naive and impressionable, and so you feel confused when your trainer’s attention moves from verbal praise into the realm of the physical, the sexual.

Molestation is an ugly word, so you don’t use it — after all, it isn’t like you are kicking and screaming to get away. Another word you don’t use is “no,” and as a result you feel responsible for the blurring of boundaries. You feel complicit. Besides which, what if you tell someone and the nice horse gets taken away, or your parents take away horses altogether? None of these seem like risks worth taking, so it goes on, for years.

I remember when your secret begins wearing you down. How when you drive to and from the barn, you start to fantasize about stepping on the gas and veering off the road. It feels like your only option for escape. One bitter winter night you finally do it, but it doesn’t go as planned. Your car is wrecked but you are uninjured, and so the nightmare continues.

At 18 you finally make your getaway. You take a working student position several hours away, in a top-level barn with positive, healing energy. You start over with a young OTTB, who will eventually become your own self-made upper level horse. You are alive, healthy and happy again.

But acts of sexual predation are widespread, scaling all strata of equestrian sport — even the sacred iconography that adorned your childhood bedroom walls. Like the time you go out to dinner with a group of riders at a three-day event — you’re maybe 19 by now — and the big name rider sitting next to you begins rubbing your thigh. Under the table, with his wife sitting across from you. He doesn’t even know your name and he is groping you. You begin to realize that the powerful take what they want, when they want it. You sit stiffly and pick at your dinner, laughing it off later with friends.

Life goes on.

Your first trainer is still out there, teaching young girls and running summer camps. And, as you’ll eventually learn, you aren’t the last “star student.” Some years later, within the statute of limitations, you consider pressing charges but — more horse-poor than ever as a struggling young professional — you can’t afford a lawyer.

As for the big-name rider who thought it was OK to feel up a random teenager under the table? He went on to represent the U.S. at the Olympic Games.

So what happens to you? The good news is, you’ll be fine (with the help of some good therapists of both the horse and human variety). In fact, you’ll be amazing. You’ll grow smarter, stronger and more adventurous. You’ll keep riding, marry a wonderful man, surround yourself with great friends, and land your dream job. You may or may not make it to a four-star, but you’ll find a place for yourself within the sport that fulfills you. Moreover, you’ll find your voice. And you’ll use it to talk about things that have meaning. Like this.

Know this, younger self: You are not alone. You are neither the first nor the last victim of a rider, trainer, owner, sponsor, employer, auxiliary, etc. who has used their power and influence to involve themselves sexually with someone younger and more vulnerable than themselves. You’re not as isolated as you feel, and you have access to more support* than you know.

To be clear, this is not a one-size-fits-all conversation. The two anecdotes I have shared from my own life exist at opposite ends of the spectrum, in terms of intensity and duration, but it is the same spectrum. The common denominator is a lack of awareness of power dynamics — who has power, who does not, and how it can be abused. And that needs to change.

I am writing this letter as acknowledgement that my voice is, and always has been, worth listening to. And as a warning against allowing my sense of self-worth to become entangled with the value of my body. And to give myself permission to let go of the guilt, shame and pain I have carried around for so long, regarding not only these incidents but others that would accumulate in the years to follow. It has taken the emergence of a broader cultural conversation to say these things out loud, even if under the veil of an anonymous letter.

I wish I was braver, like others who have come forward with their stories in full transparency. But perhaps my story is more poignant with no names attached, no fingers pointed. Who am I? I could be anyone: your friend, your student, your daughter. A face in the cross country warm-up. The rider stabled next to you at an event. Perhaps my story resembles your own.

If this letter resonates with any of you reading it, then I am writing it for you, too.

I realize that by declining to name names, I’m not exactly ripping down the veil of silence. As individuals and as a sporting culture, we have historically protected abusers. We sweep stories like mine under the rug because they disrupt the narrative about our beloved sport that we wish to believe, a narrative that does not include the degradation of its most vulnerable athletes.

But this letter, my letter, isn’t about specific names. It’s about a deeply troubling dynamic of exploitation that has long permeated equestrian sport at every level. Surely, there is something I — we — can do to throw a wrench in its gears, for the sake of this and future generations of at-risk young riders to come. Hopefully this letter is a solid first step.

I remember you. Love,
Me

*Editor’s Note: For support, information, advice or referrals, we recommend contacting the trained support specialists at RAINN, Safe Horizon and SafeSport, a function of the IOC dedicated to stopping child abuse in sport and creating a safe culture in sports programs across the country. You may also contact the author directly at [email protected].