One of the beautiful things about dressage is that there are so many levels at which to play. I don’t just mean training level versus third level versus Prix St. Georges versus Grand Prix; I mean that there are schooling shows, recognized shows, CDIs, and various regional and national championship tracks. My original goal for Elvis this year was the USEF Developing Prix St. Georges Championships, a track dedicated to 7-9-year-old horses, and a program for which the bar is fantastically high. The top 15 in the country go; I was 19th. Close, but no cigar.

So when that ship sailed, I made a new goal: the U.S. Dressage Finals in Lexington, Kentucky, in November. Qualifying for Finals requires either taking champion or reserve, or earning a “wildcard” score above a certain qualifying threshold at one of the nine regional championships. I live in Region 1, which has lots of very quality trainers on quality horses. The Prix St. Georges open championship tends to be one of the bigger ones. And Elvis and I drew a time early in the class.

I gave Elvis the month of August to fluff around, letting him do some basic work, plus some hills, plus some in-hand work as I forge ahead on Operation Piaffe, all geared towards letting him be productive, but not overwhelmingly fit, through the hottest of the Virginia summer. In September, I put him back to real work, and for the first time, I leaned on him for conditioning. Our rides were longer. I really got on his case about self-carriage, which has been the biggest bugaboo for us. I made him TIRED. The week before the show, I kept our collective noses to the grindstone. I’ve upped my own fitness program, and I didn’t back down on either of us until Saturday when I caught Elvis napping midday—unusual for him—and declared victory. He hacked Sunday. He had Monday off. He schooled lightly on Tuesday, just thinking sharp and bright to the aids. We drove to North Carolina on Wednesday, where I did the same.

And on Thursday, I popped on my tailcoat, and off we went.

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In the last decade, I’ve embraced the educational approach of having one coach. Too many voices in my head aren’t good for me or for my riding; it seemed to muddy the waters. Over the last nine years, I’ve dabbled in the occasional clinic with phenomenal people—USEF and USDF training sessions with the team coaches or other very accomplished names, and the Masterclass with Isabell Werth this winter—but all with my coach at my side to frame the new perspective into context and to help translate into a system with which I’m familiar.

Late this summer, I lost that coach. In August, Michael Barisone, who’s been my trainer, my mentor, my family and my friend for nine years, was charged with shooting a woman at his farm. The details of the crime will be tried in a court of law, and since I wasn’t there, and I’m not a lawyer, that’s the beginning and end of my role in this tale.

But I’m a professional rider with lofty goals, and that means I had to find a new trainer. It’s been awkward and difficult and horribly sad. After going through the stages of grieving, I looked at my string of magnificent horses, all too precious to have their ascendence to High Performance Sport sent askew by my sadness. And so I started the process of forging new coaching partnerships.

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During 2017 and 2018, two years of pretty consistent disaster, I found solace in food and booze. I do not have a drinking problem, for which I am very grateful, but I certainly overindulged, as well as making some not great choices on the nutrition front. I put on weight and felt sluggish and sore, which I attributed to just getting older and having a physically demanding job. It’s not like I went from a size 2 to a size 22. I’ve never been petite, and the weight gain was marginal, and as I’m 5’10”, it was spread out over a lot of height.

But I felt it. And I saw it in photos.

And then Elvis came into my life.

Elvis isn’t small—16.3 and well sprung. But I am very, very tall, with very, very long legs. And I think a healthy body is a beautiful thing across a spectrum of sizes, but mine was bigger and clunkier than I wanted it to be, particularly perched on top of a horse at the bottom of the size range I can sit on without making him look like a pony.

I started working with a nutritionist at my sponsors, InForm Fitness of Leesburg. And I started chronicling my journey to better eating habits on my Facebook and Instagram pages, and a few people reached out to ask great questions and learn more about what was working and not working, particularly as someone with long hours and a wild travel schedule. So I thought I’d share some thoughts here.

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Our last show was the middle of July, and our next show is at the end of August with not a whole lot in between except some clinics and normal lessons. We’ve had heat indexes above 90 (and more than a few above 100!) for weeks on end, and if ever there was a time to give our horses a wee break before the end of season ramps up, it’s now.

Elvis was the victim of my own attempts to help him. In consultation with my wonderfully experienced sports medicine veterinary practice, even though Elvis was 100% sound and working like a rockstar in May, we decided to experiment with an aluminum hind shoe to help give him some support as he worked at a high level. We made the change right before his second qualifying show for the USEF Developing Prix St. Georges Championships, and he hated the change, and we had a very mediocre score. We all decided to change him back to the boring ol’ steel shoe he’d been in when he was next due to be shod, which was, of course, the week of his third and final qualifying show. Of course, 1,200 pounds of warmblood horse felt like the steel shoe was just SO HEAVY that he couldn’t pick up his own hind legs, and we got an even more mediocre score, and we found ourselves in 19th place in the rankings, and the top 15 in the country go. So that was the ball game.

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If money were no object, many of my amateur students would have multiple horses, all in full training, so they could come to the barn and enjoy their horses and riding without worrying about the trials and tribulations of farm ownership and of taking care of their own animals. Things like well pumps (which exclusively break at 2 a.m.), fence boards (which exclusively break above 90° or below 20°) and our favorite Flesh Wound of Unknown Origin are all hindrances to any rider’s plan, and most of those come off the table when your horse is in a training program.

But I’ve got a few students who would keep their horses at home or in a boarding stable anyway because they truly enjoy all the good parts about having their horses close at hand. And here in the real world, training is expensive, and that’s not an option for everyone. Over the years I’ve had, and continue to have, many students who not only keep their horses at home or in a boarding program, but also bring them up the levels to compete with success at FEI. Their stories are all different, but they have some commonalities.

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I’ve ridden extensively with three of Michael Poulin’s most accomplished students—I rode with Lendon Gray all through college; I was a working student for and have an ongoing friendship with Carol Lavell, and now for almost a decade I’ve trained with Michael Barisone—but somehow I’d never ridden with Michael Poulin himself. So when the team at Barisone Dressage invited me to ride with him in a clinic, I popped Elvis on the trailer and schlepped on up, though with some trepidation.

This is a HUGELY accomplished person, and while he’s also in my educational family tree, it’s also been a long time since I’ve ridden with someone besides my regular coach. What if he’s a mean, old dinosaur? What if he’s tough on my wonderful horse, who’s going brilliantly? What if he wants to change my plan and takes the train off the tracks?

I needn’t have worried. My lessons were vastly respectful of my way with my horse, and he didn’t try and reinvent the wheel for me. He adored Elvis (let’s be real, who doesn’t?) and was tremendously kind to him and considerate of his needs and his welfare. And he was just the right amount of tough on me, with a light heart and a twinkle in his eye.

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