When I first heard of endurance riding, back in the early 2000’s, I knew it was something I had to do. That initial spark spread quickly. By the time I finally bought a horse and got him ready to ride, it was a full-blown conflagration.
I lived and breathed endurance. For eight years, I went to every ride I could. And then…everything fizzled. My endurance participation languished until finally, last fall, I questioned whether I should continue in the sport at all.
This is the story of why I almost quit endurance riding, but didn’t.
How Did It Come to This?
Let’s begin with a timeline:
2008-2012 – Completed 1345 miles with one pull (rider option, newbie mistake, got lost).
2013 – Started my amazing horse Jammer with a 310-mile season.
2014 – Rode 600 miles, no pulls, all but one ride on Jammer.
2015 – Rode another 600 miles, no pulls, mostly on Jammer. He top-tenned everything he touched, including two 100s. What could possibly go wrong?
2016 – Figured out that Jammer’s mysterious “not quite right” symptoms were caused by headshaking syndrome. Sadly shifted focus to a green mare. Took a bad fall off said mare, cracked a couple lumbar vertebrae, and was out for the season.
2017 – Tried everything to mesh with the mare, but eventually sold her as a bad fit. Vertebrae healed, but confidence remained shaken. Did just a couple rides on a different, very promising mare.
2018 – Had a bad house fire early in the season. In the ensuing logistical chaos, didn’t condition or make it to any rides.
2019 – Had a major professional upset that sapped all my energy. Rode, but not to condition, let alone compete. Wrote about the experience in Learning to Walk.
2020 – Covid disrupted early season schedule. Had the promising mare ready to start mid-season when a normal, vet-administered dose of banamine crashed her kidneys. She survived, but could no longer do endurance due to dehydration risk. Pulled Jammer out of retirement for a couple 50s. He top-tenned the first but colicked at the second. Scared the crap out of me to think I might lose him.
2021 – Conditioned another mare, but ultimately found her too anxious to handle the sport. Sold her to a trail riding home. Bought Ledger in late summer. Did a couple LDs on him at a fall ride. Promising start! Bought Bella, completely unstarted, in fall.
2022 – Conditioned Ledger and rode him at an early summer 50. Pulled for lameness at the finish, nothing serious. Too much badly-timed travel made it impossible to keep him fit for rides later in the year. Focused instead on training him and Bella.
So there I was, in the fall of last year. Loving the training process but missing endurance. Beaten down by more pulls in my last 200 miles than I’d had in the previous 2,800.
I was tired from starting four new horses in the sport. Terrified of something happening to the next one. Longing for the old days, when it seemed my horses always finished strong. When I didn’t worry about them as the miles ticked by. I missed the days when I could throw my heart into my horses without other demands on time and attention dragging me away.
As autumn ticked on, I rode with a friend, sifting through doubts. I sat in the kitchen with Mr. Sweaty, testing possibilities. Asking a question I never expected:
What would it be like to let go of endurance?
We could travel. Enjoy days off and evenings out. No pressure, no timeline. I’d experiment with training, but not for competition. We could sell the LQ. Ride for fun. Soak up the horses, and the rest of life, on their own terms.
I could relax my vigilance about ulcers and lameness and separation anxiety and dehydration. Ill-fitting hoof boots or wrong bits or cinch rubs would be less urgent. Missing two or three weeks of riding wouldn’t mean sacrificing a goal event.
And what about that event? If it didn’t exist, there would be no bucking at the start. No wondering why he isn’t drinking yet. No dragging at mile 40, jiggling his hindquarters to see if he’s tying up or just a little tired.
It would be so easy.
Is easy so wrong?
That, I think I can answer: It isn’t wrong. As I mentioned in this post, it seems that passion is hereditary. Being less ambitious, less driven, isn’t a moral problem.
Alas, it is a problem for me.
I am the passionate type. Striving is, quite literally, in my blood.
And yet, here I was, thinking of quitting. Becoming the very type of person I regarded with incredulity a decade ago. It took me a winter of thinking to figure out why.
Reason #1: Fear
I don’t like seeing my horses in pain.
I don’t like telling Mr. Sweaty the latest vet bill was another $3,000.
I don’t lying awake in ridecamp, straining to hear my horse munching hay, worrying about how he’ll handle the start.
I don’t like standing in the stirrups, listening with my whole body for any hint of lameness.
I don’t like the possibility that my next try, like the last, and the one before that, will end in failure.
I was afraid (am afraid!) of all those things.
Fear, however, is not a good reason to make decisions. It is only information. If I listen, it can lead me to the right questions:
Why am I afraid?
Fear wasn’t really part of my endurance experience for my first 2,500 or so miles. I knew the risks ~ of not completing, of veterinary issues, of accidents on the trail ~ but I didn’t worry about them. Why am I worried now?
Part of the reason is in that timeline. I had some bad luck. Many of those unfortunate experiences were out of my control. I just didn’t happen to have as many crop up during my earlier years in the sport.
But that isn’t the whole picture. Which leads me to another question:
What could I do differently to address the cause of the fear?
Well, I can bring more prepared horses to rides. If I make a more solid commitment to conditioning and training, at the price of giving up other priorities, I can hit the trail with greater confidence that my horses are mentally and physically up to the task. That’s a feeling I used to have going into nearly every ride. I want it back.
But wait, fear says. Issues arise even in the most prepared horses. They can be fit and trained and ready and still get hurt. I can only control the inputs. The outcomes ~ those demons of potential disaster ~ are often beyond my influence.
So now I ask:
How can I think differently to nurture an acceptance of uncertainty?
Indian filmmaker Shekhar Kapur has a fascinating perspective. “I have devoted my life to uncertainty,” he says. “Certainty is the death of wisdom, thought, creativity.”
I am learning to rest in the moment, without borrowing regret from the past or fear from the future. When I get it right, anxiety relaxes into curiosity. Trepidation crystallizes as excitement. Confidence emerges from the unknown.
Reason #2: Focus
I am not cut out for half-assing anything. I’m in or out. Hot or cold. Fish or cut bait. Shit or get off the pot.
These past seven years of conditioning for months only to do a single ride? Not working for me.
I’m tired of being a hamster on a wheel. Not just tired. Frustrated. Occasionally even angry. Fed up enough to say, “no more.”
Endurance requires too much time, too much expense, too much risk, to be dabbled in as a side hobby. I need to do it right, or do something else.
If I’m going to be in, I need to be all in.
After so much beating down, though, recommitment didn’t come easily. Before I could go all in, I needed to consider tapping out.
Over my winter of wondering, I never gave up the idea that I’d ever ride endurance again ~ but I did give up the idea that of course I would. I let myself consider a life in which I just rode.
It was there, in the curl of the question mark, that I found my peace. Right where it was all along: in the slow burn of discovery.
I had to set down the mantle of Endurance Rider to feel how heavy it had grown. Let it sit, undisturbed, while the dust settled. Only then could I pick it up again, not by default, but by love.
Those halcyon years with Jammer? They’re meant to be treasured, not recreated. I’m on a different loop now.
I’ve chosen endurance as I did the first time, fifteen years ago. Not as moth to flame, but as river to sea: relentless without restlessness, persistent without desperation.
I am a pilgrim on a road that doesn’t end, but only divides. Who puts one foot before the other, quietly determined to see what lies around the bend.
You might also like
Why? Why does it seem you can read my innermost thoughts? I feel like I’m traveling the exact path of what would it be like to quit endurance? Is this what I need to do? I don’t know. But thank you for the excellent timing and read. I know I need some rest and a break. I guess time will tell if it’s a permanent one.
I had to think about this for a while before responding. I wanted to put my finger on why I decided to continue, because quitting still has many attractions. For me, the decision to recommit came with the realization that, had I not continued, I would someday arrive at the end of life feeling like I gave up before it was time ~ like I hadn’t come to my decision from a place of satisfaction and contentment, but from frustration and fear. Even if I’m forced to quit someday because I have to (due to injury, for example), and even if that is before I have a 100-mile horse again, I want to know that I did all I could while I was able to try. Perhaps someday I’ll feel differently and be able to feel good about letting go. But for now, I’m still in a place where I would regret not seeing what else I can discover down this path. Hugs.
Thank you for this thoughtful reply. I think for me I need to explore why I am having this desire to quit and see if I can work through it as you did. Last year, the universe screamed take a break to me. I really didn’t listen. This year I’m forced to because of my injury. I think I need a thoughtful break and rest. Thank you again.
I admire your ability to use your current injury as an opportunity for reflection, making it not just something tolerable, but something valuable. I wasn’t quite there when I broke my back! But you’re the wiser one. No need to force it. You’ll know the answer in time.
💖💝💖
I’ve thought of walking away, many times, over the last 5 years. My best horse was critically injured. That led to essentially catch riding again, after several years of riding “my own” horse. Then I became involved in a new organization, which, in the end, left me feeling sad and disillusioned. The repercussions of being involved in the new organization meant I lost good friends, on both sides of the issue. It was like living a dem vs rep existence, in ENDURANCE, of all things. The one place that I always felt was an escape from my reality. Then Mr EndrncRider got us fancy kayaks for Christmas, I got to go to Belize for my first (of 3 now) surgical mission, I figured out how to ride a bike (again). I didn’t *need* endurance to keep me sane. I needed to be away from it! I was able to make trips to Seattle to see my GrandBoys. I didn’t need this sport anymore. I needed to feel peace in my soul. I’m still struggling, to a degree, but I’m being drug along the endurance river current by Mr EndrncRider, who’s still got the bug. I have this little red mare, who has that heart of a lion, and so…I’ll keep on for now. We’ll just see where the current takes us, and bear in mind that this is for fun…dammit! Thank you for being able to articulate what so many of us are feeling, or have felt. Many hugs!
Girl, you know I have been there! Thank you for sharing your story ~ so many of us seem to be experiencing this in some form, and it helps (me anyway!) to know we’re not alone. Also, I must meet this lioness mare of yours. 🙂
I took a 20 year hiatus I got intoquarter horses I came across a off the track Arabian started doing rides again a couple years ago endurance will always have my heart better late than never
Indeed, better late than never! And I’ll bet you’re a more well-rounded horseman than you would have been, if you hadn’t taken the long way around to endurance. 🙂
I’m in the same boat. The last 50 I did just wasn’t fun. I did the whole thing alone because I had so much anxiety at the start I had to let everyone go. Then I stopped going altogether because I had too much anxiety to get myself to rides and start. My anxiety and panic attacks got so bad I could barely even swing a leg over my horse or drive to and from my job for a year or so. It had been building for a several years and then a couple serious life changes and health scares tipped me over the edge. Understanding trauma and anxiety has led me down the journey of mindfulness-base cognitive therapy. It’s also motivated me to learn more horsemanship skills, which I had been lacking. I’m a lot better now but don’t know if I’ll ever do endurance again. I don’t like the notion that I quit something I loved because I was basically afraid to do it.
I think about all the things that brought me back to endurance rides year after year: The people, the country, the challenges, being with my horse, etc. Every year I join AERC knowing I’ll probably never do a ride. But if I feel up to it I can always pack up and go to a local ride. I can still explore local areas by myself and hang with my horse. I just find an interesting new area to explore and if someone wants to go with me great. If not, I leave a map with my sweetie and carry my SPOT.
I think my point is to be honest with yourself and figure out why you don’t find endurance fun. Mine was just plain anxiety. Yours is something else. It is a lot of work to pack up and get yourself to a ride, especially if you go to rides solo. If that effort outweighs the enjoyment there is still a lot of country to explore, and the best way is from the back of a fine horse.
I think coming back from fear is a long process to be approached with kindness and curiosity ~ definitely not the kind of thing to be done via “exposure therapy” in an endurance environment before you’re ready. I’m glad you’re finding ways to get out and enjoy riding, endurance notwithstanding! 🙂