United States Eventing Association

The Eventing Sickness

Eventers have a sickness. It could be considered an illness or a disease, and it can be contracted at any stage in life. The early symptoms are an overwhelming need to be in a barn in close proximity to horses. But this is common among a broad spectrum of horse people. What makes ‘eventing sickness’ special is that above all things we are concerned with fitness, training, schooling. How many trot sets, gallops, hill sets do we need to do by which week. A true indicator of illness however is that when something doesn’t go to plan, we immediately start developing the next one, and then 2 alternates beyond that just to make sure we are prepared. All without skipping a beat.

Now most of us are well aware of our illness and we wear it like a badge of courage. We belong to support groups, USEA and our respective Areas. We have spouses, family, and friends who love and support us despite our disease. But until recently I did not realize that this is not only a conscience choice to live with this sickness, but a sub-conscience one as well, deeply ingrained in our psyche.

I have come to this conclusion after recent events. Clarity it seems comes after a literal kick in the teeth and much morphine.

Let me explain. 2011 did not go to plan and I have unfinished business that I am anxiously waiting to accomplish. I have been plotting out a careful course for success for 2012 for months and I couldn’t wait to get to Florida and get it started. Then, the weekend before Christmas, I got kicked in the face by a very sick and somewhat feral broodmare that we were trying to treat. Those who witnessed it said it was some super secret ninja move which sent me across a stall and into a wall. I will spare you the details, but my jaw is wired shut because of several facial fractures and I am going to be good friends with my dental surgeon by the end of 2012.

How did the depth of my ‘eventing sickness’ become apparent? Well, as I was laying on the ground waiting for an ambulance, my thoughts were “This better not get in the way of getting Questie to Rolex!” and “What am I going to do with Groovy, he can’t miss work.” My chief concerns while in the trauma room with painkillers flowing had nothing to do with me, but rather how the mare was and to make sure the doctors knew I was headed to Florida the week after New Year’s. The day after surgery my morphined hazed questions revolved around how many DAYS until I could ride, explaining I had things to do.

So where does the clarity come in you ask? I have had a lot of time to sit around and think about all sorts of things. I have laughed a lot and cried a bit about all that has happened. I have talked to a lot of friends, both riders and non-riders. The eventers 2^nd , who am I kidding, 1^st question is always “So when can you ride?”. Everyone else wants to know how I am feeling. When I tell people I am very lucky, just bones are broken not my brain and that this is all really just an inconvenience they look at me with varying degrees of wonder. (possibly about my sanity.) They don’t understand the ‘eventing sickness’ which keeps us going. Eventers know; it is clearly and deeply ingrained in our beings to get up, get going, and formulate the next plan. It is how we think and function. I am very lucky, that is for sure. The start of my 2012 season is thankfully just delayed. My future blogs should be about competitions and horses and the roads to Rolex and Jersey Fresh. Until then, Happy New Year and good luck with your plans, however many you have!

Heather Gillette has been eventing since she was in the third grade, she is a graduate ‘A’ of Pony Club, and competed in her first three-day event in 1987 on Argyle Socks who she also did Young Riders with. After several years in the corporate world, Heather left her job to become a full time trainer and rider. Since 2002 she has been working out Kathleen and Ken McDermott’s farm in Pottersville, NJ. Heather and Our Questionnaire are aiming to compete at the Rolex Kentucky CCI4* for the second year.