BY NINA MCMENAMIN
Something’s been bothering me the past year or so. It’s occurred to me that I’ve become invisible at the barn when it comes to riding.
Growing up, I was one of those kids for whom riding was all I wanted to do. I put my heart and soul into it. I was lucky in that I was naturally good with horses. I rode off feel and instinct, and horses and ponies responded well to my riding. We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, so I didn’t have the opportunities I craved, but I did pretty well on the local circuit and the few “B” rated shows I got to go to with my large pony.
We bought him for $800 back in the 70s. He was green and feisty, and he taught me so much. I fell off of him the day before we bought him, and the day after we bought him. People questioned my mom’s decision, but I was convinced he was the right pony for me. Things slowly started to fall into place, and that pony eventually became the kindest, sweetest pony anybody could get on.
We horse showed in the spring and summer and fox hunted in the fall. He was the best teacher I ever had, and I continued to use those lessons he taught me through my adult riding life. We eventually had to sell him, and I decided to take some time off riding and try the college life. It wasn’t for me, and so I found my way back to horses.
My mom had a friend who bred a couple of thoroughbred mares every year and kept the babies at home. I started mucking stalls there and eventually found myself breaking the babies in an open field with the racehorse trainer. Looking back, I’m not really sure what I was thinking, but I never turned down an opportunity to ride.
As time passed, I continued to take lessons in my 20s and 30s at different barns just so I could ride, since I couldn’t afford to buy my own horse. I started to notice that wherever I was at that time, the trainer would often offer me rides on their own or customers’ horses and ponies. I was so thrilled to be able to ride these nice ponies and horses and get extra time in the saddle. It’s definitely where I found my peace and my feeling of belonging somewhere.
Fast forward to me in my 50s. Leading up to now, there have been some kind friends who basically let me free lease their horses while they themselves weren’t riding for different reasons. The horses always left in the end, but I was also teaching lessons, so that gave me my horse fix.
I began to notice that I’m good at teaching. Must be in the blood because both my mom and my sister were teachers, though in the academic sense. Being able to communicate to each student in a way they understand and can learn from is important to me. Being able to throw my lesson plan out the window because the horse I thought we were getting decides to be different that day, forcing me to rethink what we’re going to work on. Or maybe my student had a bad day at school and needs some extra time to collect herself and just be with the horse. I find there are always teaching moments. Not only for the students but for me as well.
And because I don’t have my own barn and teach at other professionals’ facilities, I’ve learned there are many different ways of doing the same thing. I don’t have control over the tack or how the horse is cared for. I’ve never and would never teach at a stable that doesn’t give good care, but sometimes I’ve questioned the tack the horse is wearing, or whether the horse itself belonged in that situation. I’ve taught beginner students on a pony wearing a hackamore who likes to take off. I’ve had more students fall off because the horse was too green to be in a lesson program. I’ve taught on super nice horses that get used too much because they’re everyone’s favorites. I’ve taught at large lesson barns where there are 3 rings going at all times and small private facilities where I have one student. I’ve taught toddlers to women in their 70s. I’ve had to explain to male students how to sit comfortably in the saddle (I tell them to Google it). I’ve taught survival and self-preservation skills due to the horse the student got that day.
And yet I still identify as a rider. When I’m asked what I do outside of work, I still say I ride horses, but I haven’t been on one in over a year. It’s just so ingrained in my soul. I’ve recently started unloading some of my equipment that I’m not using because I’m not riding. It was hard to come to the realization that this stuff is just sitting around collecting dust because I’m not using it.
But let’s face it, I’ve gotten “old.” I’m in my late 50s now and not looked at in the same way as I was. Even though I feel like I’m in my 20s some days (not all days), I’m certainly not seen that way. So I ask you, “What happens to those barn exercise riders who grow old but still can and want to ride?” Before you go off on me telling me to go out and buy my own horse and stop whining, owning my own horse for me is impossible due to costs.
I’m the one who would help the trainer keep the customers’ horses in shape in between training rides. Sometimes it was a paid gig, but more often than not, it wasn’t. I was never looking for money when I helped exercise the horses. I have a full-time job that pays my bills. This was what kept me sane and focused, and I did it for the love of it all.
I never wanted to show as an adult. I don’t like being judged. But I do love preparing the horse so that when the trainer or customer got on, they were right there in front of them, ready to go. It was also very helpful when I taught that customer on their horse to know the horse and what the customer was feeling. The horse needs to be able to perform well not only with the professional, but it needs to understand what the adult amateur on their back is asking of them as well. It should be a two-way street, with the amateur learning how to correctly ask and the horse forgiving the rider’s mistakes whenever possible. That was my method of exercising the horses, at least.
It always seemed to work out well, but then the rides started dwindling and eventually just stopped. I noticed the horses getting exercised by folks with less experience. Still good riders, just not as long in the tooth, shall we say.
Am I not as capable anymore? No, I don’t bounce like I used to, but that just makes me pay more attention to the horse I have and my surroundings. Do I want to take rides away from the working student? Absolutely not, but do they need to be riding eight horses a day and complaining about back pain? Hello! I’m right here ready to help! Just look past the wrinkles, and you’ll see I’m just the same as you are.
I’m just a girl, standing in a barn aisle, asking to be noticed.
It’s hard not to be recognized as a rider anymore when that’s how you’ve always seen yourself. I was able to identify as a rider, but it’s been tough not riding. Now I’m not sure what I identify as. Am I an instructor? A coach? An assistant trainer? I’m not sure why I’m looking to label it either. Except that when I’m asked what my relationship is with the barn, I stumble over what I do. While before it was easy to say “I help keep the horses going and do some teaching,” for whatever reason, not being able to say “I ride” makes me feel less valuable.
So I need to get over that. I know I bring value in other ways by teaching, submitting entries, lending a hand at horse shows, etc. I listen to podcasts about staying current while aging. I put my saddle up for sale because honestly, I could use the sale money to pay off a credit card. Every time I looked at my saddle just sitting in the garage, I saw a dollar sign overhead.
I wear breeches when I teach and help at horse shows, not because of the chance to hop in the saddle again, but because they just make me feel good. I’m learning to embrace being the caregiver at shows and making sure everyone knows where they’re supposed to be. I look the other way when a horse is sent to the show ring without polished hooves because this really isn’t my circus anymore.
I’m always available for advice on how to prepare a horse to go to the show ring with shining dapples and a clean face. But these young workers, who feel they are overworked but mainly lack organizational skills, are just trying to get through the day.
So here I sit. Looking at pictures of the horses I rode and took care of and missing those days so much it hurts. But I’m also enjoying watching my students grow and learn how to be great horsemen. I guess that ache to ride will always be there. I wonder if there’s an online group for aging riders who got turned out to pasture. Or maybe a podcast?
Nina McMenamin is a lifelong horsewoman living in Chester County, Pennsylvania, and enjoys being an active part of the local horse community. She loves spending time outdoors with her two dogs and traveling with family and friends.
