The Pegasus Collection
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The Pegasus Collection

Mary Elena’s Story
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Mary Elena’s Story

Paula’s Story
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Paula’s Story

March 2023 | Women’s History
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March 2023 | Women’s History

May-June 2023 | Pride Month
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May-June 2023 | Pride Month

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In Stable Hands

Cari Worley and I (Jen Ely) Grew up with a passion for horses. As young girls, we took riding lessons in an English barn nearby with Cari continuing to compete for the equestrian team in college. As it does for so many, we both got married and had kids, forcing our love for riding to pause outside of the occasional ride through the years.

Then, in April 2012, there was a herd of 56 horses rescued by The Arabian Rescue mission from a breeding farm in West Virginia. I was approached with the opportunity to home one of the geldings, so I adopted my very first horse at 40. He was 9 years old without a name, so I decided to call him Chance. That decision ended up being the beginning of our new life with horses. My sister purchased a horse soon after with the rest of our family joining in. Soon, we had a herd of 9 horses and 3 minis.

We were asked to bring a horse to VetsPlace, a local organization that offers temporary housing to homeless vets. It was after spending the afternoon watching the interaction between Shadow (the paint pictured) and the vets that Cari and I decided we needed to find a way to share the power of the horse and human bond. We attended an EAGALA (Equine Assisted Growth & Learning Association) certification and founded In Stable Hands. Our primary focus with our nonprofit is providing equine-assisted growth and learning on the farm with also the goal to go mobile in order to reach high risk populations that would not traditionally have the ability to access our program. Since we founded, we have worked with schools, senior centers, veteran organizations, law enforcement, youth organizations, and Easter Seals.

You can find them on Instagram, Facebook and here: https://instablehands.org

In Stories

MELISSA’S STORY

For as long as I can remember I have loved horses. They are in my blood courtesy of my maternal family, so it isn’t a surprise that after my first lesson at age 4, I would do anything to ride. Unfortunately, we lived on a boat. My parents were avid sailors and built a 45′ sailboat to circumnavigate the world. My first pony, “Finally”, was a $60/month lease. . . IF I could catch him. At 4 I had to learn to think like a Pony. Finally had an affinity to grass and dumped me on a regular basis. I competed him in gymkana, trail, English, western. . . If it was open to a child and half wild pony, I was in it! By age 6 I was racing him bareback at the fairgrounds track when no one was watching. My favorite book was “The Girl Who Loved wild Horses”, by Tom Goble. I dreamt that if I spent enough time with the horses, I could become one.

Eventually I outgrew Finally and my parents bought me a 5 year old Arabian mare named Miya. I was 7. It was a terrible idea, but we didn’t have a lot of money and it seemed logical to have me paired with something that I could “grow up” with. [Insert “don’t try this at home message here.] Miya taught me a lot and looking back, I wish I had the knowledge now that I lacked then. We joined 4-H and did literally ALL the things. I built my own jumps, rode everywhere in a halter and lead, tried my hand at teaching her to go bridleless. . . I went from being afraid of the semi-feral broodmare to winning everything. Our partnership lasted for 4 years before my father bought me my first Thoroughbred by Bold Ruler. This was a turning point in my life.

For my 11th birthday my Dad, Steve, bought me a book by Hillary Clayton on conditioning the event horse, a stud kit, over girth, and heart rate monitor (before they were cool). It was 1992 and I had dreams of being a Grand Prix show jumper and representing the US in the Olympics. My aunt took me to Gladstone to watch the Olympic trials. Norman Dello Joio and Irish were my favorite. I didn’t want to event,  but Dad had other plans. It was later that year I competed in my first horse trial. No, things didn’t go well, but I was hooked.

What followed was a series of throw away horses that either threw people, ran away, or were deemed “useless” for one reason or another. These horses occurred at the same time I discovered Pony Club, which may have saved my life AND set me on the path I’m on today as an advocate not just for me, but for my horses. My father took over as course designer and builder of our Pony Club Horse Trials that ran recognized through training. It was those hot summer days that I was introduced to how important officials are to our sport and lit a fire that one day, I would join them in keeping a safe and level playing field for our sport.

Fast forward 10 years. I graduated from Western Washington University with a Bachelor’s in Political Science and minor in Psychology. I met my [now] husband and he offered me a wedding ring or second horse. I wound up with a Storm Cat grandson who changed my life. “Cantilator” was feral and wild- even after racing for 2 years. He forced me to expand my comfort zone of education and think outside the box, because he was determined to LIVE outside the box. From Washington state to California, and eventually Aiken, SC, Tilly became a successful Intermediate horse, opening the door for his full sibling to join us and unbeknownst to me at the time, making my dream of becoming a licensed official a reality.

In 2013, I acquired my ‘r’ Technical Delegate license through USEF. Unfortunately neither Tilly nor my father were alive to see the culmination of years of work. My father had passed in 2011 and Tilly joined him just 9 months later at the age of 9. I continued to ride difficult horses. Some I bought from sketchy auctions or feedlots, while others were once again deemed “useless”. Every single horse found a purpose. . . And most became successful event horses.

Throughout my life I have run. I was the “fat kid” and to this day relate to a story about a child who ran away from “Plumpkin”, their childhood nickname. They became a Boston Qualifying marathoner and semi-elite athlete, but always ran from Plumpkin. While I ran, I also love food. At 19 I ran my first marathon. Similar to my first horse trials, it was an epic disaster, but misery loves company and I was HOOKED! I raced in triathlons through 70.3/ half Ironman distance, Ultra marathons of 50k-100k, and found my place pacing people to their first finishes in marathons.

July 14, 2019 life changed forever. While visiting my husband deployed to Germany, we took a family trip to Berlin. We rode bikes to see the Wall and were headed back for lunch at Marine Platz. There were trolley tracks and I knew I needed to stop before negotiating them. My timing was off by a second and before I could do anything, I was flying through the air to the middle of the street. Two women jumped up from a table at a Cafe across the street and ran to help me. As they pulled me to my feet, I placed my left foot on the ground and my foot detached from my body. A closed, committed, displaced fracture. I learned later this is the worst type of fracture. 2 weeks and 2 surgeries in Charíte hospital and I was pieced back together with hope of a full recovery.

While walking cross country at the Virginia Horse Trials CCI at the end of October, I was stuck in a lightning storm. I couldn’t run from pain in my ankle. I couldn’t get to safety. Something was very wrong. So began the next 18 months of seeing the best specialists in the US, including psychiatrists, in a hope for answers and eventually to have my leg amputated. It also started my quest to return to school for a Masters in Orthotics and Prosthetics.

As COVID shut the world down, I returned to school- at age 39- to begin prerequisites. Classes included statistics, chemistry, geometry, algebra, physics, more psychology, and all the anatomy and physiology one can stomach. (Pun intended) I managed to keep straight A’s, even through surgery to amputate my left leg below the knee in February 2021. I only missed one day of class- the day after surgery.

With COVID in full swing, finding any practitioners to shadow and intern was next to impossible. One day I heard a podcast with Josh Southard, Director of Amputee Blade Runners (ABR). It was September 2020 and I was desperately trying to find people who had made the choice to amputate due to trauma as well as talk to people who rode and ran after losing their leg. ABR was founded in Nashville, TN by two proathetists- one who is an amputee, paralympic gold medalist and WR holder in track events. He attributes his life and opportunities to the blade he was given, so the organization was born to give the gift of running to others. I emailed ABR on a whim and received a phone call from Josh two days later, asking how close I was to Savannah, GA and would I drive down to meet with the paralympic medalist and co-founder. I spent the next few weeks full of more hope than I had in over a year!

Ryan Fann walked into the room with a warm smile and the presence of an Olympian. We chatted for a while, went to lunch, then I asked if I could stay and shadow him. He kindly allowed me to, so at the end of the day, I asked if I could come back and again he said yes. Every day for the next months and now almost 2 years, I have kept going back. The 2.5 hour drive each way is worth it for the patients I meet, the skills I have learned, and the family I have gained through Ryan. I have completed all the tasks needed to apply for a blade from Amputee Blade Runners,  but my biological leg has taken a beating from overuse. I was told it was the worst ankle arthritis the orthopedist has ever seen. I may not be able to join the ABR family as an athlete, but they have given me my life back and I’m proud to represent the little known/unknown work they do with riders through their co-founder, Ryan Fann, at Reform Prosthetics in Savannah, GA.

So where is life now? Having completed all prerequisites in May 2021, I took the GRE in October, applied to Masters programs, and even had a CHOICE of which program I wanted to attend! The standout was California State University in Dominguez Hills- between Long Beach and LA. Classes have already begun and I will leave my family in Aiken, SC, my precious horse, Lucy, with Jessica Schultz at Fairplay Farm to continue her education, and I’m headed West to make the world a better place. Lucy is my only going horse right now, having just finished our first training level horse trial [back] and 2nd level dressage with qualifying scores for Regionals AND my Bronze medal. I still officiate, but am taking a break while school is super intense.

And so, to anyone struggling with life changes, identity, or disability, I share with you words of wisdom from Marcus Aurelius:
“Think of yourself as dead.
You have lived your life.
Now, take what’s left and live it properly.
What doesn’t transmit light creates its own darkness.”

Your heart knows what is best for your future, even if it isn’t clear to you now. When the universe presents an opportunity, if it makes your heart race with excitement, seize the chance. Don’t be afraid to reach out to strangers you admire for advice. The worst they can do is say no. You have to fight for your life, but I can guarantee you’re worth it. Your bravery lights the way for others to follow and change the world. #thecomebackisgreaterthanthesetback
In Stories1 Comment

Boobies are Badass Story

It started with a lump—then a series of appointments, and finally a phone call. On a cold, snowy February 3, 2022, I was diagnosed with stage 2 triple negative breast cancer. The next few days passed in a haze brought on by anxiety and a strange sort of grief. My calendar quickly filled with appointments that replaced runs and rides I had scheduled to prepare for the Horse Capital Half-Marathon and Spring Bay Horse Trials in early April.

Time became a surreal concept; my life seemed to stall as I started chemotherapy on February 21. Everything happened so quickly, I didn’t have time to fully process what was happening as chemotherapy and its accompanying nausea, aches, and fatigue began to take control. Despite the side-effects, the anxiety, and the depression, I was determined to continue forward on my terms. I just had to accept that those terms would have to change as I learned to accept and adapt to new limitations.

Not only did I learn to accept help, I learned to ask for it. I learned to listen when others told me to slow down, to rest. And, with the support and love of my parents, my boyfriend, and my extraordinary Lucky Dog Eventing family, I learned how to show myself grace. I never quite got used to being told that I was an inspiration or how strong or brave I was.

At first, I didn’t quite understand because, in my mind, I was just doing what was necessary to survive. But, I slowly began to understand that I wasn’t brave because I was diagnosed with cancer or because I was going through treatment. I was brave because I kept working, I kept riding, I kept moving forward and living. It was a type of bravery that was new to me, one that, admittedly, I never expected to know, but one that I am grateful to have found. Now, I can say with assurance that I am brave, and I owe much of that bravery to my Lucky Dog family.

I may have been in the irons competing this past season, but my barn family made it possible for me to compete. Without their endless encouragement and willingness to help groom, braid, tack up, untack, hand-walk, fill hay nets and water buckets, and countless other gestures of support, I would not have had the strength or energy to ride, let alone compete successfully.

But, after completing the Novice 3-Day at IEA Horse Trials at the beginning of June, I had to tap out. I was too exhausted and weak, my body prone to dizziness and deep body aches. My coach took over the ride on my horse, Obi, for the rest of the summer, even running him in his first Training in July. And our Lucky Dog family showed up in every way. Thanks to them, I have video of nearly the entire cross country course. Returning to the barn after that cross country run, I saw what can only be likened to a NASCAR put crew taking care of my beloved horse, pulling boots, unscrewing studs, hosing him off, and offering him water and peppermints.

I had my last chemotherapy treatment on August 8, one month before the Area VIII Championships where Obi and I were entered to compete in the Novice Championships. Over the course of the month, my energy returned, the nausea subsided, and my hair started to grow. A couple of days before Champs, I found a gift bag in my trailer dressing room, and I laughed and cried when I discovered the pink badass shirt, belt, socks, tumbler, and card signed by my entire barn family. The surprise didn’t stop there, though.

On cross country day, my barn family showed up decked out in bright pink badass gear. They were impossible to miss. Seeing my family gathering at cross country warm-up filled me with such warmth and love that I had to fight back tears. I felt loved. I felt seen. I felt invincible. We left the start box to a chorus of cheers and flew through the finish flags to whoops and hollers, and perhaps some happy tears.

In this sport, they say it takes a village. And it’s true. This sport is hard, brutal, even. Without your village—your family—it’s nearly impossible. My family witnessed my lowest lows this year, but they helped me experience some of my highest highs, too. They are not fair weather; they are there to celebrate the wins and mourn the losses. What one of us experiences, we all experience. No one is in this alone. Without this family of badass individuals, I would not have been so strong or nearly as brave.

For the month of October, we’ll be donating 9.5% of sales from our Boobies are Badass Collection to Horses and Hope, whose mission is to increase breast cancer awareness, education, screening and treatment referral among Kentucky’s signature horse industry workers and their families, many of who are uninsured and underserved.

 

In Blog

Learning to Stop Catastrophizing

Here’s something I don’t recommend: four hours of grueling chainsaw work. 

Yes, that’s something I decided to do recently. The truth is I find that sort of thing somewhat satisfying…that is, until I can’t stand up the next day. Given my love of running and riding horses, I’ve been really fortunate that I’ve never really had many major aches and pains over the years. But the chainsawing really did a number on me. It put me on the sidelines for a month or so. I’m not going to lie when I tell you that it set off a little bit of a panic. Being active and able to do the things I love is part of who I am. It’s how I self-identify. Pain that makes literally everything uncomfortable is a foreign experience for me.  

I’ve been reading a book called The Obstacle Is the Way: The Timeless Art of Turning Trials into Triumph by Ryan Holiday. The whole premise of the book is that difficulty and struggle is part of life. While we all know this on some level, it remains kind of abstract most of the time. But when trouble is at our own doorsteps, we tend to resist. When we hit that wall of resistance—in our bodies, in our businesses, in our training, in our minds and in our hearts – it seems we jump right to “Well, that’s it! This is the end of the line. I’m dead! Guess it’s just time to give up, throw in the towel and start over!” Rarely do we go with the idea that the struggle is just the beginning of the next level; that new level when the real work begins. Very few of us face resistance and think “Ok, well now is when I need to dig deep inside. I need to rediscover my strength, determination and commitment to what I’m seeking.” 

It’s not lost on me that The Chainsaw Episodel happened close to the 5-year anniversary of starting Mare. I like to be honest about my journey so I’ll just tell you: this has been the hardest year for me. I don’t know if it’s the after-effects of the pandemic, international financial woes looming on the horizon, or the political unrest and tension – not to mention all the regular old life things that happen every day. I’ve mulled all of it over. And honestly, none of the “reasons” really matter. There’s never a better or worse time to do anything. Because if we’re all being truly honest, none of us have any control over anything except how we choose to respond to our life experiences. Wait for the perfect time, and it may never come. There will always be reasons to hold off for another time. But as country singer Garth Brooks says—sort of—“(what) if tomorrow never comes?” 

Owning a business is like owning a horse. You’ve got to show up, be present, work really hard and then, at the end of the day, surrender the outcome. Day in and day out. When trouble arises and you hit a wall, you don’t quit, you just keep working at it. And you try not to do it with panic or frustration but with openness and curiosity, right? I don’t know about you but that’s literally the opposite of what I want to do in those moments. I want to freak out, imagine every possible worst case scenario and then make massive global changes without any logical strategy that may or may not work! Sometimes I want to freeze or run. Moving calmly forward—even in the face of uncertainty—is never my go-to behavior. My tendency is to be a spooky mare who intermittently bolts at really scary things. (Unsurprisingly, I’m a nightmare to coach as well. Just ask my trainer.) 

But here’s what I’m working on, in my personal life and in my business life: I’m learning how NOT to catastrophize (is that even a word?). Having a creative mind is a blessing and a curse. So I’m making conscious, intentional efforts to remind myself that bad months and short-term delays are not forever delays. They’re not a sign that the end is near. They are opportunities to dig in deeper, practice more patience and get more creative. Bad days are a reminder to be open to new ideas and to always keep going. (Well, unless you can’t get out of bed because you decided to wield a heavy chainsaw for four hours.)  

Here’s to keeping it moving! 

 

In Blog

How the barn has taught me to respect differences. 

 

If you have a point of view about damn near anything, you already know navigating the world these days is tricky, to put it mildly. American culture has become so polarized – at least according to many media outlets — that we’ve been led to believe there are only two types of people: the ones who are for us and the ones who are against us. We’re told over and over that if we disagree on topics like guns or abortion, common ground is an illusion. It’s easy to fall into this kind of “us vs. them” thinking when we decide that an entire human being is nothing more than how they vote or how they think about complicated issues.

But I happen to think the world – and humans – are far more complex and interesting than that. 

When I find myself slipping into this kind of thinking trap, I imagine myself looking around at the people I interact with at the barn and at horse shows, because the culture of horses attracts all different kinds of human beings, with all different kinds of lives, values, and backgrounds. You’d be hard-pressed to find a more diverse group of people than those who share a love of horses.

Now before we go any further, let me say this: I know there are very real financial barriers that exclude a lot of folks from participating in equestrian events and I’m not so naive that I don’t see a number of other factors that keep some people from feeling welcome. I know the horse world can be elitist. And that’s a conversation worth having. But let’s have it another day. Today I want to focus on the interactions I have with people from across the spectrum of political and social backgrounds and what that says about differences.

Horse people come together at our barns and various events to enjoy, to celebrate, and to care for these incredible animals we share a passion for. Believe it or not, I trust my life and my horse’s life with people I passionately disagree with on important, complicated issues. Sometimes we talk about these issues, but mostly we live our lives side-by-side and seek common ground where we can, and respectfully disagreeing where we can’t.

We actually have deep friendships despite our differences. I often wonder if those friendships are possible because our relationships with horses have shown us that connection and love can transcend language. We know horses assess us based on our energy and attitude toward them. Are we open, are we kind, are we consistent, are we forgiving, are we respectful, are we trusting? If yes, then we are allowed into their world. That makes me imagine how the human world could be different if we adopted a similar disposition. Horses don’t compartmentalize the way humans do. Horses take us or leave us based on all of who we are with them. They take in all of us and decide if they are safe in our world.

Recently I’ve been sharing more about myself and the things I care about on my social media and in my newsletters. I understand that it’s always a risk to stand for something as a business because many people might prefer that business owners keep their thoughts to themselves. They’d prefer you just sell cute, useful things and keep it moving. But having a business also gives me a platform. And I want to use this platform for sharing things that I care about because they matter not just to me, but to other people, too. At the end of the day, I’m never going to make everyone happy, and that’s okay. I know some of you passionately agree with me on some things and some of you passionately disagree with me on others. But it’s important to me that I show up as my full self. Spoiler alert: I’m a complicated human.

Ultimately, what I know for sure is that most humans are really complicated, too. I also know that when I judge other people based on views they hold, I’m potentially missing out on so much more. When I shut off my curiosity and turn on my judgment, I miss out on learning about another person’s experience and point of view—something that could potentially change my mind or give me more empathy for people who are very different from me.

I also know we can never bridge our differences when we are constantly bracing against each other. Connection comes through softening (what a metaphor for those of us who ride!) and through finding that opening in another person that makes your heart say “Yes! Me too!”

And sometimes that’s as simple as the shared love of a horse.

 

 

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