From the Archives: Body Image in Equestrian Sports

Just because I don't weigh 120 pounds doesn't mean I don't ride well.

Since the day I first swung a leg over the top of a horse, I was well aware that I did not fit the mold of the typical rail-thin hunter rider with neatly kept hair. I was a wild child - wide eyed, too intelligent for my own good, and ready for an adventure.

As a young girl, I used to go days without looking in the mirror because the horses never cared what I looked like. To them, I was just me, and my presence was all they ever wanted.

As a young female growing up in Midwestern America, I was promised a world of equality, justice, peace and prosperity. In exchange, I was expected to graduate from college, get married, have children and live a cozy quiet suburban life.

Real life turned out to be far messier than that and time and time again I told myself: you did not come this far to only come this far.

The reality of growing up in Middle America was that as a female, I was expected to look a certain way. I was always the bigger kid growing up - from dance class, to swim team, to soccer team and equestrian sports - I never quite looked the part that would deem me an athlete.

No matter how fit I got, I would always see myself as too big or just having to drop one more pants size to achieve my then-concept of "true happiness".

As a pudgier kid that evolved into an awkward teenager, well aware that I was lacking in the typical attractiveness category, I spent most of my time trying to please everyone else except for myself. I was conditioned to overcompensate for my inability to wear a size 4 jean with my bubbly personality and witty jokes.

During my rebellious teenaged years, I leaned into the more edgy looks in my own attempt to break the mold and do what was unexpected. I was that girl in middle school who showed up with liberty spikes to the last day of school, because a lot like the philosophy of Lady Gaga, I found comfort in putting an absurd spin on my appearance. Perhaps it was because it made rejection much easier to swallow - thinking that at least if I gave them a reason to reject me, it was due to something outside of myself within my control, which my weight felt very much not in my control.

Humans develop reflexive defense mechanisms without even realizing it.

Fast forward to dropping over forty pounds and finishing the Chicago Olympic Triathlon in 2011. I was training 6 days a week, upwards of 3 - 4 hours of brick workouts a day, and logging every single calorie that I put into my mouth.

The praise was endless. Finally, people in my life were noticing me. I was wearing a size 6; I felt on top of the world.

The problem?

The method of getting there was entirely unsustainable.

Once the triathlon training ended and I once again picked up the social life I had abandoned over a year of 18 college credit hours and working two jobs, the pounds came back on twice as fast as I had dropped them. And I found myself right back where I started.

After being recruited to Florida for a role in non-profit event managenment and sponsorship coordination, I once again felt myself painfully aware that I was surrounded by thin, rich, beautiful women that made me feel inadequate.

As I changed roles to get back into the equestrian industry full-time as a barn manager, groom, and rider, I found myself under constant pressure to drop weight. I kept being told that I wasn't thin enough to grace the hunter rings of WEF on someone else's dime. Instead, I was the girl who had to stay home, ride the problem horses, solve the problems created by the amateurs.

I was never the girl who got the opportunity to shine beyond a number on a scale.

Convinced that if I achieved the "look" of the hunter ring women I compared myself to, I'd perhaps have the opportunity to show, and therefore find myself with more opportunities.

That day never came.

Though I once again dropped the weight and found myself squeezing into small sizes, this time I had taken short cuts and dropped the weight in a dangerous amount of time. This left my body unable to perform and support the demanding work of riding 6 - 8 young, energetic Warmbloods five days a week.

The quality of my riding suffered - all because I felt I had to look the part.

It wasn't until I hit my 30s that I started to realize it was not about what my body looked like, but rather what my body could do.

Instead of cutting calories and becoming skinny fat, I decided to try more mobility-focused workout routines, like yoga and pilates, to level up not only my fitness, but my balance and core strength.

I became a vegetarian and cleaned up my diet significantly - limiting my processed food intake, always choosing organic ingredients when presented with the option, and focusing on eating the right amount of nuts, seeds, legumes, and plants that would provide high quality fuel in the saddle. I supplement with a vegetarian-designed protein shake to help ensure I'm not missing out on key nutrients.

Nutrition is far more important than endless amounts of exercise.

Don't get me wrong, I still love a good slice of pizza, but my new approach to achieving health is about finding a balance.

I measure results not by what my scale says, but by how well I can jump a course.

I can't help but continue to scroll the endless abyss of social media to only see the same cookie-cutter riders hoard my screen. I go to the barn, and I often see the same thing - the riders who look the part are awarded rides more often than the riders who have a bigger body type, even if they are softer more competent riders.

I would select a bigger rider who is softer and more in tune with her horse than a rail-thin rider who only knows how to sit pretty and be painfully ineffective.

My college thesis, required to obtain my Bachelors in Psychology, was based upon what is known as the attractiveness bias. It is real - and we have to make a conscious effort to overcome it. Especially in sports.

It's time we start judging riders by their ability to produce outcomes, regardless of what size breeches they wear.