Center Lines and Second Chances

How My Endurance Horse Took Me To My First Dressage Show

As the dressage show crept closer, I kept having little mini panic attacks. “Oh my god, it’s in TWO WEEKS! I need to shop and pack for this thing!!” But when I looked down at my five-page long packing list for endurance rides and realized that only a handful of things would actually be necessary at a horse show, I sighed with relief. Remember, Kim, Tess and I are not gearing up for multiple days of 50 miles, we are entering an arena for 7 minutes at a time. After some 23 years of riding, this would be my first dressage show.  I didn’t compete in anything growing up because I didn’t own a horse and couldn’t really afford to lease one, either. So I was a barn rat for most of my adolescent life, doing barn chores, riding all the naughty schooling horses, and wishfully watching all the pristine girls and their polished ponies riding around the show ring. When I finally did get my first horse at age 26, I had plans of doing everything on her, but somehow got swept up in just doing endurance. Every year I got a little more frantically addicted to endurance until Tess came around and forced me to put a halt to all of that. Tess needed a different way, and as I came to find out, I did too. 

My entire journey with Tess had been nothing short of a challenge. I had purchased her after a Tevis high– her breeding and raw talent were promising to make all of my endurance dreams come true, but she had quirks. First, it was behavior issues. Anytime she was mounted, she would spin around in violent circles; I was told she COULD NOT be mounted from a stand still, but she had to be walking while I got on (unless I wanted to die). My first ride on her at home, she ping-ponged off the walls, kept switching her leads and shaking her head. Obviously, there was a lot of homework to do before competing her, but I was determined to take her to a race soon.  Within two weeks of owning her, Tess had flipped over on me and badly injured my shoulder. We paused all endurance plans then, and resorted to natural horsemanship training, which greatly improved our relationship and got us to rides in the next season. 

However in the next season, she struggled with really nasty limb dermatitis outbreaks. Despite having passed her pre-purchase exam with flying colors, I was beginning to feel that something was just not quite right. She stood oddly. Sometimes she struggled to back up or go downhill. Her movement sometimes felt uncoordinated, like her back end was traveling faster than her front. She was either the most zen horse in the world or flying off her rocker. I took my suspicions to my vet who did a neurological exam on her and did not find anything overly concerning. We chalked it up to her fire-y personality and continued to tackle endurance rides together, accumulating 265 competition miles that year. 

We had a kick-ass training season in 2024. Finally, we had the partnership, the dermatitis  was mostly under control, and Tess felt amazing. Just as things were beginning to look up, Tess tied up on a training ride the week before our first race of the season. At the next rides, she cramped, went through lethargic spells, and began to stumble more. We were still pulling off completions but it didn’t feel good. She started to feel off to me, but she looked sound to everyone else, so I was starting to feel like a crazy person. Why the hell was everyone around me doing this so easily and I was having SUCH a hard time?! It wasn’t until I caught a strange, popping hind end movement traveling downhill on a hot summer day did things finally click in my head. I got it on video and took it to my vet. Testing confirmed EPM (Equine Protozoal Myeloencephalitis)– a rare neurological disease in our area, but likely contracted during her earlier years in Virginia or Florida.

Receiving this news was both heartbreaking and relieving… I finally had an answer that explained most, if not all, of our struggles together. I was not crazy. My vet thought Tess likely had EPM long before, but only with enough stress did it finally flare up. Together we’d finished hundreds of competition miles, coming in the top ten in many of them. When I realized she had given me all of this with a neurological disease, I cried. If this isn’t a testament to the size of an Arabian’s heart, I don’t know what is. I was committed to doing the best by her that I could. I spent the entire weekend after her diagnosis researching treatment options and reaching out to vets out east and owners who had successfully brought their horses back. I chose a combination of decoquinate and levamisole, which is not a mainstream treatment plan, but seemed to be really promising. I started her on the treatment within the week and continued with exercise, which is just as important for recovering from EPM. At first we just stuck with groundwork: slow, progressive backing up, yields, and cavaletti. In a couple weeks I was able to ride her again, though she felt pretty wonky so we kept it slow. In about a month she felt steady enough for canter work and trail riding. There was no doubt that the treatment and physical rehab were helping her recover, but she still struggled with carrying her body correctly and keeping canter leads without cross-firing. So, I decided to pick up dressage lessons. 

After seven years of mainly just endurance riding, dressage felt completely different. Dressage, often called the “ballet” of horse sports, has military roots and requires precision, discipline, and harmony between horse and rider. Endurance and dressage are equally challenging, but for totally different reasons. Endurance, with its long days in the saddle and rugged unpredictability, takes a lot of grit, courage, perseverance and problem-solving. You have to know your horse through and through to be able to get him through those miles out in the middle of nowhere. And, it goes without saying that it takes stamina to trot a horse for 8+ hours. Dressage, however, demands meticulous attention to detail– every movement, transition, and circle is judged for accuracy and partnership. Many times I found myself just as tired after a one hour dressage lesson as I would have been after a 50 mile ride. The sport is known for its technicality and the athleticism required to progress through the levels, which is why the higher levels are dominated by warmbloods. However, I was learning that all horses could thrive with the right dressage training. Many endurance riders use dressage as cross-training, but I had always avoided it with Tess. She was so easily over-stimulated that I believed dressage would just blow her up. However as we progressed in our lessons, I found that this was not true. 

What I didn’t realize at first was that shifting my focus from endurance to dressage and rehabbing Tess was helping me heal, too. Endurance had become my lifeline during some of the most chaotic years of my life– a time of divorce, career changes, risk, a global pandemic, betrayal and further heartbreak– and being completely broke. As the surface of my fantasy, post-divorce life began to crack and peel, I clung on to endurance, chasing miles and goals because it gave me purpose and kept me moving forward. But that relentless drive also kept me from truly processing the grief and shame I carried with me everyday. I was surviving, not living. It took Tess’s illness–being forced to slow down–for me to finally begin to face the pain I had been outrunning. And it was ugly, like withdrawal. I went through phases of rage and slogs of depression until I eventually hit burn out so hard I couldn’t feel anything at all. As a naturally very motivated and deep-feeling person, I hated being like this. I began to allow myself as much TLC as I was giving Tess, and I kept showing up to my dressage lessons. With the pressure of endurance gone, I was able to have fun with my horses again. And dressage gave me an admirable goal– something to focus my hardcore-ness on but something that was also helping Tess. When I was able to pull myself out of deep burnout and make some plans for my 2025 season, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a couple of years. A little flame in my belly…. A flicker of hope and excitement for both me and my horses’ future paths. 

I chose the Eastern Idaho Chapter Spring Fling Show at C & M Farms, a schooling show, as me and Tess’s first debut into the dressage world. My trainer would be there to coach, and she had told me it was just about the best first show you could ask for, given its friendly environment. I was only planning on riding Tess in intro level tests because while she was always improving, she still struggled maintaining the right lead canter, often cross-firing in the hind. I had made it a goal to be showing Tess in training level by the end of the season, however, just two weeks before the show, she was maintaining canter beautifully, and my trainer encouraged me to enter training 1 and 2. That was far too intimidating to me, so I settled for intro B and C, and training level 1. I pulled Ol’ Reba (my green 2002 Ford Econoline 350 that offends many) out of storage and got her all prepped for the trip. Reba and I hadn’t been out on an adventure since June 2024- by the time we were all on the road I was elated. This is by far my happy place. On the road, living like a gypsy, with my dog and my horse. 

Ol' Reba does it again

The trip went smoothly. I got Tess settled into her stall, backed my rig up, and boom– “camp” was done. My trainer came and found me, smiling from ear to ear, clearly in her element. She told me to get Tess tacked up and that she would meet me down in the manège for schooling. As I saddled Tess, I could tell she was extremely nervous. She had no idea what we were up for, but experience told her that after a long trailer ride we would do 50 miles the next day. But once I got on and warmed her up, Tess released her rib cage and blew out all the tension she was holding. She realized we were here for dressage and schooled beautifully, so I left the court feeling quite confident about the next day. I put her up, cleaned my tack, and had dinner back at the van. The other out-of-staters who were camping at the show were extremely friendly and inviting, but I am a pretty solitary creature, and kept to myself to soak in the evening. I was feeling a lot of mixed emotions. It was just a schooling show, but being just six months prior I wasn’t even sure if Tess was going to live, I was extremely proud of us for getting there. I was overjoyed to be at an event again with my dog and my horse after so many months of struggling. But there in my van as the sun began to set, the sadness within me raised its ugly head, reminding me that I am still wounded, that I haven’t triumphed over grief yet. Being on the road and at horse events triggers memories of the happiest and saddest versions of myself. This crazy journey of passion, aliveness, and love that turned into havoc and emptiness, and brought me to Tess. My top-bred endurance mare, now munching hay the night before a dressage show out in the farm fields of Idaho. Life was just weird like that. 

Folks schooling day before show

Old habits die hard– I was the first one in bed and up before the sunrise, on my way out to care for Tess in the early, cold darkness. She nickered from the barn before she could even see me. I gave her some tummy meds, fed her breakfast and picked her stall as the sun rose. For once, I had time to savor a whole cup of French press coffee, a luxury I never got to enjoy the morning of an endurance ride. Most people don’t think of horse shows as relaxing, but for me, this slow morning was pure bliss. This cup of coffee may have just won me over to the horse show world entirely. I got dressed, fussed with my hairnet (still a mystery), and wiped my boots and bridle for the upteenth time (seriously folks, how do you keep everything so goddamn clean?). I went into the office to check in, admiring all of the prizes and racks of ribbons. What is with horse girls and their love of prizes? I know there are some high-and-noble equestrians out there who say they don’t care about prizes, but I am not one of them. I fucking love prizes. Give me a t-shirt for riding 50 miles on my horse and it will become a staple in my weekly outfits. But you don’t get ribbons in endurance, and the thought of Tess and I possibly placing made me giddy. After all, ribbons were the stuff of my childhood dreams. I thought it unlikely that we would place, but I also had no idea how we would score, being as I had never done this before. I was looking forward to feedback from the judge. 

Then I was aboard Tess at the gate to the warm-up ring, which was perfectly managed and timed so it never got too crazy in there. Horses, riders, and trainers were all calm and happy– my coach was right, this was a great first show. Tess felt focused. Even though she had never been to a show in her entire life, I could tell she knew she was there to perform. She was always extremely nervous the morning of a race, often shaking while I tacked her up and difficult to manage at the start line. She was alert and curious this morning, but far from trembling in her own skin. I, on the other hand, was the eager beaver who got to the warm-up ring too early and ended up walking around forever before it was our turn in the court. 

Waiting our turn for our first dressage test ever!

Intro B was our first test–the easiest of the weekend. We walked the perimeter of the court, then entered and waited for the judge’s bell. It was a beautiful spring morning and I felt happy and excited to be there, not nervous. A new story was beginning. The bell “dinged” and we were off to a trot and down the center line for the very first time. Halt, salute. These early level dressage tests look incredibly simple on paper, but performing well at an intro level test is still not beginner level riding. There are at least a hundred different things running through a dressage rider’s head and it is not the pattern of the test itself. Leg back, heels down, toes towards the horse, elbows in, chin out, shoulders back and down. Thumbs up, fingers closed, push the horse forward and keep equal feel in both reins. Keep tempo, keep flexion, is that a cat in the bushes? I hope that tumbleweed does not blow in here. And then, you’re trotting down the center line again for a final halt and salute. We heard a big cheer from the side of the arena and Tess’s eyes sparkled with pride. I felt pretty dang good about our ride, but again, had zero idea how it would score.

With just a quick break for Tess (and my dog), we were soon back at the gate for Intro C. Intro C was trickier, with canter involved. Tess had been cantering well in practice, but tension could still make her swap leads on the right. However, the test only required canter on a circle, then back to trot. The bell rang, and off we went: right lead canter first, then left. Tess popped into the canter and held it cleanly—no cross-firing! We finished with another halt, salute, and cheers. We got lots of compliments as we left the arena. I knew we hadn’t been perfect, but I was proud we’d performed all the movements successfully.

After untacking Tess and changing out of my show clothes, I took her out to graze and watched the other classes. It was fun seeing all the different breeds and riders at every level. Soon I noticed people carrying score sheets and ribbons—our results must be in! I put Tess back in her stall and headed to the office. Flipping through the results, I found Intro B and C–and in first place for both was Kimberly Palmer and Treasure Thess. Wait, what? Did I read that correctly? I read it at least seven more times. Then I found our actual score sheets, seeing that we had scored 69% for both tests. Still in shock, I showed someone and asked what to do. She congratulated me, told me to take my ribbons, and explained how to collect “potato chips” for movements we scored an 8 or higher on that could be used to “buy” cool swag with. We looked through my score sheets and found two 8’s and a 9. “What a way to enter the dressage world!” She said enthusiastically. I gathered my ribbons and hurried back to Tess to show her. “Look, Tess, we did it!” She seemed just as shocked as I was, nervously sniffing the blue ribbons as if to say “What are we supposed to do with them?”. “Well, I will hang them on your stall, that seems to be the appropriate thing to do” and I proceeded to hang them with bailing twine. I took a picture and sent it to my friends–the same friends I’d told just a few days ago that I didn’t expect us to do well. They all laughed and said they knew we’d do better than I believed. 

Tess's face says it all.

The remainder of the day flew by, even though there wasn’t much to do. I still intermittently took Tess out for walks, and fell asleep in my camp chair a few times (why was I so tired?). I watched more classes, including my coach’s impressive International Level I test, and ones I didn’t even know existed, like dressage with jumps (Caprilli), quadrille teams, and dressage trail where there were obstacles in the test. Eventually, the show wrapped up and everyone gathered for tacos. I was still unsure how these things worked– was it like an endurance ride meeting where we went over the results and talked about the next day’s trail… err, I mean show? I didn’t know for sure, but I realized I had no service inside the building and I was waiting for my friend Camille to come join us, so I left to make sure Camille could reach me. Sure enough Camille was out there parked next to my van. So together we walked the dogs and grazed Tess and meandered about not knowing what to do. Back at the taco group, my coach found me. “Hey! You won a bunch of stuff!” she said. I looked at her questioningly and she continued to explain. “You high-pointed, meaning you received the highest score at your level. You also won the Judge’s choice for most harmonious horse and rider at the show today. You really made an impact on her!” “What?” I said. She laughed and brought me in to show me the cool swag I won- which was an IDEA (Idaho Dressage and Eventing Association) championship embroidered saddle pad for high-pointing and an IDEA embroidered cooler for Judge’s Choice. I had never won such cool swag before and I was dumbfounded. I showed Camille and we both oohed and ahhed together, because we are both most definitely horse girls who like winning things. 

The next morning I still woke up at the crack of dawn like I was preparing for 100 miles. I took care of Tess as the pink sun rose, and yes, brewed my coffee. Camille was up early too, and we both enjoyed a slow, hot cup. It was the last day of the show and our Training Level debut. I was glad I had only chosen one class for the day, as it was evident during warm-up that Tess was tired. She was having difficulty with her slightly sluggish right-hind, and was cross firing in the canter. But my coach reassured me: we’d already won the whole show. Today was just about showing up and having fun. 

So down the center line we went, for the third and final time that weekend. It was colder that day, and there were lots of cats in the jungle outside the court, hunting mice. Halt, salute, and right off into trot. Tess knew that this was a performance, and I could feel her reign her focus back in. This time we tracked left first, left lead canter on the far side of the arena from the judges. Training Level 1 was trickier than Intro C, because while we picked canter up on the circle, we had to canter down the rail some and break down to trot. Moving from circle to straight is much trickier than it seems, especially on a horse with alignment issues. And a transition on the straight was harder than a transition on a circle. We picked it up, cantered our circle, cantered down the rail and back down to trot. Free-walked across the diagonal, and back up to trot tracking right. After our mid-court 20 m trot circle, it was time for the right lead, right in front of the judges. Tess picked it up with some gumption, cantered down the rail, and back down to trot. It was far from perfect, but she did not cross-fire! And down the center line, halt, salute, cheers. I was so proud of Tess, we had completed all three tests and were done now. She was proud of herself, too. We received many compliments as we walked out of the arena, so again, it must’ve looked better than it felt. We ended up scoring a 62% which landed us in 2nd place. I was very happy with that start into Training Level! I got pictures of Tess with all her snazzy stuff she won, then cooled her out and ate snacks with Camille and the dogs while we watched the other classes. 

Eventually we broke down “camp” and were packed up ready to hit the road back home. I hugged Camille and her border collie Phantom goodbye (or maybe we didn’t hug since neither one of us are huggers, but we always awkwardly feel like it’s the appropriate thing to do), got Tess all snug in the trailer, and waved goodbye to new friends along the way out. Rain trickled on my windshield as I drove past the vibrant green fields of southeastern Idaho. A quiet calm settled in, as I listened to my music and reflected on the weekend. The ribbons were an awesome bonus. But what truly mattered was the journey Tess and I took to get there, and the partnership we’d built—something even the judge unmistakably noticed. I knew that Tess and I were on a mystifying journey of healing together, and also knew that more bumps and knots were coming our way further up the rope. I don’t know what those things will be or where this path is taking me– but I do know that I am connected to Tess and we have a significant purpose in each other’s lives. I know that I will always show up and keep trying because there’s something deep within that yearns for this voyage with horses; and with her. Both of us are just too stubborn to quit. 

Proudly showing off our show swag! AND our Mountain Region Endurance Riders championship jacket ;)