Articles by Lauren Reischer

In a judged discipline like the hunters, I have to be aware that my body moves differently, and that not every judge will understand what they’re seeing. Truthfully, sometimes I get stuck in the dual consciousness of riding for myself, while also knowing that I’m representing something larger. I go into the ring knowing that my ride might be someone’s first impression of what disabilities look like in this sport—and I want it to be defined by precision and harmony, not pity or novelty. And yet, I also ride knowing that the level of riding I am pursuing today would be unfathomable to 4-year-old Lauren.

One thing we all know to be true across the many disciplines of equestrian sports: riding horses asks every equestrian to adapt. But, for riders with disabilities, adaptation isn't an asterisk to our training—it is the training. In fact, the labor and process of adaptation starts long before we step into the ring, and trust me, it demands the same precision, creativity and hyper-awareness that has become known to define any great horseman. 

From the very beginning, it was clear that therapeutic riding gave me more than just improved mobility. Riding gave me freedom. In the saddle, I wasn’t defined by the tightness in my muscles or my asynchronous gait. I was just a little girl on a horse, moving with him, together as one being. I didn’t know it then, but I was feeling more than just freedom—I was feeling a sense of equality and autonomy that I never knew on the ground