NOV–04–2024
Words by: Lily Gallagher
My mother, a passionate horsewoman and professional coach, put me on a horse for the first time when I was two years old. In my earliest memories of horse riding, I remember feeling like I had accessed a second nature: from the moment I touched down on that saddle and felt the rhythmic stride of the horse beneath me, I was home.
By the time I was seven years old, I was showing competitively, deemed a “natural talent” by my mother and various coaches. In equestrian sports, being a "natural talent" isn't just about having physical strength or agility; it's also about your ability to communicate with your teammate: your horse.
Despite my natural talent and rigorous training — riding six days a week — the narrative around my body began to shift as I grew older. By the time I was 12, I had become "too big" in the eyes of my mother, coaches, and even my peers. Though puberty is an inevitable part of growing up, my newfound curves were far from embraced in the equestrian world. My DD breasts, in particular, became a focus of criticism, as if they compromised my ability to ride effectively. Their size surpassed what was considered the "ideal" riding body: tall, slim, and easy to mold into the perfect posture on a horse. Melting or “molding” into the horse is an acquired skill for success in the equitation world; riders whose legs “wrap” around or support the horse are often more successful in guiding and steering a horse with their legs. My body certainly did not fit this mold and I began to feel isolated.
To the equestrian community, I had outgrown my potential, not because of my skills but because of a natural process of change in my body.
“You would be much more competitive if you were smaller. I’m not calling you fat, it’s just the reality of the sport.”
Comments like these stuck with me for years. At the time, I took these words to heart and with full acceptance, no matter how much it stung. If you are told something enough, especially by the people you love and look up to, you learn to identify with these perceptions, no matter how hurtful they may be. Because of this, I learned to hate and criticize my body. No matter how much I worked out, I could never be as thin as other riders. The pressure of riding for judges, who were paid to critique every aspect of my body shape and position on a horse, began to eat away at my mental health.
Despite the constant criticism and internal battle I faced with my body, my love for horses and the sport never dissipated. My horse Porkchop and I, a team for the last four years, proved to be an unstoppable pair, winning at some of the most prestigious competitions in the country: we earned top placings at the Pennsylvania National Horse Show, Palm Beach International Horse show and the Lake Placid Horse Show. I’ve learned that dedication, perseverance and the connection with your horse is what truly fosters success — not what you look like.
Aside from equestrian sports, there are many other sports that have long focused on the aesthetic appearance of the athlete, such as figure skating, competitive dance and cheerleading. The prioritization these (often female-dominated) sports place on athletes to look a certain way can be dangerous to young competitors, as I know from experience. The pressure to be as thin as possible was not only detrimental for my mental health, but it also temporarily took the joy out of competing with an animal I love. Not to mention, many commentators on my body — from sidelined parents to coaches — were grown adults.
It is time we start addressing the toxic and unrealistic standards society places on the bodies of young athletes.
Throughout my time in the ever-evolving and vibrant equestrian world, I have learned that no athlete's worth should be measured by the size of their body, but by the depth of their passion and love for the sport. I have gained a newfound confidence that has also allowed me to support other young riders facing similar pressures, encouraging them to focus on their abilities rather than their appearance.