Mel Newton - Go Ride Far

For Kathy Sherman. Thanks for making me feel welcome from the very beginning.

THE MAJORITY OF the content in this book are blog posts written over the last 10 years. Some are from before I was a veterinarian, some were written while I was in veterinary school, and some are from afterwards when I could claim the title Doctor. Ive edited where appropriate for clarity and accuracy and added notes to others.

Nothing in this book should be considered medical advice. Although Ive done my best to provide accurate information, please use common sense and implement any tips or recommendations given here at your own risk.

WITH OVER 1,600 posts written over more than a decade, the Dr. Mel Newton blog is full of stories, tips and tricks, how-tos, educational articles, and lessons learned as a horse owner, endurance rider, and veterinarian. This collection puts all the best posts, including never-before published material, into a volume that can be read anywhere and anytime.

When selecting the posts to include in this book, I chose the ones I would want my past self to read before she did her first endurance ride. Id want my past self to know from the very beginning how to back a trailer, why following someone elses conditioning plan wont work, and when its OK to give up on an equine partner thats not a good fit for endurance. I would also want her to buy those ride pictures from her first endurance ride because shes going to love them, even though she isnt going to finish that ride, or any of the others that she tries to do that year. Yes, I really was that dumb! I didnt buy any pictures from my first season because I had decided pictures would be a reward for completed rides only.

I would also want my past self to know that it gets better a lot better and shes going to achieve all those lofty goals she set for herself, but since those are all spoilers Ill settle on telling her to keep everything simple, carry an extra stirrup in her crew bag, and practice her trot-outs at home. Above all, I want to give my discouraged, lonely past self a giant hug after that awful first ride and tell her that this sport is actually pretty awesome. While its never easy, its definitely worthwhile.

THERE ARE BLESSED few pictures of me at my first endurance ride. I stood out even in a sport known for its wacky and off-the-wall, anything-goes culture. It wasnt just my horse, a giant black Standardbred in a sea of reasonably-sized Arabians; it was everything. From my American Civil-War era reproduction tack, to the tall cavalry boots I wore, to the crumbling homemade energy bars I had stuffed into a grain bag attached to my reproduction accurate-in-every-detail 1859 saddle, I didnt fit in.

Up to that point in my life, I had failed at very few things. School had been easy for me. I had gotten into the college of my choice. Then, after graduation I had my pick of several job offers. When I decided to run a marathon in my late teens, I dug deep and finished on my first try even if it wasnt a pretty finish. I had never actually spectacularly failed at something I wanted badly.

I remember being so proud of my beautiful mare and her big trot when I arrived at my very first endurance ride. I imagined people turning to each other and saying, Did you see that big black mare? Doesnt she look good? To facilitate this, I hand-trotted her up and down the gravel road behind ridecamp so that everyone could see how different and special she was. I dont remember any other specifics, but Im sure I blathered on to anyone who would listen about how she was an off-the-track Standardbred, given to me last year, and I just knew she was a 100-mile horse, and yes, this was our first 50-mile race.

I had picked out this ride as my endurance debut by virtue of the weekend it fell on, not because of any consideration for the characteristics of this particular course. This 50-mile event was merely the warm up; I had my sights set on a 100-mile ride that summer. For the last year I had been conditioning and planning my ride schedule which took me from first 50-mile completion to 100-mile finisher in a mere four months.

This combination of vanity and naivety is incredibly embarrassing. Cant we just pretend that I played it cool at that first ride? Pretend I didnt make a fool out of myself? I wasnt going to finish one of the toughest, most technical 50-mile rides in my region, and everyone knew it except me. But there I was, prancing around ridecamp like a silly idiot. Just like everyone else that weekend, a decade later my present self would like to turn away from that girl and pretend I had nothing to do with that clueless newbie.

I started the ride at the back to avoid the chaos of the start. This was perhaps the only good decision I made the entire ride. For the first 35 technical miles we walked where we had to and trotted where we could. We were both having fun, but by the afternoon vet check we were both tired. I had a strong gut feeling that we should call it a day.

I did not listen to this gut feeling, so I did not make the best decision of the weekend and ask for a rider option to end my ride at 35 miles. Instead, I headed out on the last 15-mile loop because a friend told me to, and that was louder than my gut.

The next ten miles were hell. We moved slowly because my horse was, in fact, completely and totally done. Eventually another horse and rider caught up to us and we moved a little faster for a couple of miles. But when the other rider decided it was time to move faster and leave us, his stallion refused to leave my mare. The rider, incredibly frustrated, swore at me and was eventually able to get his stud down the trail away from us, and we were by ourselves again. Then came the hill. Straight up for at least a mile, wide and exposed in the sun. Minx and I would manage a few steps, and then wed stop to let her pant, and me puke in a patch of shade.

About half-way up the hill I noticed a small amount of blood running out of her nostrils, and I knew I had really screwed up. I was out there by myself in the middle of nowhere, puking on the side of the trail, and now my horse was going to fall over dead from my stupidity. I sat down on the side of the trail and cried. Endurance was so much harder and a lot more lonely than I had thought it would be. I had prepared for this ride by poring over a handful of endurance riding websites (this was before Facebook), reading as many stories online as I could find, and pestering my aunt, who had done a handful of 50-mile rides, to give me advice. None of the ride stories I had read even came close to describing this level of failure. Was I the only one struggling? Was I the only one with an epic failure? Was I the only one whowas an epic failure?

We made it to the top of the hill, and it was a little cooler up there. Slowly, we walked to the next vet check. Minx started to look better, and I decided to mount back up since I was feeling more and more ill. I had been mounted for a whole ten minutes, my first riding break in three hours, when the drag rider finally caught us. He ordered me off my horse, explaining that I needed to do my share. I was too tired to talk an amazing level of tiredness for those of you who know me in real life so I dismounted without arguing.