05/17/2025
Ya, thatās a picture of me. First time in Germany. Innocent. Hopeful. Full of bratwurst and dreams. Moments later, Iād be on the back of a horse who had won the Bundeschampionate.
Yeah. The Bundeschampionate. The championship for young horses in Germany. Think Westminster Dog Showā¦ but with more Botox, tighter breeches, and passive-aggressive clapping.
His name was Dresemann. I mean, come on. Thatās not a name. Thatās a legacy.
It was my first time riding in Germany. First time! I hadnāt even adjusted to the time zone or the intense eye contact of German barn staff. And suddenly Iām sitting on a living, breathing dressage trophy.
This horse won things. Real things. Important things. Meanwhile, I just spent 30 minutes figuring out how to use the European coffee machine in the tack room.
Itās the early 2000s, I barely survived Y2K, and now Iām trying to survive a stint overseas.
But it was an incredible place. Classically German. The kinda place where the grooming kits were arranged with military precision. I moved a hoof pick and a woman in a quilted vest audibly gasped. And they use a bundle of twigs as a broom. Were they casting spells or cleaning?
Anyways, I climb on, trying to act cool, like, āYeah, Iāve totally sat on a horse that probably has a fan club.ā But the second we walk off, I realizeā¦ I am not the main character here. Dresemann is. And he knows it.
He starts trotting, and I swear the earth tilted slightly to accommodate him.
The contact is light. The back is swinging. Iām up there pretending I meant to post on the wrong diagonal, you know, for contrast.
I'm doing everything I can to stay with him, legs humming, core bracing, eyes saying āplease, if there is a God, help me nowā.
I attempt a canter and it feels like merging onto the Autobahn in a SmartCar.
Oliver yells something from the side of the arena. I nod like I understand German. I donāt. I figured if I looked focused enough, maybe Dresemann would think I was part of some rider exchange program and just do the work out of contractual obligation.
I swear I blacked out for a few strides. When I came to, we were still in perfect rhythm, which tells you everything you need to know about who was actually in charge.
Apparently thereās a difference between āthroughnessā and ājust hanging on.ā I was desperately hoping they were the same thing.
And just like that, it was over.
Stillā¦ the moment I stepped off? I felt it. That strange, sacred feeling of having touched greatness. And lightly embarrassed by it. But smiling like a man who just got to drive a Ferrari, badly, in front of Ferrari employees.
So yeah. I rode Dresemann.
Bundeschampionate winner.
He moved like poetry. I returned the favor by clinging like a haunted backpack.
But hey, that's Germany for ya.
They say greatness humbles you. And you know what? They're right.
