Last week Khaleesi and I packed up and checked in at the American Endurance Ride Conference National Championship 100 mile (single-day) Endurance Ride. We hadn’t attempted a 100 since our overtime pull last July in Vermont that closed out our Recorder series for 2025. For those of you who followed that story and the tragic broken saddle that cost us a finish, this is a follow up.
They say there can be no resurrection without a death. Well call me Lazarus, because I died 4 times and was brought back over the weekend by a team of people who simply did not give me a reason to stay in the grave I’d dug out of the rocky ground of the Old Dominion 100 mile equine endurance race.
My 2025 ride season held high hopes and hard work. After getting knocked around more than usual, I came into the 2026 season with less confidence. Each ride was a test run to see what we had to move forward with. The early training and competitions were looking strong, and after a top 5 finish with a High Vet Score award at the Biltmore 55 mile race, I made the call to take a bigger risk: Enter Khaleesi into the National Championship 100 mile distance to see if we could make it through that grueling ride one more time. The “local” course, nicknamed the Beast of the East, is a 100 we had successfully completed in 2023, and because it was a championship ride it felt like a risk-reward worth the stretch.
I have what our sport calls a ‘non-typical’ endurance horse. She was born locally on Apple Horse Farm as a Saddlebred, Racking horse, TN Walker with a sliver of Arab that rarely shows up for me. On the flip side, she is mentally solid as a rock and though she’s not hot with speed, she has grit and has a reputation of getting it done, even if it ain’t always pretty.
We crossed the starting line for this monster undertaking at 5:30am knowing it was likely we wouldn’t be back to cross the finish until after 5am the next day- if we made it to the finish line at all. There were 23 total riders on the 100 mile course that day, and only 15 would finish.
The course is a huge oval shaped loop out of Oarkney Springs, VA that takes the riders over and along the spines bordering Virginia and West Virginia in incredibly remote territory with almost no cellular coverage. The first two segments went surprisingly well and Khaleesi had powered up the 5,300 feet of elevation in the first 30 miles moving along with the front half in the cooler morning hours. It was on the way to ‘Bucktail’ (third vet hold) where, while walking over some rocks in a muddy, dry creek segment, stepped down into some kind of dip or hole- way deeper than expected. The horse buckled at the knees and went down in the rocks on her front legs. I was caught unprepared and summersaulted right over her head into the rocks myself. I was more grateful for my helmet than ever as I realized I smashed my (protected) head on a rock. I got up with dirt in my mouth & pants, my shirt muddy, branches stuck to my helmet and sore with some serious bruising on my shoulder and left arm, but thankfully nothing serious.
Riding alone in the heat of the afternoon, we were both getting tired. It sounds lame from my living room days later, but that was the first time I quit. “Just get into Bucktail and you can give up. You aren’t going to make it all the way. You’re alone, and sore, and your horse is tired. And she can’t keep up with the fast Arabs, and this is not fun at all. You have nothing to prove. Just make it to Bucktail and get a ride back to camp.”
At least an hour later and miles of trail we finally came to the third vet hold of the day to meet my crew for the first time since around 9am (the second vet hold is not accessible to crew). My crew was my lifeline and they have the thankless job of “hurry up and wait” as they pack the truck, drive to the next checkpoint, unpack the truck, wait and wonder when their rider will emerge from the woods. When the rider does appear everything goes into a frenzy of pulling the saddle off the horse, sponging her with cold water to cool her down for her vet exam, helping the hot exhausted rider with whatever was needed, helping the horse and rider through the vet exam, making sure the horse and human eat and drink and get resupplied for the next section of trail (including getting glow sticks and headlamps ready at the right time as we go into the dark), then get the saddle back on and the rider out on time for the next segment. Rinse and repeat.
My crew had a lot of grace with me because I was grumpy and sore and tired and wanted to bail. Matt said he never knew me to go so negative and hopeless! However, the horse was still healthy and good to go, and who cares about the human anyway. Basically after all that business, they did their job of basically duct-taping me to the horse and wave me onward.
After being around humans, collecting myself, and being encouraged that we were actually only a few minutes behind the other riders I’d been riding with on and off, and there were still riders behind us, I came back to life and agreed to go back out to the hardest part of the course. The fourth segment is 24 miles before we reconnect with crew though we do have a kind of pit stop for 10 minutes where the vets check in on us part way through. This part of the trail has the infamous “Mail Trail” which is said to have been part of the mail route by horseback at some point in non-recent history. It’s a brutal never ending rocky climb and a descent that is just as rough because the rocks are relentless and even downhill it’s slow going.
My horse was slow after leaving the check. Tired and hot and alone and sick of trotting over rocks I labored to keep her at a decent pace. Once again I set my mind on the next stop- our little check in with the vets which was only 8 miles out. We did finally arrive and I was refreshed with some cold water but noticed my horse did not drink there… or at the stream we stopped to sponge in right before the checkpoint (this is not a good sign, but not clearly a bad one either). I gave her the electrolytes I was carrying for her, and with the encouragement from the vet Art King I headed back out into the wilderness. “Jaime, do you know what you’re facing next? And you’re starting to push the cutoff times…”
“Yes Art, I know. Thanks.” I replied with some amount of resolve.
We trotted out with a ‘good to go’ from the vets which took us to the 5 miles of good terrain until the Mail Trail climb I was dreading. Hot, alone, and now probably thirsty, we trotted… but it was too slow, and she was not to be prodded any faster. This was a section we needed to use the good grassy road to move on and make up some time. Khaleesi was eating everything in sight and though that’s great, it also made for tons of stopping and I was gradually losing heart again.
When the last of the riders that had been behind us passed by at a nice trot, and my horse was clearly checking the dry creek beds for water — not at all interested in trotting along with them, I lost hope. We found a wet spring and went off trail to get a big drink in the woods. When we came back to the road, I quit a second time. I did not want to go through all the miles remaining in the dark alone on a horse that is barely pacing when I push her. We came here to find out if we were ready for this tough grueling ride, and were not. We were alone and left behind. All hope was lost. Yet, we were now half way through this 24 miles and so we had no choice but to go onward to the ‘Big 92’ checkpoint and then we could bail.
This was when I got really committed to quitting. It was over. I had made the call. Done.
Still, we couldn’t actually just stop there. I had to get serious and insisted: We aren’t going to die here so let’s get this moving! You need to pick it up and I don’t care how tired you are we’re giving it our all to get to Big 92 and then you can quit on me and I’ll quit with you… but until we’re back with our crew and the ride management waiting for the ambulance trailer… you need to get moving!!!!!
I insisted. And from some depth of her spirit, she responded.
And she began to canter and run with new life, and we came around a corner to find the small group that had passed us getting a bite of grass and I was shocked to not be alone. I had already decided we were now alone forever. Apparently this assumption was not true. We were now in motion and that group tucked in behind us. Then, my mountain bred and mountain trained horse did what I had not expected: she took on that Mail Trail like a boss, and climbed it faster by probably double, than the last time we’d done this course. In fact, she even caught up with two more groups of riders and then led the charge down the other side and when we hit the gravel road stretch into Big 92 she took it at trot and full on canter running onward taking us from last place to having a line of 7 riders behind us.
We had come back to life again.
Running victorious into the Big 92 checkpoint at 10:08pm, she pulsed down and was in great shape, but there was a question in her gait and her rider card was held back. This meant they weren’t sure if there was a problem or not and asked us to bring her back part way through the hold time to decide. I was almost relieved! We were probably done now. There are many lameness disqualifications at this rocky and mountainous course, and she had really taken that last loop on fire, not at all carefully as she usually is, and this after a real front end collapse earlier in the rocks. What could one expect?
Assuming that was going to be game over for us I gave up again. There seemed no way Khaleesi would pass a second check because we didn’t see any problem to resolve like a rock in her shoe, and we had no reason to think she’d be magically better after 30 minutes.
But miraculously, she was cleared to go! My crewing buddy, Griffin Keller, handled the trot out, and the horse simply didn’t have enough clear problem to call her lame, even though the vets thought she took some questionable steps .. maybe? So they cleared us to go… and we resurrected for the third time.
It is only 8 miles of gravel road to the next checkpoint at Laurel Run. The segment was the shortest of the entire day and all accessible by road if we had trouble. If she was worse after that stretch, we could pull out at Laurel Run. I kept her at a good trot and was not particularly careful, not to purposefully injure her, but I needed to find out if we truly had a problem before we hit the next (much harder) segment, and end up stranded on the mountain at 3am with a lame, suffering horse. Better to ride hard and see if she is truly good for it or be clear that she is not.
The last rider and her mustang caught up with us on that stretch and we enjoyed some company for that segment. Khaleesi felt solid trotting along, but she had before to me as well. The Laurel Run trot out lanes are known for picking off horses because they are uneven and rocky, and any small inconsistency is revealed. I felt sure we were not going to be cleared for the 12 miles over the mountain back to the last checkpoint. It was 12:28am and everything seemed to hurt between the fall I took and the accumulating rubs and sore places. We should all be heading to bed, what do we need to prove here? I thought falling into a tent seemed way better than four more hours riding a horse into the dark mountain wilderness.
In addition, my vet card tells me I arrived at 12:20 and did not vet until 12:28 which is a very long lag time for me. It must have been brain fog, because the horse was at an unreasonably low pulse which means we did not wait because she had any trouble. This was a slight additional problem for me. I arrived with the last rider, but she had cleared the vet 2 minutes before we did. I was dreading the 12 miles through the woods into Bird Haven, alone in the back with a horse that may not be motivated alone.
Quitting moment number four came just before 1am.
My beloved husband who has injuries in both ankles/feet and was walking worse than I was by now, and yet still there carrying me along pulled me aside: Jaime. You did not come all this way, and put all this time into building this horse, and bring us all out here in support of you to quit now. You have 19 miles left. You’re going out there and you’re going to get this done. Your horse is doing great! You can do this. We’re behind you. Get on that horse and we’ll see you at Bird Haven. You are going to see the finish line. And go ask Hannah if she’ll wait for you!
Obediently, I went to the other rider, Hanna Bartnick, to see if she might wait two minutes so we could take on the next segment together. She said sure thing, no problem, always better to have a buddy. And so resurrection number 4 of the day came to be. I got on the horse to face the last nineteen miles, and we went out together at 12:58am to take on the second to last segment of The Beast.
I’m not sure I could have brought myself to go without Hanna. She saved me in the dark hour of the soul, and I owe her one resurrection credit.
With cool temps finally descending, and horses headed home, they picked up a strong pace and it was an unexpectedly pleasant ride through the mountain roads and single track trails under the stars. The whippoorwills were singing us along and occasionally we heard an owl. The sky was clear and the air was cool. The horses took turns leading and following, and we made it to the last Bird Haven checkpoint just minutes behind the other riders that were ahead of us well ahead of the cut off time.
This is when I knew we would see the finish line. Heading out at 3:52am, I was much less concerned about passing the final vet for the official “completion” to be bestowed. I had already given up four times! At this point after being awake 24 hours and on a horse over 19 hours, crossing the finish line on the horse felt like a win regardless how we passed the final exam, and we headed out to the final 6 (relatively easy) miles. Hanna preferring a slower pace to be extra careful of potential tripping on rocks and roots costing her a “completion,” sent me onward so Khaleesi could move on with the energy she was pushing, and not drag Aspen (her mustang) into her rushing in the last few precious miles.
We weren’t reckless, and Khaleesi doesn’t run excessively over rocks, but we moved onward every chance we had, and when I hit the dirt road one mile from the finish line, mixed emotions of joy, disbelief, and relief washed over me. The sun was peeking up over the horizon. The lit up runway of the finish line shone bright ahead of us as we approached and heard the cheering of the few people who waited for the last of the riders to make it home. We trotted strong across the finish line around 5:15am.
My crew was there to welcome us and Khaleesi vetted immediately with great scores and no questions. We had done it. Even after I tried to quit at least four times, we still saw the finish line. No one would let me give up. Even my horse, who carried me all those miles and looks way better than I do in these recovery days after the race.
I knew going into this race, that this was likely the last 100 I ask of Khaleesi. I am impressed and still surprised in many ways by her strength and grit, but I don’t think she loves this level of the sport, and she’s not (in my opinion) fast enough to be a true competitor at the 100mile level. We will probably do some 50s where she does thrive depending on the terrain, and if I have another horse to bring along, I’ll tag along Khaleesi for some shorter limited distance rides to keep her fit.
Next year she earns us the official decade team award. This is a cherished award that shows a horse has been well managed in what can be a physically punishing sport, to stay sound and healthy over ten years of competition. I would like to have that honor on our record. She’s now 16, in many ways in her prime. But there are other activities I think she enjoys more — we may broaden out to more dressage and play around with jumping for fun.
I am pleased with how she’s developed over the years, and for a non-Arab type horse she’s done a lot of successful endurance miles with some strong top ten and even top 5 finishes including a High Vet Score (which is a big honor)! I believe her success been made possible by all the attention I have put into her mental-emotional training. It keeps her out of the habit many hot horses have of running on adrenaline, and I think is a reason she has such remarkable heart rate recoveries, as well as high scores on muscle tone alongside no real lameness issues in years. I have come to see that being in a relaxed and present mental state means a balanced, flexible way of movement. Working under less tension is highly more efficient, and brings less long term injury and stress on the system.
I have plans to begin training and conditioning with an Akhal-Teke gelding owned by the Akhal-Teke Foundation where I currently work with many of the horses at their center in Lexington, VA. We think Surgan has potential to do well and I look forward to seeing how that process goes with him. It’s been a long journey bringing a non-typical horse along in this extreme sport, and I am interested to see if these things I’ve learned over the past decade will benefit a horse that is more hot blooded and naturally athletic in running long miles across terrain. It will be an entirely different entry point for me to start with a hotter minded horse and help him center up mentally and relax into the work for efficiency and strength.
Time will tell and I still have a long way to go…
… but I’m not dead yet!
Here are some more great photos from the ride:
Hope Horsemanship 