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Fire. That’s what chronic exertional compartment syndrome feels like. The fire eventually leads to strange kind of numbness where you can’t decide if your legs are actually about to fall off or if you just really want them to.

CECS, in a nutshell, as defined by the Mayo Clinic:

When you exercise, increased blood flow to working muscles expands them. If the connective tissue (fascia) that binds the muscle fibers in a compartment doesn’t also expand, pressure builds up in the compartment. Over time, the pressure cuts off some of the muscle’s blood supply.

So basically, the fascia ends up strangling the muscle itself. Hence a lot of burning, which eventually leads to numbness when the blood supply has finally been cut off completely. Sometimes you also get cramps and your legs can swell up. All very fun things.

Luckily CECS it isn’t something that follows you around 24/7. Honestly, I never even knew I had it until I started running a lot. I’d always had issues with riding in regular fillis stirrup irons, especially if my stirrups were short, but I brushed it off as some kind of flexibility issue. I would only get about 10 minutes into a ride before my lower legs and ankles were absolutely burning. The arrival of wide footbed irons was a major godsend for me and helped alleviate a lot of the pain. They’re an absolute necessity for me now.

What really brought this condition to light for me was several years ago when I was doing a lot of triathlons. It got so bad that I was to the point of being in pain pretty much all the time, so I finally went to a doctor. The first one had no clue, thought it was maybe shin splints or a blood clot, ordered an MRI which revealed nothing, and then finally sent me to a specialist. Within just a few minutes of talking to me he knew exactly what it was.

 

For riding by itself, CECS isn’t so bad. I feel it most when I’m jumping, or especially on cross country. A short stirrup combined with a lot of two point and weight in my heels will have my feet numb within about 5 minutes, with a whole lot of burning going on during that time. This is part of why you’ll often see my feet in more of a “home” position in the stirrups on XC. It helps alleviate some of the pain.

 

The bigger issue is running, especially if I’m running a lot when I’m also riding a lot. The two activities combined seem to be a little bit too much for my legs to take. Hot weather makes it even worse, and of course both of the half marathons I’ve done have been pretty excruciating. For my second one it happened to be almost 70 degrees that day and the entire last few miles were done with completely numb legs that ended up feeling like pure fire for days afterward. I generally have to cut my running activity way down in hot weather, and try not to ever run on days where I’m planning on riding in the jump saddle. Sometimes I have to break the ice packs out.

There really isn’t a whole lot you can do for CECS. The doctor said we could try a custom orthotic, to see if changing my biomechanics might help. Of course, those aren’t covered under my insurance and were quoted to me at $450 a pop. I asked him how often that actually helped (maybe half the time) and how much it helped reduce the symptoms (maybe 30-50%). Not really worth it to me. They mostly suggest that you cut out whatever activities cause it to flare up. If it gets particularly bad they can do a surgery that requires cutting the fascia and results in spending several weeks unable to use both feet. That’s a no for me.

So I try to manage it just by being smart about my activities, and planning my days carefully. Runs need to happen on dressage days or non-riding days, and the hotter the weather is, the shorter the run needs to be. For riding I tend to keep my stirrups a hole longer in my jump saddle until I’m actually jumping, and I do stick my feet further in the stirrups for long conditioning rides. I will probably always require a stirrup with a wide footbed, since for whatever reason it seems to help stabilize things and make everything more bearable. I will never have a particularly deep heel position. Whenever we stop for a break I often take my feet out of the stirrups and leg my legs hang to get some bloodflow back. Otherwise I just do what equestrians everywhere do all the time about all kinds of things… I just suck it up.

This past weekend as I was sitting in my nice comfy chair, sipping on my vitamin water, jump judging at a horse trial, my friend Michelle (Presto’s “other” mother, and owner of Willow Tree Warmbloods) was attending her very first breeder’s course.

In these courses you learn to do some of the vet work yourself, to avoid having to haul mares and foals to the vet a lot, reduce some of the cost, and make everyone’s life a little less stressful in general. When you’re breeding several mares a year, many of which have foals at their side, and the closest vet is an hour haul away, the simple act of going for an ultrasound becomes an ordeal and introduces some unnecessary risk. Hence why a lot of breeders choose to buy some of their own equipment and do the basic stuff themselves. A lot of it isn’t rocket science.

So there’s Michelle, arm-deep in a mare, taking her first shot at an artificial insemination. That’s a normal thing for your average wife and mother to be doing on a Sunday afternoon, right? Her friend had even come along with her to the course, so she can help assist Michelle with her mares during breeding season. As Michelle was completing her first go at AI, she simultaneously learned what can happen when the mare has a full bladder.

https://www.facebook.com/michelle.beck.77/videos/10156010271589496/

The best part of this, once I was able to stop crying from laughing so hard, were the reactions when she posted this on her facebook page. All the breeders and horse people were like “Oh yeah, that’s happened to me too – warning, don’t wear boots unless you can seal the top!” wheras all the non-horse people were somewhere between squeamish and vomiting. The guys more so than the women, of course. It really highlighted just how much gross stuff we, the species known as Horse People, become completely accustomed to over time.

I showed the video to the SO and he was part laughing and part looking like he might throw up. That of course just made me laugh even harder. Then I had to make a meme for Michelle because that’s the kind of friend I am.

We horse people definitely do a lot of gross stuff. I’ve been shot in the face with puss, hit in the head with poop, touched so much pee that it doesn’t even register anymore, had smegma in places no one ever should, been elbow deep in a mare to reposition a foal, covered in snot from head to toe on a fairly regular basis, and laid out and inspected a lot of placentas. Not even deterred. In fact, I took way more pictures of that one infected placenta than could ever be considered normal. Because fascinating. But bring in a human with a cut and I am OUT. Or human babies and poop. Gross. Nasty. Ew.

There’s so much we do every day and don’t even blink at anymore, yet normal people would find revolting. Like the time SO went running to the bathroom to wash his hands because Henry left a lot of slobber behind in the process of eating a peppermint.

We’re weird people, that’s for sure, but there aren’t too many badass chicks out there who can say they know how to AI a mare. You might be covered in piss, Michelle, but high five to you girl. Horse People are my favorite. Oh and extra special thanks to your friend for getting it on video, since I’ve watched it more times now than I care to admit. That is pure entertainment right there.

I realized last week, as I was tearing my trunk apart looking for furacin to sweat a leg, that I had completely lost control of my horse medical supplies.

I used to have everything relegated to a small rubbermaid, but at some point I outgrew that and then just stopped putting things back after I used them, so all my supplies ended up separated, spread out, and lost. I couldn’t even find my damn thermometer last time I need it, and ended up having to scrounge through the barn’s med cabinet. That’s the ultimate in pathetic.

So I’ve started pulling everything back together, taking inventory of what I still have, and jotting down things that I know are missing or have been depleted. I figured I’d wait and buy a container for all this stuff after I’m done assembling it, so I know what size I need. But so far I’ve been pulling all kinds of stuff out of the far reaches of my trunk… dmso, furazone, corona, ace, banamine, bute, dex, animalintex, vet wrap galore, etc. So disorganized.

I’m still figuring out what all I’m missing though, and keep paging through Riding Warehouse veterinary/health care section to try to fill in some of the gaps. They do offer a handy-dandy first aid kit that’s already put together and packed with lots of the most crucial stuff… there’s a basic one and a vamped up trailering one. Pretty tempted to get one of those as well, to keep with my small “trailer trunk”, because I’m nothing if not paranoid, and that seems much easier than schlepping the entire med kit around when we’re hauling.

But I also need to complete my full med kid for the barn, and I’ve got a good portion of what I need already.

• DMSO
• Bute
• Banamine
• Dex
• animalintex
• vetwrap x 8 (apparently I’m good at buying that)
• clear eyes
• eye ointment
• corona
• swat
• hoof boot
• poultice
• hoof pack
• saran wrap
• brown paper
• scissors
• duct tape
• elastikon
• cool cast
• durasole
• hoof testers
• rasp
• the world’s nerdiest but best ice boots (these are a floater item since I always take them to shows, and they’re a bit big to fit in a reasonably sized container)
• wraps and bandages (also a floater for same reason)
• liniment
• alushield
• omeprazole paste
• safety pins
• rags
• syringes – 10cc and 60cc
• needles
• dosing syringe
• rubbing alcohol
• witch hazel

But most notably missing (so far) are:

• Betadine (I swear a lose a bottle every year)
• new thermometer
• stethoscope
• bandage scissors
• more furacin, I’m almost out
• more latex gloves, I have 2 left
• thrush stuff
• hoof nippers
• twitch
• gauze
• Epsom salt
• diapers
• head lamp

How I lost my thermometer, stethoscope, and twitch somewhere over the past few years is a mystery, but they are definitely MIA. There’s probably more, too, but I can’t think of it off the top of my head right now.

So, what do you guys have in your med kit? Do you keep a separate first aid kit in your trailering supplies?

You would think that a horse living in Texas wouldn’t really require that many clothes. Our problem is heat, after all, not cold. Well… normally, anyway. This winter has been nuts by Texas standards.

I can’t really blame Henry’s overly extensive wardrobe on this winter, though. That horse has been accumulating clothes since I’ve got him, and it’s to the point where his pile of blankets is occupying a whole corner of the tack room. This is especially sad considering I just gave away a few blankets and coolers that I wasn’t using anymore. It was a huge struggle to find blankets that didn’t rub him, so we went through 4 of those before I finally got smart enough to settle on his HUG style ones – a turnout sheet and turnout blanket. I absolutely love those things, they were worth every penny and fixed the shoulder rub problem that a bunch of other blanket brands plus a shoulder guard could not. Both of them are teal with orange piping, which isn’t my favorite, but whatever.

Originally he had a nice wool PS of Sweden quarter sheet but when he decided to sprout a butt it looked more like a teeny cape. I was sad to sell that thing. I replaced it this fall with a plain nylon quarter sheet, which I feel pretty meh about, so he might be acquiring another quarter sheet at some point. Really I want what the Brits call a loin rug, that attaches to the saddle… so that will probably happen eventually.

The cooler situation is where things really start to go off the rails. Does a Texas horse need 3 different coolers? Probably not. But he’s got his lightweight knit Saratoga Horseworks award cooler from AECs, which probably gets the most use. It’s the perfect weight for 50’s and 60’s type weather, and I use it as a dress sheet at shows or when we travel, if it’s cool enough.

Then there’s my vintage Miller’s heavyweight wool newmarket cooler. This thing actually has a Miller’s tag on it, so it’s minimum 20 years old. The wool is really thick and warm, really a bit overkill for Texas, but I do seem to break it out once or twice a year. This year it’s definitely seeing more action.

The third cooler I bought because it made me sad. Yeah, I have issues. But it’s an award cooler from the Netherlands for the best jumper foal, and it was for sale on a facebook group for $15. It caught my eye because it was my colors, but once I read the dutch embroidery I had to buy it. I couldn’t stand the idea of a nice award cooler like that ending up as a cat bed in someone’s tack room or something. Presto isn’t Dutch, but maybe someday he’ll wear it and pretend. Let’s be honest, Presto doesn’t know wtf he is anyway, he’s German and American by blood, yet his sire lives in France, yet he’s registered in Belgium. Why not add the Netherlands to the mix?

Then of course there’s the Back on Track sheet, which Henry mostly wears at shows when it’s cold enough, or occasionally at home if they’re stalled for some reason. I got a great deal on this thing and he seems to like it, so it stays.

Then of course there’s his oh so attractive sleazy that he wears when he’s braided. Henry already looks like a quarter horse and when you put this thing on it makes it even worse. Totally nerdy but it keeps him from rubbing shavings into his braids, plus it makes me giggle, so it’s earned it’s place.

And then, of course, there’s the bonnet collection. I sold several old ones last year (we won’t talk about how many I bought) so it’s not THAT bad. A dapper horse needs lots of hats, I’m pretty sure that’s the rule.

There a still a few blankets and coolers sitting in my garage that I haven’t rehomed yet, but probably need to. I mean… I think Henry is pretty well outfitted at this point. Just wait til Presto gets big enough to have his own wardrobe too (he doesn’t even know how close he came to ending up with one of these this year). That whole tack room will be filled to the brim one day.

When we were XC schooling last Saturday, a friend of mine had a fairly scary fall that left all of us a bit rattled. It was one of those scenarios where a mistake was made at a solid fence that did not allow for such a mistake, and when it’s horse vs solid fence, the solid fence almost always wins. We were talking about it on the way home and she asked me if I was going to blog about it. I immediately said no, thinking she was talking about her fall. I don’t blog about other people’s mishaps, as a general rule. But she said no, not about the fall, but about everything else we’d been talking about – the risk, and the responsibility.

She’s right, it’s a good topic. Riding is, in and of itself, inherently risky, and eventing is one of the riskiest equestrian sports. It’s something that I’m extremely aware of and think about a lot. I put my and my horse’s well-being on the line every time I swing a leg over, but especially when we’re out on the cross country course. This isn’t something I take lightly.

The way I personally see it is that there are essentially three parts to this: 1) acknowledging, and being very realistic about, the level of risk involved, 2) doing anything and everything you can to reduce said risk, 3) accepting that even if you try to do everything right, sometimes shit just happens.

Acknowledging and being realistic about the level of risk involved is mostly about being very self aware. Riding around with a “this is dangerous, omg!” monkey on your back is counterproductive – a confident rider is generally a safer rider – but I think having a healthy amount of respect for what you’re doing is necessary to keep you and your horse safe. We all know the person that wants to go out and XC school and see what kind of fences they can make it over, just for fun (or a photo). Bravery is one thing, but not when it comes at the expense of being realistic about what we or our horses are capable of in that moment. That’s when it crosses over into recklessness.

Doing anything and everything in your power to reduce the risk is something that eventers have gotten really good at. We load up on safety equipment (sometimes to the point of buying things just because a product is marketed as safer, even if it’s not actually proven to be such), we develop fantastic technology to wrap our horses legs in, we do trot sets until our eyeballs fall out from boredom so we can avoid the situation of an overly fatigued horse or rider. We spend a lot of time schooling complex exercises, working on improving reaction times, and learning what to do when things don’t go as planned. We fund study after study on fence technology, equine cardiology, course design, etc. We ice and we poultice and we handwalk and we cold hose and we theraplate and we magna wave. We even have clinics to learn how to fall off correctly.

Then there’s the last piece, the piece that we’re a lot more reluctant to talk about: the fact that no matter what we do, this is a risky venture. It’s pretty likely that at some point, if you do this for any period of time, you or your horse will end up getting hurt. And that’s not an eventing-specific thing… that’s true for pretty much all horse sports. There is additional risk in eventing, though, and we have to decide whether or not that additional risk is worth it to us. If we DO decide that it’s worth it, I think it’s a vital personal responsibility to constantly keep point number 1 in mind, and continuously evaluate and re-evaluate point number 2. At the end of the day though, you have to be able to accept the risk, put it in your pocket, and kick on anyway.

As we were talking I could tell by the look on my friend’s face that she was replaying the incident over and over in her mind. I told her stop, and I made her give me her camera to take home so I could erase the footage of it. It was clearly already ingrained in her mind, she didn’t need to watch it happen from afar. I asked her if it was possible to change what already happened. She said no. Ok, so it’s done, let’s move on. Do we know what went wrong and why? Yes. What can you do about it? Learn from it. Work on correcting the problem. Don’t make the same mistake again. Respect the bigger or more technical fences more. Ok, so let’s focus on those things.

It’s a lot easier said than done though, and I could see the deep-seated guilt about the minor scrapes and general soreness that her horse was now sporting. I totally get that. That is the downside to equestrian sports, and it sucks.

The horse’s safety in particular is something that constantly weighs in my mind. Sometimes I DO wonder if this is worth it… thinking about how much “easier” his life would be if he just cantered around the hunter ring jumping 3′. I know that’s a job he would hate, though, and I would hate it too. Henry is a pretty safe cross country horse, meeting my top two requirements of safe jumping style and good sense of self preservation. Not to mention – he loves it. Genuinely and truly. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, so today we’re going to do what we love… we’re just going to try to be as smart about it as possible. Mistakes will happen though, that’s just reality.

So we keep working, keep conditioning, and keep trying to get better. I always keep the risk in mind, but I try not to let it turn into fear. Being fearful can be just as dangerous as being overly bold. I accept that there is more risk in my chosen sport, I strive to always make us as safe as possible, and I’m committed to never asking more of my horse than he’s capable of giving. To me, that’s pretty much all I can control, so I have to choose to worry about those things and let the rest go.