by Juli Sebring
— first published in the November 2025 issue of The Equiery
“You Get What You Give” by the New Radicals blares from someone’s phone. Mine has been dead for hours, and I’ve appointed my “support staff” to keep the music going—anything to steady my nerves. Lainey Ashker returns from her run, clear with hardly any time penalties. I congratulate her, smiling through the gnawing ache of anticipation. It’s always the waiting that gets me.
As I wrap electrical tape over my galloping boots, I find myself wondering—how did I get here? Why do I keep putting myself through this? It’s that eternal question all event riders face when we’re standing on the edge of something enormous.
Just six months ago, I was clutching my neck strap over novice-sized show jumps in my backyard. Now, I’m minutes away from setting out on the biggest cross-country course I’ve ever ridden. I curse my own ambition and give my daughters a tearful kiss goodbye.
Out of the start box, I know instantly, Welbourne is on it.
My partner of nine years, my steady rock, my heart horse. He locks on to the fences with a focus that steadies my own heartbeat. He’s bold, eager, and all business. He surges forward through the turns—he flies, he tucks, he gallops on.
At the sunken road, he hesitates for a fraction of a second, surprised by the bright orange beach sand at the base of the bounce. My balance tips, but I trust him—I always trust him. We regroup, and sail through the combination clean. The crowd erupts in cheers, and I readjust my helmet and give Wells a pat.
Then comes the monster—the one my husband warned me was the biggest jump I’d ever face. He wasn’t wrong. It looks four-star. For a heartbeat, Wells hesitates at the top of the hill, his ears are alert to the fence. A light tap of my crop, a breath in—You’ve got this, boy.
He leaves the ground, and we’re flying.
We land, the crowd whoops, and in that instant I know we’ve got this.
When we cross the finish flags, I’m in disbelief. That it’s over so quickly, that we nearly made the time, that we did it fast and clear. The rush of joy, the swell of love for my horse, the simple, sacred truth that we did this together. After everything we’ve been through, this finish feels like the ultimate victory.
—
My last CCI3*-L was in 2019, the final October Fair Hill International, the event I grew up watching and dreaming of. Finishing that event was the pinnacle of my riding career. Afterward, I told my husband I was ready to have kids. Wells went out on his first lease that winter.
In the years that followed, life came in waves—I leased him, sold him, bought him back, suffered two devastating pregnancy losses, and somehow, against all odds, qualified for the inaugural Maryland Five Star with him in 2021.
That event would take place over the very same rolling Fair Hill fields where I’d ridden as a 7-year-old pony clubber—the same ground where I jumped Shorty, Brio, O’rion, and had taken Fling in my first prelim, and Wells in his first training level.
But just weeks before the event, I found out I was pregnant again. The tears that came weren’t of joy. They were tears of fear, of grief, of wondering if I would once again lose both my dream and my child. I withdrew from the event, and Wells went out on a three-year lease with my dear friend and trusted mentor, Carol Kozlowski.
If not for Oliver Townend riding my imported gelding, Ulises, and finishing third in the 3-star that year, I might have been truly devastated. Watching that horse–one I’d brought over myself—soar under one of the sport’s greats was a small spark of pride in an otherwise painful chapter.
In 2022, during the Kentucky Three-Day Event, my first daughter, Sawyer, was born. A year and a half later, during the Maryland Five Star 2023, my second daughter, Sutton, arrived. I can’t explain the timing…perhaps everything was meant to be as it was.
As my daughters grew, I watched Wells from afar, cheering him and Carol on. Every time I saw him, I cried. It was like spotting an old friend across a crowded room—those eyes, that face—so familiar it hurt.
The next year, I made the hardest decision of my professional life: closing my decade-long horse business in Fair Hill to move to South Carolina. It was time to be closer to family and to give my girls the childhood they deserved nearer to family.
In 2024, Wells came home. He wasn’t jumping like he used to, he was older and sore behind, and truthfully, I was different too. I was out of sync, out of confidence, unsure if we still belonged together.
Then came a turning point—A2M therapy, thanks to Dr. Bernadette Smith. It revived him. It was as if his body remembered who he was. My old Wells—the fearless jumper, the “donkey” who never said no (but looked like he might)—was back.
We hadn’t competed in over a year; and our farm sale dragged on for months. I leased him out again, one last time, to a deserving rider while we settled into life in the sunny south.
When he came back to me this spring, I remembered why we were a pair. He wasn’t a horse anyone would have picked. He was plain, awkwardly built, and lacked pedigree—the mutt of all mutts. Around the barn, he was affectionately called “the donkey” or “carthorse.”
But here’s the truth: I didn’t pick Wells. Wells picked me.
He carried me through every milestone. He wasn’t flashy in dressage, and we had our share of rails, but across country he was pure heart. He took me to my first Advanced, helped build my business from nothing into a highly successful lesson barn, and gave me the means—and the courage—to dream bigger.
He gave me everything.
And somehow, he brought me back here—to the Maryland Five Star (three star)—in 2025.
I knew we wouldn’t place in the top ten, but none of that mattered. Just riding here again was a victory.
This sport is a privilege—and I see that more clearly now, as a mother, than I ever did before. For years, I thought I had to choose between my dreams and my family. But this comeback, this ride, proved otherwise.
Because eventing isn’t just about winning. It’s about love—for the horses, for the journey, and for the moments that break you open and make you whole again.
And after all the horses I’ve bought and sold, all the dreams I’ve chased, I’ve come full circle. Back to the one who chose me first.
Welbourne. My heart horse. My hero. My comeback ride.
