What an old racehorse taught me about being first with COPD

My husband and I once took two foster kids for a horseback ride at a friend’s stable, hoping to give them a memory that would settle into their bones and stay there. When we arrived, all but three of the steady, predictable horses were already spoken for. The only one left was a mare Bobby hesitated over. She was a horse with a past, the kind who remembered the track a little too well.

At that time, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) had not begun reshaping my life in ways both obvious and subtle. I’d not learned to measure my days by breath, by pacing, by the quiet negotiations between what my body remembered and what it could still do.

Bobby gave me one explicit instruction: Don’t let anyone get behind her. If she feels another horse on her tail, she’ll bolt to be first.

Still, I climbed onto her. Not out of bravado, but because the kids were excited, my husband was ready, and I wasn’t about to sit this one out. We rode out, keeping my mare calm as long as she followed the other three riders. The kids laughed, the sun warmed our backs, and for a moment it felt like we’d outsmarted her old racing heart.

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Then another group of riders appeared behind us. The mare felt them before I did. Her whole body tightened, remembering the gate, the track, the chase. She didn’t ask permission. She bolted.

The world narrowed to a fence line rushing toward us. I stood in the stirrups, ready to jump before she crashed, but she launched herself over the fence just as I prepared to abandon ship. I didn’t clear it with her. I hit the fence post first — hard enough to leave a perfect round bruise on my behind — and then the ground, then silence.

And in that silence, she stopped. The moment she threw me, the race was over. She wasn’t trying to win anything. She was just trying not to be last.

In the days that followed, the bruise on my behind turned every shade of a West Virginia sunset — plum, rust, gold at the edges. My arm ached when I reached for a coffee cup. But the thing that stayed with me wasn’t the soreness. It was the realization that the mare and I weren’t so different. We both carried memories of a faster self.

But that day on the trail taught me something I couldn’t have learned in a clinic or a rehab gym. It taught me that being “first” isn’t about outrunning anything. It’s about choosing how you respond when the world crowds up behind you, and your old instincts kick in. It’s about giving yourself the same grace I gave that mare — space, patience, understanding. It’s about knowing when to hold the reins and when to let go.

Note: COPD News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always consult your physician or other qualified healthcare provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of COPD News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues about chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.