What Are You Afraid Of? Learning to Fall and Get Back Up

Harry Meade is a world-class equestrian athlete. But as you know, things go wrong in equestrian sport, even for top three-day eventers like Harry, who won team silver for Great Britain at the 2014 Alltech FEI World Equestrian Games in Normandy, France. It was an amazing comeback for a rider who just a year earlier suffered what looked like a career-ending fall.

What better way to start a chapter on equestrian fear than with a story of an eventer who crashed and burned on the cross-country course, spent months in the hospital rehabilitating his injuries and reflecting on the fall, and worst of all, was told by doctors that he was in such bad shape that he would probably never ride again?

In 2013, during a routine three-day event in Hampshire, England, Harry was competing at Advanced level on a horse that had never had a cross-country fault. However, jumping a relatively straightforward fence at speed under a low canopy, the horse backed off, chipped in, and hit the fence at chest height, and the pair somersaulted in a high-speed rotational fall. Harry found himself power-driven straight into the ground like a javelin. Due to the vertical nature of the fall, he couldn’t roll, so he put his arms out to break the fall. Both elbows locked straight and snapped backward, and his horse landed flat on him.

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“The fall itself was reminiscent of us both jumping off a diving board headfirst into an empty pool,” Harry recalls. “My arms bent the wrong way at the elbow. I remember the feeling that they exploded before my body even hit the ground. I’m sure if I hadn’t used my arms, I would have broken my neck.”

Both of Harry’s elbows had shattered into dozens of pieces.

“The pain was excruciating,” he remembers, “and I never went into any kind of shock, so there was no escaping it. I was taken straight into the operating room, and they removed the pieces of broken bones, leaving me hanging for several days with each boneless arm suspended from hooks on the ceiling, as they set about reconstructing the jigsaw puzzle of bone fragments in the next-door room.”

Harry remained in traction for three months with doctors telling him it was highly unlikely he’d ever ride again.

So, where does an athlete whose entire identity is attached to his experience in equestrian sport go when told he may never do the thing he loves most again? And how easy is it to get back on the horse and feel confident again, considering the unpredictability and uncertainty of cross-country and the emotional trauma of a potentially career-ending injury?

It’s not easy at all. Everyone feels fear, even a rider like Harry, regarded as one of the best cross-country riders in the world. He considered the complete identity loss and had to deal with the fear of losing his riding career—the only thing he’d really known since he was a little boy.

“Initially, it was the loss of the dream and thing I loved most in life, but later my main concern was that I had no form of income,” says Harry. “Eventing was my livelihood, and I had a child and a pregnant wife to support. It was a crossroads in my life. On both fronts, I wasn’t going to give up lightly. I needed to be absolutely sure riding was an impossibility if I was going to stop. I wouldn’t walk away and wonder after if I maybe could have come back.

“So, I created a plan to try and see if my arms would stand up to riding.”

The Road Back for Harry…in His Own Words

“It all started with my arms still in traction,” Harry says. “I asked to be hauled onto a horse. I had virtually no movement in the elbows, but I could shut my fists to grip the reins. On that first day I had a walk and a trot. The next day, I rode up onto the gallops, bridged my reins, and got into a steady canter, and then allowed the horse to gallop. I realized that I could steer and stop and that the arms had very little to do with this—it was about the hands, upper body, and core strength.

“Then and there I decided, despite having minimal use of my arms off a horse, that there was a chance we could still get to Badminton. I thought I would have just enough time to get the horse to peak fitness to compete at Badminton, if there were no setbacks.

“I was as weak as a kitten and didn’t want to overdo the pressure on the arms, so I started riding one horse a day for a short time and built up from there.

“During my stint in hospital, I’d had plenty of time to reflect and had been very open with myself. I was well aware that my confidence may have taken a battering, but I wouldn’t know until I tried. That openness and honesty with myself, and the pre-empting of any possible confidence wobble, was my starting point.

“I decided that if I did get back on, I would do it with certain measures in place. I planned more cross-country schooling sessions than normal, and even an unaffiliated event, which I had never done, prior to my first event back. This would allow me the opportunity to compete without pressure or worrying about results. I was also prepared to talk to a sports psychologist. And I’d start my horses a level below where they’d normally compete. My guess was that being open to help is more likely to eliminate potential fears than an approach that is based simply on determination and denial.

“The first cross-country schooling session was at a place I know very well. I took my five best horses and started with my easiest horse. “After jumping the first few fences, I got this feeling and laughed out loud and thought to myself how foolish I’d been: This is what I do, it’s who I am, I’m totally at home galloping down to a fence, and it’s just totally natural for me. This is where I belong. I just felt like I was in the flow. I had missed it so much—riding with complete liberty and freedom. It was just so great to be out and have the opportunity to do it when I thought I might never again. I felt absolute passion and purpose. It was a brilliant feeling.

“I realized that all the extra measures I’d put in place may be overkill and entirely unnecessary. I had no fear, no hesitation, just a joyful sense of belonging. Even so, I felt a belt-and-braces approach was still worth taking, so I went through the motions of the extra measures anyway, just to make sure.”

The Big Test

The first big test for Harry came in the spring of 2014 at the world’s biggest three-day event, the Badminton Horse Trials. Even by Badminton’s standards, this was no ordinary course. It proved to be the toughest in its 56-year history—only one in three starters made it to the finish.

“I had no fear, no hesitation, just a joyful sense of belonging.”

“The morning of Badminton, there really was no fear, just excitement to be back out there at the top level,” Harry recalls. “I was feeling grateful for the opportunity to ride on such a big stage again. I wanted to embrace this opportunity; I told myself to enjoy it, to soak up the magnificent setting; to enjoy the crowds and the atmosphere, and to enjoy my horse at the top of his fitness.

“I was well aware of the risks, but I knew I belonged there. And I know what I do can be dangerous. There was no need to block that out; I was aware and accepting of it. In truth, I was delighted the course was so tough, as I felt it was an opportunity for me. The night before the cross-country test, they took out a fence—a very steep slope to an upright tree stump, probably the toughest on the course—and I was furious. I knew it would cause problems, and a lot of riders were worried about it. But I felt it was well within my horse’s and my capability.”

Harry’s ride at Badminton in 2014 is now part of eventing history: His fast and gutsy riding earned him a clear round, propelling him up the leaderboard to finish in third place. The performance would have been impressive in any normal year, but it was all the more remarkable given the fact that it marked his return from the horrific injuries and accompanying uncertainty.

Just Roll and Get Up

Harry also shared his perspective on falling. “One of the things that didn’t help me was not falling off for a long time in the years prior to the bad fall,” he says. “Strangely enough, I’d hit the ground once in the previous seven years, and I believe that can perpetuate fear at the idea of falling off because I wasn’t used to the feeling.”

Harry shared a secret with me, whispering through the phone that the majority of the time “falling off doesn’t hurt.”

He admits, “I had a catastrophic one, but almost all of the time, falling off is not something to worry about. In 99 percent of the cases, you just roll and get up. And once you’ve overcome the thing you might be scared of, it makes it easier.”

This inspirational story of Harry Meade, who might have easily been paralyzed by fear after a near career-ending fall, is an opportunity for you to see how a world-class rider approached his own challenging situation, confronted a number of fears, and not only overcame it, but thrived.

What can you learn from Harry Meade and his story?

Even great riders fall off and have fear. Every rider will fall off—it’s a reality of equestrian sport. Horses and situations can be unpredictable, so you will fall off and you probably won’t know when it’s going to happen. Remember, world-class eventer Michael Jung told me he has “fallen off 1,000 times, but it has given me the opportunity to learn something each time.” And, in Harry’s words, “falling off doesn’t really hurt—just roll and get up.”
Harry planned his road back carefully, making it very easy in the beginning and setting a “dream” target for motivation. It was a process. Slow and easy is the prudent way to come back from injury or having been out of the sport for a period of time. If you’ve had a trauma that sidelined you for a while, you need to give your body and mind time to heal and have your step-by-step return, starting small and building. Harry’s idea of setting a target date to accomplish something big is a healthy idea and a great way to motivate yourself. Slowly build to the target.
Harry was open and honest with himself, acknowledging the fall, the fear, and the chance the fall could impact his confidence. Acknowledge the accident and that it is a reality of the sport. It happened and could happen again. Expressing the emotion is cathartic and mitigates the chances of feeling more
fear when you return to riding. And addressing how you will prepare to come back with a confident feeling should be a part of the process.
The fall gave Harry the opportunity to think about how much he loved the sport. Time away is a wonderful opportunity to evaluate your reason for riding. Why do you do it? What do you love about it? Being away from the sport may spark feelings about how much you miss it and could ignite a renewed passion for the sport, like it did for Harry.
Anxiety and fear were trumped by Harry’s purpose and the gratefulness he felt for the opportunity to ride again. Balance your own anxiety and fear with your purpose for riding. Remember that you don’t have to ride. It’s an opportunity—something special you get to do. Be grateful for the chance to ride again and every day moving forward. Replace your feeling of fear with a highly positive emotion like gratefulness. Harry told me he never resented his injuries. He says he actually felt thankful that the injuries were to his arms and not his head and neck.

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John Haime is a performance coach, speaker, author, philanthropist and president of New Edge Performance who lives in Ottawa, Ontario. He develops athletes, corporate leaders, teams, coaches and entertainers to maximize their abilities by building mental and emotional muscle for high performance.