Lauren Sprieser just returned home to Virginia after a successful week at the U.S. Dressage Festival of Champions with C. Cadeau, a 9-year-old Danish Warmblood gelding (Blue Hors St. Schufro—C. Chanel, Richman) owned by the Elvis Syndicate LLC. A longtime blogger for the Chronicle, in 2023 Sprieser took readers through the experience of shopping for and buying “Cadeau” in Denmark. Now, she’s taking us through a week in her life—last week, to be specific—for the pair’s first trip to the Festival of Champions, where they finished as reserve champions Aug. 21 in the USEF Intermediaire I National Championship, behind Olympic silver medalist Sabine Schut-Kery and Jojoba De Massa.

Friday, Aug. 15

It’s 3 a.m., and I’m up and at ’em. We’re on night turnout most of the year, so I fetch Cadeau from his field. A notoriously slow and finicky eater, I give him an hour to finish his breakfast. But he’s already suspicious—being able to read a clock and all—and then I commit my first crime (of, I’m sure, many) of the week: I give him a dose of a gastric support paste. After spending half an hour acting like I’ve tried to poison him, he barely nibbles at his breakfast and then gives up to stare out the window at the trailer. 

This will be a long day. 

Cadeau went through a period of not getting on the trailer, and I spent a lot of time working on it with him, so I’m delighted when he waltzes right on. But that’s the last easy piece of the day. The trip from our base in Virginia to Lamplight Equestrian Center in Wayne, Illinois, should take 12.5 hours. Instead, it takes almost 14 because of traffic in Indiana and around Chicago. 

While Cadeau does graciously drink about half a bucket of water, he doesn’t touch a bite of hay the entire way. Big lesson of the weekend: I’ll need to experiment with different types of forage when he travels a long way. And I also wonder if maybe he is upset because he’s traveling alone. Further study is needed. 

I unload, settle him in (he dives right for the hay in his stall, thank goodness), then go to unhook the trailer and drop my stuff at the hotel before coming back to do night check. He hasn’t touched his water. The next morning, only about half a bucket is gone. His gums and skin are good, and he does settle in and eat some grass when taken out for a graze, but I don’t like it. 

By the way, it is now…

Saturday 

My plan was to just hack today, so I pop on him before it gets too hot, and he’s perfectly polite but pretty crunchy from the trip. I don’t want to burn any more calories or hydration than necessary, but I do break protocol a bit and do a few minutes of glacial, boring, head-on-the-floor trot. After a few minutes of this, his back lets go, and he takes a big deep breath. This was the right call. 

I spend the rest of the day tidying the tack stall I’ll be sharing with the daughter of one of my syndicate members, who will be arriving later to do the Dressage Seat Medal and the Children’s division, getting a workout in, and taking a nap—a luxury I rarely get. 

Cadeau is eating normally, phew, but still not really drinking. I try electrolytes in the water, no dice. I throw an apple into his bucket, and he slurps down about half trying to get the snack, but when he can’t get his teeth into it, he gets mad and gives up. All his hydration indicators are still OK, though, so I head to bed with my fingers crossed. 

Sunday 

Same story: He’s had a little water but not enough. Now this is serious. Someone gives me a handful of chopped alfalfa, and that he likes, so I find a local supplier, and give him a bucket of that in water. He just about knocks me down to get to it. Another big lesson of the weekend: Be prepared for Cadeau to not drink when we travel somewhere new. 

My plan for the day had been to just fluff around, do some transitions, get Cadeau loose, make sure my half-halt works, and be done. It’s a long week, and while Cadeau is plenty hot, he is not limitless in his muscular capacity. 

I also had planned on doing this without a coach. But last night, I started getting the yips, mostly because I’d seen so many riders really schooling the day before, and not just doing what I did, toodling about. I am an experienced competitor and not a nervous one, but I feel myself getting into my head. 

I do most of my riding with Ali Brock, but Olivia LaGoy-Weltz (who is both a deeply trusted friend and my neighbor of sorts, only 45 minutes from me in Virginia and around the corner in Florida) has just been named to the USEF coaching staff, which means she’s at the show in person. I’d taken a few lessons with her over the last few weeks at home in Virginia, so we’d have some mileage together and some common language before the show.

So, Olivia to the rescue. She just sits with me and chats, occasionally chiming in about what I’m doing, but mostly just keeps me company, and keeps me confident in my plan. She texts me an hour later: “I’ve been sitting at the ring watching a whole lot of people who seem to have forgotten the show starts tomorrow. Your ride was so soft and nice to watch.” Sometimes your coach is your coach; sometimes your coach is your emotional support animal. 

Speaking of animals, my staff at home text me a picture of one of my dogs, face swollen and covered in blood. (Fact: one of my animals gets hurt every time I am gone for more than a handful of days. This one sees the vet, gets a diagnosis of an infected tooth, and goes home with meds. She’ll be fine.)

Bath, braid and put on my jog outfit: a super cute, thrifted button-down shirt, jeans, brand new sneakers that immediately rub a hole in my foot. Cadeau is perfectly polite to jog, with the caveat of stopping mid-trot to do a full body shake like the Thellwell Pony/Serious International Horse he is. Passed. 

There’s a rider briefing with the stewards—don’t ride like a jerk, don’t be a twit on the internet, don’t blast on your noseband, the usual—followed by a wine and snack party. I love the big championship shows for so many reasons, but one of them is that I get to see my old friends from all over the country and make some new ones. I’ve had a girl crush on Sarah Mason-Beaty and Laura DeCesari—both badass trainers making their own Grand Prix horses—for a while, so it’s cool to put faces to names. I’d love to sit around and drink and socialize but one of age 40’s gifts to me is a complete inability to sleep through the night if I have a glass of wine, so it’s night check (Cadeau, mercifully, HAS been drinking, whew), and then off to bed, until it’s…

Monday

I’ve been so fortunate as to draw a time towards the end of the class; we can talk about it all day long, but statistics are in favor of those towards the end. But it also means that I get to sweat for a while, because this class is big, and this class is GOOD—like, really good. I came in ranked No. 10 in the country on a 69% average. And this show, for me, is not about the ribbons; it’s about learning how to show Cadeau well under conditions I can’t replicate any other way, ones where he’s gone for a week, to somewhere totally new, having to be in top shape for three days of showing. This is a fact-finding mission.

But who am I kidding? I also like ribbons a lot. Especially primary-colored ones. So I’ve done my homework, and my horse feels amazing. Let’s go.

I warm up, and I’m sticking to the plan: Give him time to get loose, transitions, long arms, forward-thinking contact. A few walk breaks; he likes them, rather than just building and building. Touch a pirouette each way, touch a zig zag, touch some changes. Walk pirouettes. And finish with a calibration of the trot, because Cadeau has amazing adjustability in the trot, but I’m not yet in charge of it, so I need to pick the one that feels the most consistent, and stay there. In my head, the “good” one is always so much slower than I think it should be, so I need a grown up to tell me to stick to it.

And then it’s go-time. I know I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, and I know it’s a long six minutes, but I can’t wipe the smile off my face as I go around the ring, because Cadeau is ON. He feels like a soda bottle I’ve shaken, and I can just sit back and slowly release the bubbles. 

There are the little things, of course. One walk pirouette gets weird. The right canter half-pirouette, my pride and joy, is so nice that we have a miscommunication getting out of it, because he wants to keep turning. My fours are a wee bit of a slalom. But it’s good. And as I’m walking out, the scores go up: 70%. Third place, by just 0.4%. We are in it!

I am beside myself. Cadeau doesn’t understand what all the fuss is about—of COURSE he was brilliant, why are we all treating this like a big deal—but he cheerfully gets lots of smooches from everyone, especially three of his amazing syndicate members, who’ve made the trip to watch him dance.

Man, oh man, do I want to celebrate, but I have to show again tomorrow, so instead I get a workout in, take Cadeau out for a graze (the bugs at Lamplight are legendary, so he’s head-to-toe dressed in his Bow Horse fly gear), and help my friend Lauren Chumley move some of her horses in. I take my book manuscript to dinner because I’m so behind on it.

While trying not to spill salsa on the notes my brilliant friend and syndicate member Stacy Curwood has written for me, I watch the storm clouds roll in. And I’m glad we’re all under cover when they let loose, because they let LOOSE. Cadeau is stabled in Tent 1, as are a huge number of other very, very famous horses, and as I watch their team of grooms scramble to keep the inches of rain out of their horses stalls, I’m comforted to know that there is no amount of money, staff or time that can prevent horses from being horses, and nature from being nature.

Tuesday

Between the weather and the newfound pressure of expectation—boy, oh boy, is it easier to do this when you’re a scrappy insurgent rather than sitting on top—I did not sleep well. And I drew the last slot in the class, which is amazing, but adds a whole ‘nother level of anxiety. But as always, once I’m on the horse, all that stress slips away. It’s me and my best boy, and I’ve done my best forelock braid ever, AND I Wordled in two. This is going to be a good day.

“Once I’m on the horse, all that stress slips away. It’s me and my best boy, and I’ve done my best forelock braid ever, AND I Wordled in two. This is going to be a good day.”

I get on wondering if Cadeau will be tired at all, whether he slept well, whether I should have changed the plan in any way. When I put my leg on to begin his warm-up trot, and he holds his breath and scoots with a sassy little tail toss, I get my answer: Oh no, we’re on fire today. But we have been pals a long time, he and I, and he cheerfully lets me channel that heat. 

He holds his breath again as we’re going around the ring, but I’m ready for it. In the warm-up we pushed the envelope with the trot just a wee smidge, just asking for a little more expression and power but without going over the line. It’s a balancing act, but he lets me do it. Arms long, contact thinking forward. I have a right leg, not just a left. The extended trot still isn’t where I want it, and he thinks a brief impure thought at the beginning of the zig zag, but he lets me call him back to order with ease. I have time. I have time. I have time.

And I have a sore face by the end, because he just feels so damn good I can’t stop smiling. The score goes up—another 70%, and this time I take second. Holy expletives!

More hugs, more carrots for the best horse ever. And then out to dinner with my amazing owners, where I indulge in some lovely sparkling wine because HECK YES. Cheers!

Wednesday

It’s a day off from competition, so I hop on Cadeau first thing and go about the Very Serious Business of walking on the buckle and trotting a handful of 20-meter circles with his head on the floor. His chores are done, he’s walked in the arena, he’s hacked around the arenas, and he’s been put away and sufficiently snuggled, all by 9 a.m. I watch the entirety of the Grand Prix class with Sabine Schut-Kery, who I adore and never get to see, and I forgive her for beating me in the Intermediaire classes because she lets me sit at her cool kids’ table so I feel very important and fancy.

And then… it’s only 10:45 a.m. So I visit with more friends, and then it’s only 11. So I feed Cadeau lunch and pick out his stall once more, and then it’s only 11:30 a.m. So I go back to the hotel, and I work out, and I get a pedicure, and then it’s only 2 p.m. So I take a nap. (Who am I?!) Then it is finally time to head back to the show to take Cadeau out for his afternoon graze and feed him dinner, but it is only 4:30 p.m., so I nip back to the hotel and shower and put on a cute dress (another thrift shop find, $11, slay) and it is FINALLY 5:30 and time for action: another competitor’s party. I meet even more amazing people, and see even more amazing friends, because Festival has so many classes that the divisions are quite staggered; I’ll be done competing before some divisions even begin, and most folks didn’t even show up until Tuesday.

Night check and bedtime come and go. I’m waiting to get nervous, and I’m bizarrely not. Because really, I do feel like I’ve already won. Mission already way, way accomplished. For all of my joking-not-joking about liking big hairy ribbons, I’m really, really proud of this horse, and the show we’ve had up until this point, and I’m really, really zen about whatever happens next. Apparently another of 40’s gifts to me is finding some perspective. That’s a nicer gift than not being able to sleep after a glass of wine. Thank you, 40.

Thursday

No questions about it today: We stick to the plan. No, I do not need to ride Cadeau this morning in any capacity, even though we don’t compete until this evening, and while I’m not BAD nervous, I am certainly eager, and I need to find ways to keep myself from chewing off my own arm. I give him a bath and a graze, I work out, and I watch a bit. I pack as much as I can, because I ride at 4:55 p.m., with the awards ceremony scheduled for 6:30-ish, and then I need to pack everything into the trailer such that I can bolt out the door pre-dawn the next morning. But because I still need to show, there is basically nothing to pack. I listen to my freestyle music ten thousand times. Olivia’s had to fly home, but she’s going to warm me up via FaceTime (because my dumb self forgot the stupid Pivo, but fortunately one of my amazing owners and a professional groom friend offer their services as human tripods, so I test my technology once, and I’m set.

And then it’s go time. Cadeau is mentally one hundred percent but a little physically tired, which can sometimes be a scary combination. But good grief, is he ever a little warrior when the chips are down. I remember to hit an extended trot in my warm-up, so I maybe won’t get run away with quite so much in the ring. I practice my first few movements of trot in, halt, trot out, and immediately half-pass left; it’s not such an easy sequence, and I don’t know why I made my freestyle this way, but it’s too late for that regret now. And then we’re in.

I do, in fact, blow my entrance. For a girl who’s spent years trying to apply more right leg, I do so with gusto, and poor Cadeau thinks I’m calling up the canter. But we fix it, and we move on, and everything else is spot on. I finish on a 72%, and with two more riders to go, I’m briefly in the lead. (I have someone take a picture of the Jumbotron while I am. Yes, I am that guy.)

And then, Tom Petty, the waiting is the hardest part. Class leader Sabine goes right after me, and it’s a shutout. But it was a neck-and-neck race for reserve champion, and all the riders are gathering for the award ceremony, and I’m catching up and chatting and putting Cadeau’s polo wraps on trying not to freak out, waiting for someone to walk up to me holding one of two colors of ribbon. And even though my face is so, so sore from almost a straight week of grinning that I think I can’t grin anymore, when my squad walks up holding the red one, I can’t stop beaming. We did it!

The rest is a blur. Cadeau is remarkably civilized in the awards ceremony until we have to canter around, and then he briefly demonstrates how much power and elasticity he has in his back. My team of owners takes him from me so I can sprint over to the media tent for an interview, and then I bolt back down to the barn to load up the truck full of everything to take back to the trailer.

Syndicate members Sloane Rosenthal and Leslie Harrelson have put Cadeau away and smothered him in love, and it’s 7 p.m. before we finally crack open the champagne and then to a quick dinner. I want to be able to really celebrate, but my alarm is set for 3 a.m., because I am going to drive home all day, losing an hour in transit, and then naturally I have a student at a Virginia show at 9:30 a.m. Saturday morning. So we toast, and we hug, and I try and get to bed, but the adrenaline is still pumping, and my phone is blowing up and finally, finally, sleep takes me.

All too quickly it’s…

Friday, Aug. 22

It’s 3 a.m., and I’m up and at ‘em again. When I get to the barn, Cadeau is out—I mean OUT, flat out, carcass time OUT—and I have to poke him a few times to get him up. I’ve learned one of this week’s lessons, and I feed him his breakfast grain before I try to poison him with tummy paste, so he does actually eat.

But then he’s really quite mad when I go to load him, and says NOPE for a few minutes before finally resigning himself to his fate. I am so, so sorry, I keep telling him. This day is going to suck for you, and you were just so amazing, and this is just how it’s going to be. I can hear him rolling his eyes all the whole way home.

The traffic and weather gods are both with us, and we cruise home in a blistering 12.5 hours. I’d left my car at the dealership to address a minor recall issue, with their promise that they’d have it delivered to my farm before today… and at 6:30 p.m. I’m frantically calling their answering service, desperately hoping someone can come and retrieve me, because of course, they have not delivered the car. Eventually I’m rescued, and I finally come through my front door at 7:30 p.m. to a pile of mail dwarfed only by my pile of laundry. The top envelope? A questionnaire for jury duty. 

Well, being a rockstar was fun while it lasted. I set my alarm so I can get to Morven Park’s dressage show bright and early the next day. Back to reality!

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Lauren Sprieser is a USDF gold, silver and bronze medalist with distinction making horses and riders to FEI from her farm in Marshall, Virginia. She’s currently developing The Elvis Syndicate’s C. Cadeau, Clearwater Farm Partners’ Tjornelys Solution, as well as her own string of young horses, with hopes of one day representing the United States in team competition. Follow her on Facebook and Instagram, and read her book on horse syndication, “Strength In Numbers.”