Rediscovering Dressage, Joy, and Myself
Heavy Hitters! Throughout the month of December, we are featuring heavy breeds and heavy breed crosses!
Did you know that dressage riders who choose a heavy hitter as their mounts are eligible for special awards through the Adequan®/USDF All-Breeds Awards program, as the Draft Cross Breeders & Owners Association (among several others!) is a participating organization!
Here, a rider from Region 7 shares how, after years of hiatus, she returned to riding and found joy in showing – with a bit of help from a Friesian cross, that is.
By Kara Marken
My name is Kara Marken, and my dressage journey began around 2002, after discovering a sport that matched my love of equitation with the precision and challenge I craved. I started riding at an Arabian barn in Northern California when I was around eight. I quickly realized that I was jumping more fences with my body than my horses were with their hooves, so dressage felt like home — a place where I could stay centered, feel connected, and grow as a rider.
Even though we didn’t have the financial means for big-league dreams, I was lucky. People believed in me and offered opportunities I was too young to fully understand. At the ripe old age of 14, I was presented with the chance to live above a beautiful training facility, be home-schooled, ride incredible horses, and work as my trainer’s assistant. I had just purchased a seven-year-old Dutch Warmblood, and we were starting to school Prix St. Georges.
From the outside, it looked like every young rider’s dream — but inside, the pressure turned passion into a job. The expectations, the money spent, the fear of disappointing the people investing in me — especially my dad, who gave up everything to make my dreams happen — it was too much. I walked away, deciding I just wanted to be a “normal” kid. I had no idea how deeply that choice would shape me.
Seventeen years passed.
Every time I spoke about horses for more than a moment, I cried. The grief, the emptiness — always right at the surface. I never truly believed I could go back.
There came a moment when the routine stopped being enough. Despite a well-respected job and a full life in Southern California, there was a quiet ache I couldn’t ignore. Horses. So, I started looking for lessons, worried I might not remember how to ride, let alone try dressage again. The budget was tight — normal person stable, but dressage diva broke. Lessons once a month turned into once a week, but after a few months, something was still missing: connection. I needed my horse.
With a budget of $10,000 in borrowed dollars — hardly a dressage horse shopping budget — I drove all over California alone, trying horses and enjoying the adventure. In January 2024, after a few trials and errors, my last stop was a small personal property in Lake Elsinore… where I met the love of my life: Alexzander.
A fluffy, winter-coated ten-year-old Friesian-Percheron cross, 16.2 hands with the biggest build I’d ever sat on, he intimidated me the moment I saw him. But there I was. After some walk, trot, and a bounding canter later, we headed out on the trail, and I fell instantly in love with his playful chaos, his independence, and his heart.
So, I made him mine.
He arrived at my barn, leaving behind the only home he’d known for 10 years. Our bond clicked immediately. He didn’t understand seat aids; he was opinionated, a little spooky, and incredibly playful — but the trust between us formed fast.
The moment I’d walk out to the barn and see him in turnout, he’d snap his head around like he felt me coming. I’d yell one of his ridiculous nicknames across the property, but he’d already be trotting over — and there it was: that smile I couldn’t wipe off my face if I tried. Still can’t. No matter what’s happening in my life, that horse can pick my heart up off the floor in seconds. It’s a priceless feeling.
With a shoestring budget and a lot of negative self-talk, showing never crossed my mind. Not once. Until my trainer — who I could only afford every couple of months — said, “You should think about showing.” I laughed. Absolutely not. Never again.
Well… never say never, right?
Seven months went by. We hit the trails, did endless circles in the arena, and eventually, we started practicing tests. Why? I still don’t know. Maybe just to see if we could. Then, a small local schooling show popped up five minutes down the road, and suddenly, the question became, why not? We had nothing to lose.
I entered. The day arrived, and the nerves hit instantly. But something in me said: you’re doing this for yourself. Not to impress anyone or live up to old expectations… maybe just to prove that you can; to rewrite an old story; to show that anxiety didn’t hold the reins anymore.
Growing up, my anxiety around showing was extreme. I was terrified of letting down the people who had invested time and money into getting me into the ring. It was too much for a kid to process. I could never calm down. My dad used to hide so I wouldn’t see him watching, because he knew it made everything worse. The truth? I hated showing.
But today was going to be different — win, lose, whatever. The victory was in doing it.
Warm-up was a disaster. Zander completely lost it — blowing up and causing chaos among the other horses. I finally stopped and said to myself: “Okay. Today’s goal is simply to stay in the arena and hopefully get through the test. That’s it. No pressure. No expectations.” I didn’t warm up anymore. Why would I? Everything was my choice now.
And then — the moment we entered the actual ring — he settled. Like he knew. I felt him underneath me, steady, present, willing. The little crowd around the arena, mostly barn friends cheering us on, felt like a warm hug. And instead of panic, I felt excitement. Happiness. I smiled — and never stopped. The videos prove it: ear-to-ear the entire test, and that horse was right there with me, every stride.
“A, down centerline. X, halt. Salute.”
I saluted the judge and lifted my head with tears streaming down my face. We did it. WE DID IT. I was sobbing, rubbing his neck, overwhelmed. When we rode out, everyone from the barn was crying, too. It was pure joy — a fire I have never felt before.
And from that moment on? We were off. We racked up credit card debt (no shame), entered more shows — recognized shows. The smile never left my face. Even at just Training and First Levels, we earned scores that I had never dreamed of. And somehow, this heavy, fuzzy trail horse and I ended up winning the Adequan®/USDF All-Breeds Training Level Champion title for the Friesian Sporthorse Association in both the Adult Amateur and Open divisions.
We truly crushed every goal we never set.
He is a heavy horse with a huge impact. Growing up, no one pointed you toward a heavy breed if you had big dressage dreams. They weren’t part of the picture. Today? I dream about nothing else. I believe horses like him are changing the modern dressage world — powerful, kind, brave, and full of heart.
People say horses are expensive. Well, so is therapy — and I’ve done therapy. It doesn’t even compare. I can rest my head on his neck, feel him breathe, and cry tears of joy because I am so grateful he is mine. He has given me purpose, peace, softness, and patience. He’s taught me to listen to the quiet, not just the loud. He’s taught me to slow down, stop rushing, and savor the moment.
If I had one wish, it would be to have found him sooner — to have had more time. But I have him now. And whatever the future looks like, if he’s in it, everything in this horse girl’s world is exactly right.
