Postcards from Paris: what an ordinary RDA coach learned from the Paralympics

The Paris 2024 dressage arena at Versailles

If you're looking for a field trip for a group of seven over-committed RDA volunteers (five coaches, five trustees, three both, six involved in the foundation of our new RDA group, Aim RDA), a long weekend at the Paralympics is a hard pitch to beat. A pipe dream from last summer successfully graduated to actual real-life holiday last weekend, when we took to the stands in the gardens of Versailles to watch the best disabled dressage riders in the world.

London 2012 (where four of our party of seven had also watched the para dressage, before we all knew each other) was a significant event for a lot of people. It was definitely pivotal for me, as a new RDA volunteer who didn't know much other than that a) I liked horses and b) wanted to support people. There were Paralympians in Paris who were sat in the same stands as us in London, too. I'd chalked London up as a very special one off, but as a very determined friend kept pointing out, Paris was too close not to experience an overseas games. I'm very glad we did.

Watching the top level of anything that interests you is inspiring. It's why the Olympics are so popular - we don't have to be operating at that same level, or even have the slightest flicker of potential to do so, to get behind it. It's exactly why it's so compelling: "how on earth do they do that?" 

The same phenomenon exists in parasport, but there's an added dose of grit that makes it compelling in an extra way. My educated guess is that more Paralympians than Olympians had their starts from genuine grass-roots organisations, especially charities like RDA. Introductions to parasport often come as a by-product of physiotherapy, and sustaining a career within parasport involves far more financial obstacles (I spoke to Sophie Christiansen about this prior to the Tokyo games) than the equivalent for a non-disabled athlete. Hard graft - often with more graft to manage a disability around life, training, and everything else - for less recognition than Olympic peers. 

Remembering the near-empty stands of Rio, and the surreal Covid-era Tokyo games, I had wondered if Paris would be busy. Although rain on the last day of competition did a good job of scaring off some of the crowds, my concerns turned out to be totally unfounded. We weren't scared off by the rain either, and it was a real thrill* to hear from friends at home that I had been spotted in the stands on Channel 4, eating a damp baguette and wearing a rain poncho that made me look and feel like a smurf in a sandwich bag. 

*possible sarcasm

Getting the chance to experience a second Paralympics as a spectator was a genuine privilege. We were able to watch Team GB win four medals in the freestyle (always my favourite classes to watch), and be inspired by a global talent pool whose depth and quality is only on the rise. It was a great learning experience, too. I'm always pleased to take something educational away from a visit within the RDA or para equestrian worlds, and I brought quite a bit back with me on the Eurostar. (I'd also highly recommend the 'Cheval en Majesté' exhibition at the palace, for a more traditional school trip sort of educational experience.)

Firstly, the competition is getting so much tougher - and that's a positive thing. Great Britain have won the team gold medal at the Paralympics every year it's existed, but were knocked down to sixth in Paris by the USA, the Netherlands, Germany, Italy and France. Fiona Howard, the USA's grade 2 rider, pulled in 80% for her test. I'm sure we would've enjoyed watching our own riders win another medal, and it's a tough gig to keep winning a competition like this forever. The thing is, I loved watching the skill of these other teams just as much as I loved watching the expertise of the British. I enjoy keeping up with para dressage from home, but dressage is never more enthralling than when it's right in front of you. I was particularly blown away by the American team (it seems the judges were too), but there were performances across the board which were breath-taking. It was also amazing to feel the energy of the crowd for the French riders, especially Chiara Zenati (who's only 21), and Vladimir Vinchon, who seemed to get the biggest cheers of all. 

I've heard many para equestrians say that they want more competition. It's a growing field, and parasport in general struggles a lot with the ableist assumption that it's full of participation medals, because it's "so inspiring" that disabled athletes exist at all. I've comforted enough riders just out of the placings at RDA Nationals to know this really isn't always the case, but it's the Paralympics that makes people sit up and listen. There's only going to be more growth now so many other nations have caught up, and healthy competition can be a genuinely positive force. As a coach, I love having high standards to be inspired by, both for me and for my riders. Plus, learning to compete and lose well is a massive life skill. 

I've seen plenty of discussion online about the horsemanship of para equestrians, and how this is a shining example in a time where the social license of our sport is under scrutiny. I watch more para dressage than I do non-para dressage, so I'm used to seeing snaffle-mouthed horses and less over-produced frames than the top levels of non-disabled dressage. The para dressage horses of 2024 are much more powered up and sporty than some of those of 2012, and this does make me a bit sad: I want the sport to be more accessible and I enjoy seeing successes which make the extraordinary happen from a seemingly ordinary horse. It does, however, make the contrast with Olympic dressage very easy to spot. Not only that, but people are starting to leave behind the misconception that parasport is less difficult or competitive than its non-disabled counterpart, and are asking "why can't the Olympians be more like this?" That's a win.

There was lots to take in from the diversity of the competitors at Versailles. Dressage has an imperfect and in some cases exclusionary classification system, so it could actually be a lot more diverse, but that's a much bigger blog post for another time, probably written by someone more knowledgeable than I am. It was nonetheless interesting to see how these riders were making it work as an elite para athlete. In some cases, I was particularly struck by how much it worked when it looked like it shouldn't: riders with very limited control of their truck, or limbs, or even head and neck, for example. 

Rihards Snikus, the Latvian trailblazer who blew the crowd away with his individual and freestyle gold medals, is a great example of this. As I watched him ride with such precision and harmony, I couldn't help but contemplate how he might've been integrated into an RDA environment, had he grown up in the UK and started riding that way. We are incredibly lucky to have such a well-established grassroots system for para equestrians, and I did also wonder about the countries who were fielding amazing riders without equivalent systems - how accessible is the sport for those at home who aren't at the very pinnacle? 

I know I've come across riders within the RDA system with similar disabilities to Snikus, who have struggled to find the opportunity they want from their experience. Grade 1 (or equivalent) riders need something very specific from a horse which can be difficult to find even on an RDA yard, and for whatever reason (coach experience, risk, lack of growth mindset?) it can be easy for this type of rider to be pigeonholed into something a bit simpler than their full potential. We discussed this a lot as we watched: "do you think we'd be encouraged to keep a side walker with a rider like this, or put their reins on the headcollar?". I know I've felt a quiet pressure at times in my RDA career to focus on training riders to appear as able-bodied as possible in the saddle. It's refreshing and reassuring to see that even at the highest level, this isn't the point. There are possibilities as diverse as the people, and we didn't see a single horse who didn't seem comfortable and willing in their work. 

Possibility is a huge part of the Paralympic movement, and as an RDA coach it's always inspiring to see RDA alumni in the arena or even on the podium. 75% of Team GB had their start in RDA, and other riders (such as Ireland's Michael Murphy) competing for other nations had also come through our system. It isn't quite a case of "every RDA rider could do this" : we're a broad church, and far broader in our reach than the Paralympic classification system. We are also fulfilling an important role in bringing in as many people as we can to the sport, and to access equestrian therapy. Not every RDA rider is going to become a Paralympian. What riders like Natasha Baker, Mari Durward-Akhurst, and Georgia Wilson all have in common (other than world class talent) is that the early stages of their journeys involved opportunity and belief provided generously by those within the RDA system. Would there be so many medals to polish if they hadn't been given the chance to go to their first RDA Nationals, or if they hadn't been introduced to RDA coaches who wanted to champion them? I'm sure those same people have given the same to plenty of non-Paralympians, too. This is something so close to the heart of our philosophy at Aim RDA: we aren't expecting all of our riders to be on an international podium one day, but we do know it's in our gift to champion them as they deserve, and offer them as many opportunities as we can.

The last lesson - or rather, important reminder - that I took from my time at the games, was all about volunteer power. Olympic and Paralympic games rely heavily on volunteer support, and 45,000 people gave their time to support both sets of games in Paris this year. We cheered until we started drooping for the riders and horses at the last medal ceremony of the week, but still managed to spare some cheers for the acknowledgement given over the loudspeakers to all the volunteers who had kept the venue running - and dancing. It would be impossible to pay for the equivalent hours worked by the games volunteers, in a way not so different to a regular year in RDA. Volunteers carried out plenty of essential duties - unglamorous things like emptying bins and loading shuttle buses. Volunteers also did things that weren't necessarily essential, but important, like keeping the crowd quiet and seated while dressage tests were in motion (can we have this at our competitions please?). Volunteers also did plenty of extra things that weren't needed at all, but contributed so much to the atmosphere: lots of hyping-ups and a surprising amount of dancing (I'm not complaining). Every one of those people were committed to something much bigger than themselves: we as RDA volunteers do that all the time. It's good to remember how special that is.

Paris 2024? Enchanté. While I don't think I would've managed to sustain the same levels of go go go for longer than four days and was pleased to see my own bed after limping home from the Eurostar clutching a sack of macarons, it was a wonderful experience which couldn't have been better timed with the start of our new RDA group. (I'm not kidding, we had a launch event twelve hours before we left.) Congratulations and the biggest merci beaucoup to the riders, coaches and grooms who gave us the most inspiring entertainment. Thank you also to my six camarades who were so wonderful to share it all with: from the big dreams to the big cheese, via all the chaos in between.* I'm not sure the same "it'll be too close not to go" excuse will apply to LA 2028, but I'm looking forward to it already, however I end up watching.

Aim RDA's coaching team waving their flags at Versailles

*"all the chaos in between" would need its own blog post to explain in full. It included but was not limited to three rendez-vous with the French police, a stolen giant toilet roll wrapped in a Union Jack (the police weren't involved in this one), a mis-sold river cruise and sun burn that made one unfortunate soul (me) look like a giant drumstick squashie from the waist down. But you know, all the best writers do keep some secrets back...

You can see more of my trip on Instagram