The Riding Accident That Nearly Ended It All
- Ripp Chazire
- Dec 27, 2025
- 8 min read
Six months ago, I woke up in a hospital with no idea what had happened to me, and the first thing I heard was,
“You May Never Walk Again.”
On June 26th, 2025. I dropped my cardiac alert service dog off at my apartment and
headed to the barn to take Radar, my semi-retired OTTB, out for a gallop. It was the first time good weather and my day off had aligned in almost 4 months, so I had unlimited time, and I definitely wasn’t going to let it go to waste. I got to the barn shortly after 9 am and headed out on the trail at about 9:30. The place I boarded at the time had access to hundreds of acres, and I was thrilled to finally get the chance to explore them, because when I moved in the previous fall, I never got the chance to get out before the weather turned. Our trail ride started uneventfully as we enjoyed views of the mountains and sent photos and videos to friends. I couldn’t have asked for nicer weather, and knowing my GPS and compass would track me, I gave Radar the reins and let him lead. But those moments of balance didn’t last long.
Now I want to preface something: due to the injuries I suffered, I have little to no recollection of the following events. I spent months finding, talking with, and establishing a timeline for what happened, and I’m aware there are some things that don’t make complete sense, but this was the information I received, and I’ll do my best to make it as easy as possible for you to follow along.
About a half hour after we left (10 am), is when we think things went sideways because my Garmin noted multiple high heart rate alerts because my heart rate jumped from its typical 120s to almost 200 bpm, and also showed a speed of around 20 mph. Then I suddenly was no longer moving, and my heart rate stopped, plummeting to zero.
I’ll say it again. My heart stopped.
For about 3 minutes, I was pulseless. No one could explain this, and I thought it was a malfunction of my watch until, after contacting Garmin and getting my medical records, I was able to confirm that it wasn’t a malfunction, and the records confirmed high levels of the protein that is present when the heart muscle gets damaged from things like a cardiac arrest. But it restarted, and for that I couldn’t be more grateful, but I wasn’t safe yet.
3 hours later
Radar is spotted by some kids in a lesson, which alerts barn staff that something is wrong, as he's soaked in sweat and without a rider, aka me. I’m now missing, so barn staff and boarders rally and start contacting emergency services, search and rescue, and begin to get help coming my way. But their response time was hindered because my GPS broke in the fall, so my last known location wasn’t sent to anyone. Their search in total from the point Radar was spotted to when I was found took just over an hour. Putting my total time down at around the 5-hour mark.
5 hours. Alone.
When they did find me, I was told it was rather anticlimactic. There were no major injuries visible; no bones sticking out, I wasn’t covered in blood or already showing bruising and swelling, and the scary part of that was that it meant my injuries were internal. I’d been lying in direct sunlight on a 90-degree day for 5 hours, unable to move. I was suffering from shock, heatstroke, blood loss, and many other injuries that were later found in the hospital.
As time has gone on, my brain has granted me access to some of the memories of being found that day. It is only bits and pieces, but here’s what I recall.
I heard people pass me multiple times before spotting me. I think this was the hardest part. I was semi-conscious, so I couldn’t call out, but I was aware that they were there.
The first person who got to me unzipped and removed my riding boots. Likely saving them from getting cut off, and for that, I’m forever grateful. (Those things are expensive)
Is when they tried to roll me before I got pain meds. I screamed and passed out. This memory is not one of my favorites and is one of the ones that has haunted me since the accident, although I am grateful for a colleague of mine who offered me some Dreamwork Gestalt sessions, which have stopped the nightmares completely. But I know this memory will still take time to heal.
The above memory is also a two-for-one deal because in that same moment of them rolling me, I realized the pain stopped at my hips. I couldn’t feel my legs.
Was the moment everything stopped as the debate about them hiking me out cut short as I went downhill, and they decided to send me on a flight for life helicopter, and as they picked up the board to do this, the last thing I heard before heatstroke won out was…
“Hopefully, she’ll make it this way. It will be a hell of a lot faster.”
When I did come around again, beyond the chaos of the hospital and the sounds of the machines being used to keep me alive, the only thing I could hear was his voice as he told me…
“You May Never Walk Again.”
But let's pause there for a second and talk about this from the big picture. Radar is my personal horse; we’ve been partners for over 8 years, and I frequently ride him outside the arena alone. Over the years, I’ve matured, and the teenage me who said “Fuck it! Let’s go gallop.” Learned a lot over those years because when you are riding alone, there are additional risks, especially if you aren’t in a controlled environment like an arena.
So what is a part of my safety plan?
I always tell someone when I’m leaving and when they should expect me back and what I'm wearing, so if something happens, I'll be easier to spot.
I always carry a fully charged phone with me, or I bring a portable charger if I think I might need it.
I always have a GPS and SOS system or device activated. I personally use a Garmin watch for both of these things, and it works amazingly. (But they can be broken)
I ensure I know where I am or know how to get back to the start. For me, this usually means either a map or a compass, or both, in case I get lost.
I don’t skip my or my horse's protective gear. Helmet, boots, or wraps, I carry a hoof pick for emergencies and hack out with a halter either on my saddle or over his bridle.
But… Murphy’s Law
Sometimes, no matter how prepared you are, how many precautions you take, things still go wrong, and that was exactly what happened. I’ve spent months trying to piece together what went wrong, deliberating with friends, coming up with crazy theories, connecting with everyone involved on the call, and we did come up with some wild theories. A few of which probably aren’t far off from what actually happened, the reality is it was a freak accident.
A catastrophic one. But a freak accident all the same.
As an equestrian, I accepted many years ago that if my health conditions don’t take my life, then horses probably will. They are easily 10x my size, and although they are a prey animal, they can kill, and their power is truly unexplainable. I mean, there is a reason we call it horsepower in cars. Getting injured when working around horses is a “when,” not “if” scenario; if you are around them long enough, no matter how safe you are. You are going to get hurt, in some way, shape, or form. For me, that was a reality I accepted, and it's one of the reasons I have a healthy level of fear around horses, because when I forget the truth that they could end my life in a moment, that’s when I get sloppy and unsafe, and they absolutely call me on it.
The fear, which I classify as healthy though, does have some deep dark roots, and this fall ripped one of those up. My deepest fear with horses is not that they’ll kill me, but that they’d injure me enough that my career would be over. I’d much rather the mercy of a quick death where my last memories are happy, than a slow one, as the barn, the horses, the sport get stripped from me. That fear is where my passion for working with disabled equestrians comes from, because no one should ever lose this sport, and helping equestrians who ever thought they’d ride again get back in the saddle means the world to me. But back to the story.
Those 5 words were the only thing I heard come out of my doctor's mouth. They echoed in my brain over and over, and then I had to ask myself,
“What if?”
And though I could “what if” myself to death, I had bigger fish to fry. I had suffered from systemic injuries, all of which compounded my ability to learn how to walk again. So those became the top priority.
My Injuries:
Severe Concussion/Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI)
Multiple facial fractures, including my skull, jaw, and occipital bone
Separated shoulder and a broken wrist
A plethora of bruised and broken ribs
Internal injuries to my liver, kidney, and spleen
An Iliac Crest pelvic fracture
Along with a broken knee & foot
All of which were compounded and compounding fractures in my L4 & L5 and fractures from T3 to T7. These caused two different spinal cord injuries, with a traumatic syrinx in my thoracic spine and a posterior cord injury in my lumbar spine.
It was long, painful, tedious, but I was committed because I believed the answer to my “what if” could be,
“What if I walk again?”
It was in this belief that I turned over the outcome. I knew the end result wasn’t up to me, but I damn sure wasn’t going to go without a fight, and I didn't. I won’t bore you with details, but during my recovery, miracles happened, and I hit every milestone. I progressed much faster than anyone thought was possible, and I took my first steps, for the second time in my life.
You can check out @the_balanced_ottb on Instagram to see more of my recovery journey, along with scrolling back on my page, @balancedhorseshealinghumans
Relearning to walk wasn't on my bingo card for the year, but neither was almost dying. My journey is not done; this accident and the damage it caused will impact me for the rest of my life. Heck, I’m 21, and I’ll likely be getting my back fused because of ongoing issues. I still struggle to wear red, which is the color I was wearing that day. I still struggle with getting on the horse. I struggle around the house doing things that were once thoughtless but now require my attention: changing clothes, putting on my shoes, standing for long periods, and so on.
But…
While the journey was hard and relearning to walk had its own joys. Nothing will beat my first ride back on my horse. For it was this ride that solidified Balanced Horses Healing Humans' mission, reminded me why I started in the first place, and it reignited the joy of that 5-year-old kid who got on her first lesson pony and never got off.
So I ask you, do you remember why you started?
Comments