04/23/2026
used to trim a horse in five minutes.
Now it takes me over an hour.
Same hands. Same knowledge. Different body.
Every minute of it hurts. Muscles shake, cramp, give out. Sometimes I’m done for the whole day after. But the work still has to get done—because the horses don’t get a pass, and neither do I.
Horses need trimming every 4–6 weeks. There’s no skipping it, and no outsourcing it for me. So I do it—slow, messy, and costing more than people can see.
You’ll notice my dog checking in on me—my service dog in training. Even he knows this isn’t easy.
Most people know me as a paramedic. What they don’t see is the life before that—the kid who went to horseshoeing school in 1996, and the people who changed everything.
I traded one backbreaking job for another. Turns out, I still showed up.
This isn’t about doing it like I used to. That version of me is gone.
This is about refusing to quit on the version I still am.
Because if I stop moving, I lose more than strength—I lose ground I may never get back.
So yeah… it’s slower. It’s uglier. It costs me.
But I’m still doing it.
