Gigolo, who had bent over backward for Isabell for ten years, received a grand goodbye at his retirement celebration. Everything that is proven to make an audience cry on such occasions was summoned at the indoor show in Stuttgart, Germany: A lightshow, then lights off, and the four-legged hero in the ring, treating his fans to one last dance in the arena, his Freestyle music played live by an orchestra. Gigolo showed that he was in great shape; he was not “limping toward retirement” in any way. Thomas Bach, later the president of the International Olympic Committee, gave a a wonderful speech about Isabell’s heroic horse, and wheelbarrows full of oats and carrots were brought in as a symbol that he would now be able to stuff himself as much as his heart pleased!
Isabell was one hundred percent at peace with herself and her horse. No long farewell tour was necessary. It was the end of November, and her journey with this chestnut, so full of character, had come to an end.
The choreography that Isabell developed for Gigolo is still the foundation of her performances today. In those days, her Freestyles included the most difficult movements at all possible within the rules. This has not changed. However, the competition has also learned something, and none of her risky combinations, which once took the international audience’s breath away, is any longer exclusively hers.
Few noticed that the first three Freestyles Isabell rode with Weihegold almost exactly followed the template for Gigolo’s Freestyle, just to new music, which she had had put together for her performance at the World Equestrian Games in Rome. However, never again has a horse been able to finish an exact copy of Gigolo’s choreography and timing. This serves to show the movement this horse was capable of, and the enormous ground coverage he produced with his outstanding gaits and impulsion.
Isabell sometimes dreams that she could start over with this horse, with the knowledge she has today. Imagine what kind of performances they would be capable of!
Back home in Rheinberg, Gigolo was ridden by a girl at the farm for a while. He had to be “trained down.” After a few months, he was brought to Mellendorf, close to Hanover, where Isabell now kept and trained her horses. She sat on the old gentleman’s back a few times after, as at first, they alternated between riding him and turning him out. After two hours of turnout the old campaigner had usually had enough and wanted to come in and work.
But eventually the day came when I brought Gigolo in from the field to ride him, and he had decided that it was time. He was calling to his friends in the field and indicated in no uncertain terms: Take me back outside to my buddies. Gigolo had finally fully retired on his own terms.
When I drove onto the property and saw him standing in the field, together with other retirees, Antony and Fabienne, I was happy. I laughed and said to myself: Just look, twenty gold medals, running around a pasture! What an era in my life. That era came to a close with the end of Gigolo’s career. It was a great feeling.
Gigolo reached the grand old age of twenty-six years. He incurred the worst injury of his life out in his retirement field, when he was about twenty-three. A group of young horses had gone through the fence at night; they probably chased him, and he fell. He was in a miserable condition the next morning and in a great deal of pain, standing only on three legs. It turned out that he had injured a nerve, and from that day until his last, he was troubled by it.
Isabell was by his side, three years later, when she had to say goodbye. She needed a long time to recover from the loss. If the former athletic “wonder horse” had not been provoked by youth, he surely would have made it to thirty.
3 THE DOCTOR
Dr. Uwe Schulten-Baumer—known by many as simply “The Doctor”—could be easily recognized from behind due to his characteristically round head and distinctive ears. On top you might find a borsalino of soft felt or, in the summer, a breathable Panama straw hat. At shows, he often wore a trench coat, with the belt pulled tightly around his classic belly and the pant legs of a suit, tailored at one of the finest addresses in Düsseldorf, peeking from underneath. On his feet: expensive, correctly polished leather shoes, with a few sandy traces—at most—from the outdoor arena. In one hand: a large umbrella or maybe a folding chair for tedious training rounds. He stood, or sat, on the side of the training arena and intently watched Isabell ride. When she finished and rode on a long rein, he might turn around, at which point one could see a flash of his silk tie from the luxury brand Hermès under his shirt collar. He collected these ties; he owned dozens. For him, correct appearance was a must. He wanted to be perceived as an accomplished gentleman and was never lacking the appropriate outfit.
Friends, said Dr. Uwe Schulten-Baumer sometimes, he did not need. He was hardly on a first-name basis with anyone.
It was foreign to him to confide in another person. This showed in the smile that he wore for the general public. At first sight this smile might almost seem distanced in a shy way. On second look, it was only distancing. Almost wary. It would seem he considered each potential interaction before it happened: Could this person engage with him in a serious conversation about horses? No, likely not. Did this person at least show the necessary respect that a gentleman like The Doctor deserved? Did this individual honor The Doctor’s social standing and his success? Did the person know his schooling of Nicole Uphoff and Rembrandt had revolutionized dressage riding? That he had been the initiator and manager of the greatest career ever known in the sport of dressage for years—that of Isabell Werth? Also unlikely.
Those who looked deep into his universal smile, recognized the danger lurking behind it. The Doctor was incredibly sensitive; he was a person who could snap for any minor reason—especially if he felt that somebody who was clearly inferior to him met him boldly at eye level…and it was worse if the person dared pat him “pal-like” on the shoulder. Or, if somebody referred to him as Isabell’s “trainer,” even though he was far more than that—mentor, patron, master. In those moments, it was best to rely on his formal politeness, and then to disappear quickly.
Life experience teaches us that those who snap quickly are also quick-tempered. That was the case with The Doctor. Rumor had it that he always traveled with two identically packed suitcases, so that he could leave immediately should the need arise. It would have been very much like him to be prepared for such an event. But the truth, in the end, was different. He may have often threatened to leave—but he always stayed.
The Doctor could be a charming man, sometimes almost coy, and he was a first-rate connoisseur of horses who could speak about the subject that had dominated his life in a wonderfully clear and precise diction, which demonstrated his respect for the horse. He was also choleric, with fits of rage that often provoked resistance in those people closest to him.
And Isabell was particularly close to him.
The Doctor held an incredible fascination for me. From the first day, I had the feeling that his usual distance, which he maintained with most people, didn’t apply to me. The chemistry between us was just right. I looked forward to riding with him every day. I soaked up everything he taught me and enjoyed my time with him immensely. At shows, in the warm-up ring, I watched all the riders at that time with wide eyes. I might bring those lessons learned in the warm-up ring home with me and try them out on Monday mornings, and The Doctor would laugh and say: “So, what is it that you learned this weekend?” You steal a third of your riding skills with your eyes, was one of his conclusions. Dr. Schulten-Baumer shaped and facilitated my entire athletic and professional career. I have since progressed, of course, but he laid the foundation. We had a great fundamental trust in each other and a deep emotional connection. I had the same passion