Those who visit the horses at Isabell’s facility in Rheinberg, Germany, can look forward to ample scratches, pats, and friendly interactions. The herd is all lined up, ears pricked, next to one another in a neat and tidy barn, the superstars of the dressage world: Weihegold, the black beauty. Bella Rose, the Kate Moss of horses. The once unpredictable Satchmo, long since retired and increasingly turning into a “horse-Buddha.” Emilio, the shooting star. Belantis, Isabell’s great hope for the future, who stands in his stall like a Pegasus in the mist. They all turn a friendly face to their visitor, sniff you, and start to communicate in their individual ways. Obviously, they are just as sociable as the boss herself.
Even Don Johnson, called “Johnny,” the cocky hooligan, has a look so gentle and attentive, you would almost believe he was up to no mischief. A closer look in his stall, with its strange safety devices and rubber toys, reveals all: when this horse is overcome by the urge to play, he shreds everything around him to pieces, such as his automatic waterer, regardless of whether he hurts himself in the process. In doing so, Johnny has missed several important competitions—the 2016 Olympic Games among them. There is no piece in his stall that has not had to be replaced. Don Johnson has even managed to kick in a mirror in the indoor arena. Isabell nonchalantly waves this observation aside—yes, he is just a naughty boy. He also likes to buck every once in a while when she is in the saddle, and he has come close to throwing her in the dirt. Of course, she defends herself and puts him in his place: “Johnny, stop this nonsense!” Maybe he knows that, truth be told, Isabell enjoys being his sparring partner from time to time. Later, with a soft smile on her face, she will offer excuses: “He was only offended, as I have not given him enough attention lately.”
Isabell has dedicated herself to horses with her head and heart, body and soul. She is a person who radiates a sense of security and peace of mind, a solid groundedness, a steadfast stability. Nothing about her is aimed at trying to make an impression—for her, what counts is what happens. Her nerves seem to be made of steel, she looks out at the world with a confident glance, and she makes absolutely clear that nothing and no one can scare her. And yet, her horses, these large, sensitive animals, throw her into periods of deep doubt, time and again, and sometimes even into despair.
The public hardly knows this side of Isabell. She can be beaming and funny during interviews or at parties and receptions—and sometimes she laughs so heartily that people turn around. This is the cheerful side of her, a characteristic originating in her native Rhineland, rather than the sensitive soul that is hidden from view most of the time. When we see her competing at horse shows or on television, we see her lips pursed in concentration, we see her frowning out of sheer willpower, we see her tongue pushed below her lip, into her chin, and we can tell that every fiber of her body is geared toward maximum performance. This was the way it was when Isabell first picked up the reins at the highest level of dressage sport, and it has not changed three decades and many medals later. It sometimes even seems as if the doses of the “competition drug” she needs to consume regularly have gotten bigger and more frequent. She hungers for that adrenaline, even when it requires a sort of game of cat and mouse: If Isabell has to face the victory of a fellow competitor in a particular class, her opponent better not be so foolish as to think her luck might continue. The Isabell Empire will strike back the next day, shattering her opponent’s resistance, all the more painfully. It will seem as if she prepared the carpet and immediately pulled it out from under the other rider. This is how she recharges. This is her very personal warfare.
Isabell Werth, competition monster?
Of course, such results require a horse of superior quality and training to help her control the field, and yet, it is still never guaranteed, not even when the rider is Isabell Werth. She has gone through hard times over and over, periods when success eluded her because of a lack of top-level horses, and where, for a while, only tenacity kept her in the game. Nevertheless, in the later stages of her career, Isabell succeeded bringing several aces to the game. It is not a coincidence that she managed to sit in several top positions in the world rankings at the same time. She became the most successful rider in history following her performance at the Olympic Games in Rio de Janeiro in 2016: She has won six Olympic gold medals in twenty-four years, nine World Championship titles, and twenty European Championship titles. What is most astonishing about this is the plurality: While even the most formative figures of her sport generally ride to top-class international success with only one horse, two at the most, Isabell has qualified a total of eight horses for championships, including Olympic Games, World Equestrian Games, and European Championships. She has brought approximately thirty horses to the highest levels of the sport—a monumental achievement to which no other rider has even come close. This is most likely why, after years of fighting for respect and justifying her success, her role is slowly beginning to change: Isabell is becoming more and more a respected “Grande Dame” of dressage, one who no longer has to prove anything. Sometimes, now having advanced beyond the stages of competition that house envy and resentment, she experiences the third stage of her career—one where, during its best moments, the battle, the competition, and the proven experience are no longer at the forefront. Instead, it seems as though stars rain down on her, as during her win at the World Cup Final in Omaha in 2017. There, all of a sudden, everything seemed to be easy. She beamed on the podium and sprayed celebratory champagne instead of crying painful tears. A new Isabell! She turned the ceremony into a joyful party.
It’s moments like these where I stop and think sometimes: Have I arrived? Have I come full circle? All those challenges still waiting for me, all the young horses that I still want to bring on, my business and my family—these take up my thoughts in such a way that there is no time for sentimentalities. Most of the time, I collapse into bed exhausted at night, knowing that the next day will be just as precisely timed and organized, whether at a show, in our own arena, or at promotional events. But one thing is clear: Best of all, I like to fall asleep at home, at our farm in Rheinberg, surrounded by my family.
The podium, on horseback, in the dressage arena—this is where Isabell has belonged since the day she was born on July 21, 1969. It was the same day the first person set foot on the moon. Isabell, however, has remained grounded. She needs the place where she grew up; it mirrors her whole life, her personality, and her dreams. It is where she longs to be when she is racing along a highway somewhere. And it is, where she recharges the energy she needs for a constant and tightly regimented daily routine.
When Isabell was a child, the remoteness of her home sometimes bothered her. She had to be driven everywhere, the riding club included. Today, she is happy about the idyll it provides and feels tremendously privileged to have been raised in such comfort. There might not have been any vacations together with her parents—someone always had to stay home to take care of the animals at the farm—but when she was home, her parents where always there and always available for her, not just when she had problems.
The Werth family is down-to-earth. They’ve been farmers for generations and still live on the farm at the Winterswicker Field in Rheinberg on the Lower Rhine like happy islanders, offering each other protection and safety. Family is everything. Four generations lived at the farm at the best of times. Her grandmother, who was one hundred and two, only showed serious signs of weakness and age in her last two years. Her parents, Heinrich and Brigitte, two lively but not very tall people, give the farm every ounce of who they are. Isabell is the “boss” nowadays, with her partner Wolfgang Urban and son Frederik, and her sister Claudia (older by three years) with her family. That Isabell is now the one making the decisions does not bother her father Heinrich—a cheerful man with plenty of natural “Rhineland wit.” On the contrary.
“She is the king in our family clan,” he says proudly during tea time at Isabell’s long dining table.
When Isabell was a child, he tilled over fifty acres of land almost alone. Mother Brigitte ran the household, which was considerable. (Father Heinrich’s parents lived in the house for twenty-seven years.) Isabell’s father produced barley, oats, corn, and beets in the fields. In addition, there was livestock: dairy cows to manage, pigs to breed and