Does Horseback Riding Equal Drug Addiction?
A British Psychiatrist says ‘equasy’ is as risky as ecstacy
Navigating through the wooded trail, my horse tenses up, muscles poised for action. In a heartbeat, a deer leaps out of the surrounding brush, and my horse’s survival instincts kick in full gear. He reels, spins, and nearly bolts. With a quick pull on the reins, I turn him to face his newfound fear and manage to calm him down. It’s incidents like this that make me reassess my choice to continue riding a retired thoroughbred racehorse in my 70s. Is the thrill worth the inherent risk?
This question brings to mind the controversial ideas posited by David Nutt, a British Psychiatrist. He is the Editor of the academic Journal of Psychopharmacology. He recently published an editorial called “Equasy”. He says that horseback riding is an addiction, just like drug use. That it doesn’t receive the same judgment because of society’s complacent cultural acceptance of it. He argues that in that light there is reason to reconsider how we look at drug use.
Nutt says the way we think about the risk of illegal drugs, such as ecstasy, is distorted compared to the way we think about other dangerous things such as horse riding — or “equasy” as he calls it:
He says the injuries, including brain damage, that you can get from falling from horses is comparable to less acceptable risks. He argues that riding is in some ways an addiction too.
Nutt’s framework invites us to compare the risks of socially accepted activities, to more stigmatized ones like drug use, based on absolute numbers of associated deaths. He says in a more objective context, we might not tolerate horse riding addiction.
The point Nutt tries to make isn’t necessarily to demonize riding but to shed light on the often-inconsistent ways we perceive and evaluate risk, like drug use, in our lives.
My father, who continued to ride until he was 90, expressed a viewpoint that might seem cavalier to some, but echoes Nutt’s sentiments about risk assessment. He’d always say he’d prefer to die from a fall off a horse than confined to a bed. His perspective reminds me of Nutt’s emphasis on assessing "quality-adjusted life years lost," a public health metric, rather than merely counting deaths. In essence, both are asking us to consider the trade-offs we’re willing to make for the experiences that enrich our lives.
Of course, I’m aware of the potential consequences. A rider did, in fact, die at the same stable, in circumstances similar to what I’ve just described. It’s the reason for my concession of wearing a helmet.
Nutt might argue that this kind of informed decision-making should extend to all areas of potential risk in our lives, including the use of substances. Just as I wear protective gear to mitigate the risks of riding, informed adults should be able to make decisions about other risky behaviors, provided they understand the implications, he says.
While horse riding and drug use might share similar fatality statistics, they occupy very different cultural spaces, he says. The perception of risk is not solely about numbers but also about cultural narratives and societal judgments.
Nutt's work, though contentious, demands that we question our collective tolerance for risk and how that tolerance varies depending on the activity in question. The science should be non-judgmental, but societal attitudes often shape our individual decisions, whether we're aware of it or not, Nutt says.
So, is riding a horse at my age a rational risk? According to Nutt's framework, the answer depends not just on the potential for physical harm but also on the benefits—emotional, psychological, and physical—that the activity brings.
For me, the tactile connection with the horse, the fresh air against my skin, and the sense of liberation and yes, the thrills, all tip the scales in favor. It's a deeply personal equation, one that we all must solve for ourselves, taking into account not only the hard statistics but also the intangible elements that defy easy quantification.
The horse and I round a corner into an open field. I rise up in the stirrups, jockey-style. I urge the horse into a full gallop. As the trees stream by, we both relive moments on the racetrack, there’s definitely an adrenal high. I realize that I've made my choice. And within the broader tapestry of risks and rewards that make up a life, it feels not just acceptable but profoundly rational.
