Take the Ball and Run with It

A few weeks ago, Denny summed up the entire personality of my horse in one short phrase, "free spirit."  He told me she was inclined to want to do things her way and I was just going to have to learn to deal with it, abandon my tendency to want to over control, and go with the flow if I wanted to ride her well.

This idea has change a lot about my riding, not perminantly (yet), but my approach has changed.  I was having a heck of a time with left shoulder in, so I let go of the left rein and, go figure, there it was.  Canter work, particularly left, has been hard because she does not enjoy feeling out of balance.  I let go of trying to force her into balance and started playing with exercises the force her to balance herself on her own terms, such as shallow serpentines.

I took that information and applied it to something my dressage trainer, Deb, told me: hold the right contact going left.  I thought to myself, do I even have right contact?  Or is what I'm holding just pressure with nothing behind it.  So, again, I left go of what I thought Was contact and asked her to come into it with a lot of exercises and a lot of encouraging outside leg.

Let go.

Set her up for making the decision herself.

Try not to be a control freak.

These are the driving ideas behind what I am trying to do with my mare.  I took a concept and ran with it.

And I'm sure it will run me into some trouble, it already has.  Suki does not always make decision I agree with.  For example, she turned 10 feet too early onto a "trail" at a dead gallop in the woods while I was trying to retrieve a stirrup.  But, I survived and she did not put a foot wrong.

Somehow, I doubt that's what Denny intended for me to do by letting her be the free spirit she is, but I can tell you he commented on how much more comfortable I seemed on her during my next lesson.

I suppose any time you go through thick forest on a horse, burying your face in the neck to avoid being cracked by a branch and shoving yourself back on by pushing off the trees she is dodging, your participating in some sort of trust building exercise.  It's like submersion therapy for the type a personality type: relax and go with it or have a Wylie-Coyote moment with a tree.

"The greatest of teachers won't hesitate"

"The greatest of teachers won't hesitate to leave you there by yourself chained to fate" - Live

Depending on who you are, what you want from a riding instructor can differ greatly.  Personally, there is even a difference in terms of teaching style between what I want from my dressage instructor and that I want from my jump instructor.  Lucky for me, I have two very different instructors that fit my very different preferred learning style for each discipline.

My dressage instructor, Deborah Dean-Smith, is well verses in working with sensitive mares.  She was also an upper level event rider before becoming a Grand Prix dressage rider.  She teachers very methodically and works very hard to make sure exercises as well as the attitude of the rider set the horse up for success.  She instructs every step of the way, whether it be to, "flex a little to the outside right...now," or "ask for just a touch more from the inside leg," and so on.  For dressage, I find it much easier to learn via exercises, incredibly direct instruction, and very specific homework.  After years of riding in group lessons for my IHSA team where it was assumed I knew how to ask for shoulder-in because I could get a lesson horse to do something that slightly more resembled the general idea of maybe the horse being on different tracks, the transition to "real dressage" has been a wonderful thing that has transpired through the help of several knowledgable instructors.  Now, I am very happy to work with Deb who somehow manages to always stay right next to me, no matter what I'm doing, and has impeccable timing to help my timing with my aids.  She is also fantastic about providing me with very specific exercises to work on that I can then easily expand upon in between lessons.  The icing on the cake has been the tone she sets for me right before I walk in the dressage ring.  What she said to me, I'll never tell... but, it made me laugh enough to relax both myself and my sensitive little mare.

I have been working with Denny Emerson to hone Suki and my jumping.  He is a vocal advocate of starting young horses off slowly and correctly, so he was the perfect person to go to when I was transitioning Suki from my back burner project horse to my main competition horse.  His enthusiasm for the OTTB and "it takes time" is one of the things that inspired my essay for the Area 1 Scholarship I won this year, the results of which will be the subject of a blog post next month.  However, this is not the only reason I have been jumping with Denny.  The most important reason I jump with Denny is the way he teaches works very well for me.  He teach broad concepts and then expects you to figure out how to apply those concepts to the exercises he has you go through.  The instruction is not usually as direct as "KICK NOW" (though it can be), but tends to be more on the Socratic side of the spectrum, "what did you think of that jump?  Did you feel that?  What could you do better?" with a good mix of, "what on EARTH were you thinking?!" which is what I want when I'm jumping.  I like to think of myself as a reflective person, someone who tends to analyze (and maybe, sometimes, overanalyze) aspects of a ride to improve up what I'm doing for the future.  With the focus being on discussing the physical concepts behind what I am expected to do, I have an easier time doing.  That, and a swift, appropriately timed kick in the ass occasionally never hurt anyone.

Both my instructors, however, approach my horse similarly.  They respect her as a sensitive, athletic horse that, sometimes, requires just sitting, waiting out, and abandoning a little bit of my inner control freak.  Making the effort to understand my horse as an individual is the most important criteria I have for anyone I train with.

usually, only the embarrassed are the ones that remember that moment

Today probably goes down as one of the worst lessons I have ever had.  Take your pick as to why: being mortified by crying out of frustration, my not stopping horse throwing on the brakes at cross rails, or my back refusing to stop seizing.  The last bit started when I tried to clean my house earlier and my husband told me I should not try to ride.  Lesson learned: don't clean my house (and maybe listen to my husband, but only maybe).

It highlights something the atomic mare has been forcing me to do lately: keep everything in perspective.  I found out three weeks ago If she doesn't jump for a month, she starts making a to-do about jumping again.  So it is back to square one, though going forward does not take as long.  Her flat work has taken more patience that I knew I had and trusting the trainer I started working with this past spring, even when I was totally giving up hope.  I am eternally grateful that asking for the left lead now results in the lead I want, sometimes, rather than running sideways at Mach 10 or kicking out hard enough that I see feet flying next to my head (still can't figure out how that works).  Staying in the game has required a lot of reflection on the three steps forward, two steps back phenomena... Remember, this means you still get some where, just not as fast as you think you ought to.

Where you think you ought to be, now that's a funny thing in itself.  What is that really based on?  Erroneously, I base my thoughts on everyone around me.  I see people the same age as I am doing things faster with horses than I do and go the places I dream I go.  But, basing my ought to-s on that is a mistake.  It does not take into account all the other factors or what they do to achieve them and what personal goals I have already accomplished.  Comparing yourself to others is not worth while, especially when you may not even be aiming for the same goals or have the same obsticles to clear on the way.  Hell, some of their accomplishments may come at a price you wouldn't be willing to pay.

Here are some things I have always wanted... And I mean little girl dreams:

- have my own farm

- get a track horse and retrain it (I started applying for the TRF adoptable horses as soon as I moved to MD at 14 and based a spreadsheet analysis of why I should own a horse versus lease on buying a track horse, which was presented as part of a larger plea to my parents)

- compete at Fair Hill on a horse I found and built up from scratch

Here is how far those dreams have come:

- I own 23.5 acres in horse country and my husband is building a run-in shed.

- I have two OTTBs I found myself and sold a third a while ago

- well, once we get to BN, who knows ;)

Guess I'm not doing so badly.

Last spring, I could not canter without the atomic mare exploding nor could I go near a cross rail outside without massive drama.  Rails on the ground one day sent her broncing badly enough we almost jumped out onto the road.  So, today may be on my current top ten list of terrible rides, but I can't remember some of the former list makers, so they can't matter that much in the big scheme of things.  

help me help you

I'm writing this while waiting for riders to come through the water and, depending on their division, jump the fence afterward.  The walkie-talkie lets me know when a rider is headed my way.  Behind me a brook runs.  The air is dense with mosquitos and I am coated in chemicals I'd rather not think about.  Since it's a schooling show, I have my rubber boats on and have led two eliminated elementary riders through my obsticle.  You might wonder why on earth I would want to spend my time fending off bugs and carefully watching a fence.  It's two fold.  One, watching people jump is very educational.  You can see what works and what doesn't.  You can learn to see and hear a good canter as well as a distance.  I have, for the most part, learned to see trouble from further out than the rider probably notices (I have also been that rider, taken by surprise, on several occasions).  I also sit here because someone has and will sit here and elsewhere for me.

Several course walkers have thanked me for volunteering.  My response is, "you're welcome," but, inside my head there exists a shpeal.

Please, walking rider, volunteer so there is someone sitting out there when I go out.  If you do, thank you.  If you haven't yet, what is holding you up?  I've boarded at two different barns that hold events and have watched them scramble for judges.  I've judged three or four fences at a time.  This leads me to believe there are many riders out there that have not spent their day sitting, watching, waiting, and taking the brunt of rider frustrations.  What are you waiting for?

I ask you, people who thank me, thank me by scheduling in not only those competitions you plan to ride in, but those you plan to volunteer at.  If your horse goes lame and you have to scratch, go anyway.  Professionals, i know you can't always volunteer, send your non-competing clients in for you.  It is important to keep your profession going.  I know there are professionals that do this.  

Organizers need you.  They need you not just to jump judge, but to scribe, ring steward, and run for rails.  They may even need you to help set up the day before (before 3, of course).  So, get out there.  The jumps don't set themselves and the scores can't be posted online if no one is out there judging.

Forgetting How Green Green Is

Yesterday, I took my green OTTB to Denny's to get my first hop-n-plop lesson with him.  I had previously hopped him over a xrail, both in hand and under saddle, and he had visited Denny's, in hand, once before.  Recently, I've been toying with the idea of cantering as I has assumed walk/trot was going well enough, so I focused more work on longeing with side reins to get the canter.  Yes, this horse is quite green.  He was purchased from a trainer at Suffolk as a two-year old and I turned him out for a year or so because his sheer size (16.2h at purchase) and awkward movement on anything but a straight line suggested waiting out the overgrown puppy stage was beneficial to all involved.  And it did, he grew into his legs as a four year old.  But, still...

Green.

He has hacked out some and had negotiated the fake ditch as well as the real water at Huntington, so he is at least willing to give various things a go.  So off to Denny's we went.

Longed, mounted, and started walking around.  Everything was going fairly well for a first excursion until the horse we were riding with started cantering.  Enter ants-in-pants horse.  Also, I did not quite realize how powerful, short backed 17h of horse could feel when balled up.  Back to longeing.  Denny, being put-in-the-time-with-young-horses guy he is, sent the other horse around our longe circle, keeping him far enough away to be safe and had him keep coming close enough to be part of desensitizing Salt.

This is when I realized I was spoiled by the first OTTB I pulled from the track myself, Suki.  She never cared about horses running behind her or around her.  We were over taken on our first XC course and while I saw my life flash before my eyes, she saw no reason to hurry.  I was spoiled.

Green is green.

So, I got back on after Denny returned from taking the other horse on a XC school (reasons I love riding with him: I can trust he won't push for my youngsters to go into an unsafe situation).  Salt was pretty good, reasonable about the next horse to join us.  On the other hand, I do not need to treat my youngsters like they are made of glass.  This is usually around where I start riding badly.  Much like throwing myself up my horse's neck is not an effective driving aid, curling up into semi-fetal position on my horse does not make them more comfortable.  Riding like they know a little more than they do seems to encourage much more confidence... Just do it.

Even still, I forgot how green green is.  He was wiggly.  He is not steady.  At one point turning right because very difficult.  Then, not leaving the ring became difficult.  Funny thing, he definitely chose the "gate area" which is further from the trailer as the gate and acted as though leaving the ring closer to the trailer was not an option since we had not traversed there.  It was like an invisible fence (Denny's ring is not enclosed).  

Our homework:  find a steady eddy to hack a lot with to avoid Salt getting a bit nappy about the ring.

Which means finding a good rider to hack my other horse with me (or taking Denny up on his generous offer to let me tag along on trail rides at Tamarack).

Why?

Because green may be very green... But Suki is finally moving into more of a chartreuse hue.

What color is a well broke horse anyway?  What gradient are we on?

Getting Back Into It

The last time I can remember the jumps going up in the show ring and my riding improving I was fourteen.  Something had possessed me to enter the high jump competition at a local show having already eaten stone dust at 2'6".  Ben, my trusty steed, was a massive 17.3 h Selle Francias/QH.  What he lacked in good conformation, he had in heart.  We cantered down to that big cedar fence, my mom freaking out because I refused to gallop down to it as the other competitors did, and my horse sailed over the fence time after time.  A rub knocked us out at 4'2".

Fifteen years later, the heights I'm jumping aren't glamorous and my horse is a 16h OTTB I picked out and rebacked myself.  But, I don't think I could be having more fun.  I went to Tamarack for the jumper show on the 31st.  Suki was a good egg at 20".  She was a better egg at 2'.  She was better than I could have hope for at 2'3".  A few people were surprised I entered her at 2'3" in the end.  I think the quote was, "I know you said that you were going to, but I wasn't sure if you actually were."  But, I did.  I did because, for the first time I can remember in a long time, when the jumps got a little better, everything got a little better.

When I let my mind clear, and somehow when I'm on her it actually does, I get a little bit hypnotized by that feeling of 3-2-1-jump you get when it all comes together.  This is the wonder of having a horse that jumps like she has crosshairs, of a horse that sight sees a bit around the ring, yet isn't fazed by the shock of "suddenly" facing a jump.  If Suki were a human team mate, she'd probably have been happy I finally gave up and drank the Kool-aid.

Speaking of that Kool-aid, I wandered by Denny's today and I watched a XC school.*  He was joking with an older male rider about how he, the rider, had gone to type-a rehab.  Suki is my type-A rehab.  Cause, g-ddamn it, she's going to jump the jump and if I want her to jump it nicely I need to relax. And relax is the one thing you can't do on command unless you make a habit of it.  The only way to make something a habit is to repeat it over and over again.  I guess I'll just have to jump my horse.  Darn.

*This to could happen to you, if you're willing to give up whatever world it is you understand, move to VT, and pick a brand new career so you can stay like I did.  I just hope you like your winter to potentially go from October until May with some odd extra season called "mud season" crammed in there.

Cut Yourself Some Slack

The other day, having heard my grumbling about my poor performance during a dressage test, a good friend of mine asked me how many events had Suki been to...

"Four"

...

"in the past three years."

...

"and she is only six."

Throw on top of that the last test I put in was in 2011 on a horse I had been riding and heavily competing for five years.

This would be an instance when I ought to cut myself some slack.  Generally, I err on the slide of being a little too understanding of my horses... but me?  No slack what so ever.

I am my own worst enemy and it gets a little bit exhausting after a while.

Schooling on the flat can be a mental work out.  Not just all the little bits of adjusting, deciding when to try something new and what exercise will set a horse up perfectly for what I wan;, but, not becoming so frustrated with the gap between what I am physically doing and what I know I should be doing that I start in on internally berating myself.  For example, my left hand ends up sitting down and locked.  I'm trying like crazy to pick both my hands up more.  I watch videos and the trainer at Huntington, Deb Dean-Smith, trying to imagine what it feels like to ride that way.  Whenever my left ring finger hits my saddle because it's too low it takes everything, and I mean everything, to not scream at myself.

Or when I can't get the left lead on my notorious to pick up the left lead on mare, I have to choke down the thoughts such as, "why do you bother riding at all, obviously, you're no good at it, you still have this damn problem" (though I am making a lot of headway: tonight we nailed it first try).

All this negative self talk is horridly counter productive.  Conditioning myself to not produce these thoughts is really difficult.  I am have found putting what I'm frustrated with in perspective really helpful.

For example, frustrations with Suki's flat work can be put in the following context: she did nothing but foxhunt her 5th year and has not been doing "serious" flat work for all that long: since February, after having almost five months off.

Prior to that, whoah, go, and a vague notion of moving leg into hand was all she had.

This is slack I am allowed to give myself.  Enough to accept where I am, but not so much I am satisfied with stagnation.  Much like fat shaming does not lead to weight loss, ripping myself a new one whenever things don't go well wont motivate improvement.

It's also why I find the most peace working with really green horses.  It's based on building expectations and allowing plenty of slack with new things.  There are no expectations to start.  Then I put down some very basic boundaries.  We build from there.  Tonight, I worked with a youngster just starting to longe.  He was allowed to figure out "walk on" was different from "yield your haunches."  He was cut no slack on "whoah."  This is something I can expect him to know at this point based on where we are at in the sequence I use.

Now, I just need to figure out how to scaffold my expectations of myself.  It's so easy when it comes to the horses.  I wasn't mad at the mare when she pulled an Idontwanna moment at the water at HPF until we got the big E and she stepped right in.  How do I put less energy into beating myself up over the improper placement of my right seat bone, for example, and more into fixing it all from the bottom up?