Decisions, Decisions

Suki Free Jumping 4' Winter 2014
Working toward a solid foundation with flexibility

IIt seems sort of strange to be creating a rough outline of my season when I have been recuperating from hand surgery for the past four weeks.  In other words, I have not ridden since February, per order of my surgeon.  And yes, I listened, if for no other reason than I didn’t want to have surgery a second time if the screws snapped before the bone fused. 

Anyway, here I am, finally able to type without some ridiculous brace on my hand, and I am doing what any good eventer does… dreaming of the first Opening Day of my season!

Which, retrospectively, might actually be the second opening day of my season.  I have been fixated on Suki’s recognized début, which I hope to have at GMHA’s June event; this assumes, 1. we are ready, and 2. we get in.  The first opening day will more likely be Hitching Post’s Schooling Horse Trials.  This is all a big change from the 15–mile Mud Ride I wanted to start the season off with, that is, until I realized I wouldn’t be reevaluated to ride until 11 days before.  

Then, there is where to go after that!  For me, that depends a lot on how GMHA goes.  I have dreams of where my season will go; but, they depend a on how things start out.  Eventing a young horse must be done carefully, building success upon success.  It is best to build in room for error and time for reevaluation; considering what is done now builds a base for seasons to come.  So, I do not know what I will do after GMHA.  I have my eye on the entire season, mixing in some schooling events, working with my trainers, and trying to move up to Novice at some point.  What I do know about the season is that it is subject to change and no decision is final, at least not until we commit to a fence.

...You Get What You Need

The fantastic group of friends and family Ben (laying down) and I had in our wedding party.  

"Life is a collaboration, we don't do it alone." - Tim Gunn

A lot of my life I have spent in my own head.  It's just the sort of person I am--hyperanalytical, a perfectionist and perhaps a little bit self conscious.  The last two years, particularly the last year, have blown all of that out of the water.  And while this entry has been sitting, half written, for some time, it seems a particularly relevant topic given my current state.  I am crashed out on my couch, reading, with a cryo cuff wrapped around my finger.  Two freshly placed screws are holding most of a knuckle together, and I am happy for the ice cold water dampening the throbbing.  Needless to say, with two fragile screws in my hand post-surgery, I am not supposed to go near any horses.  

Even two years ago, had I been in this position, I would have had no idea what to do.  Part of an existence buried in my own head is a difficulty accepting that other people want anything to do with me beyond passing interactions.  When I read Denny Emerson's How Good Riders Get Good and hit the part about support groups, my first thought was, "shit, I don't have that...Maybe, maybe, I can do without that," because the thought of both putting myself out there maybe asking for help, and perhaps accepting help if any one was crazy enough to offer it, made me nauseous.

So much has happened between then and now to challenge and change how I interact with other people. First of all, moving to Vermont and living with a Vermonter has been a conflict with how I was raised; my family being obsessed with "what is acceptable," and how my new family did things. Ben's friends and family like to just show up and hang out because they wanted to see him or us. And as strange as this may seem, it totally took me aback and overwhelmed me.  Then, when Ben and I had some troubles with our housing situation and neighbors gave us a place to put the horses while trying to find a new home, it became clear there are people willing to help just because they can.  I appreciate it a lot more now and have accepted that people care without ulterior motives and might just want to be around me.  It sounds silly, but that has been hard for me.  

Last year, I bought a house and got married.  The hope was to have the wedding at the house. However, when you have property divided up by two streams and a pond with a wedding date inconveniently set after two moths of rain, it starts to look more like you'll be inviting people to go mudding rather than to a wedding.  So, Ann Kitchel at Huntington Farm, where I was (am) boarding, convinced me to get married at the farm.  I am very grateful for her generosity!  Between that and Denny forgiving me for spacing entirely about what day my lesson was on the week of my wedding, I was starting to realize that some folks just wanted to help me because... just because.  

And, it is important to note somewhere in here, even the support you receive that isn't directly related to horses,counts as support in equine pursuits.  While things like my mother-in-law hosting an awesome rehearsal dinner may seem unrelated to the horses, Ben's family's acceptance when I'm late because I was wrapping a hoof for someone else is more than I could ask.  It was also awesome to have so many horse people come help me celebrate.  One long term horse friend even flew in from California to be my bridesmaid, after I had done the same for her the year before.

Beyond accepting that people genuinely want to help me as much as I want to help them, these past few years I have been making horse friends in the area.  Somewhere along the line I abandoned hope on trying to have many non-horse friends (with a few exceptions).  It's not to bash non-horse folks, but after a particularly rough blow out with a long non-horse friend several years ago that ended with something along the lines of "no matter what, you always end up putting the barn first," something I didn't see the issue with, and I gave up.  And, being fairly introverted, this friends thing is hard.  However, circumstances have led me to meeting some amazing people in the area.  They are people I enjoy being around in the barn, without competitive pressure (a big one for me) and I can go grab a beer or text when something awesome (or awful, or silly) just happened.  Heck, I'm waiting for one now to send me the "he's on his way" text so I can see my new pseudo-nephew.  

The last major support related change I have made in the past few years: admitting when I need help.  This became a huge mountain for me, one that I climbed when deciding to resign as a high school teacher (huge for me because, well, I had to admit it wasn't a role I was ready for and I was overfaced).  I have a huge fear of failure and am petrified I will be judged as not good enough if I ask for help.  The summer before, after a mentally taxing lesson, Denny pointed out to me that no one else cares if I make a mistake.  And, like so many things he says, he moved on while I chewed on it.  He was right.  For a million reasons, I needed help when I decided to revisit pursuing horses, recovering from my job as a classroom teacher (seriously, thank your kids teachers... it takes so much more than you know), and revamping my life.  And, for once, I asked for that help. The people around me supported my decision.  My husband was relieved to help get the woman he married back, a new friend who had gone through a similar experience lent her support, and many others lent an ear.  Then, I found an awesome job and those employers have been amazing, even going out of there way to make sure I am taken care of while recuperating from my injury.

Full circle back to being injured.  I don't know what I would have done with my horses a few years ago in this predicament.  Now, I have people in my life I can trust to help.  I'll admit, I was nervous to ask for that help.  But, I couldn't be happier knowing what gentle hands my big gelding is in and what an understanding rider the atomic mare has working her.  I am also completely blown away by the help I have gotten from the community, right down to the persistent woman who made sure I saw an orthopedist (yes, I may have otherwise just let the mess I made of my hand stay, well, a mess... I am stubborn) and sat by my side as I zonked out and came-to from surgery.  

Support for riding comes in so many forms, some of it seemingly unrelated at first.  Everything is connected however, and without being mutually supported as well as supporting of others, life is a treacherous journey not lived to it's fullest.

PostScript: 
I also cannot emphasize enough how lucky I am to have an incredibly supportive husband I have. He helps me work toward my dreams and I try to help him with his.  He is the keystone to my support system.

My parents have also always been supportive, one way or another, whether they understand why I'd rather ride and live in the middle of no where or not.  Thankfully, they have recently come to grips with their stubborn child's career choice.

What's the Rush?

Schooling gymnastics on Suki with Denny
(Photo: May)

Fact 1: Most of us have ridden a horse that rushes fences.

Fact 2: Trotting fences is one of the primary exercises used to torture riders, second only to sitting trot, no stirrups, on the bounciest horse in the barn.

Unavoidable fact that we all try to ignore because of the first two unavoidable truths: trotting fences on a rushing horse, on a loose rein, until the horse jumps consistently from a relaxed trot without catapulting or bolting afterwards is the best way to condition a horse to not rush.  This is something you probably already know, and if you don’t already know it, you do now and have no excuse for ignorance.

Now, I am a rider that has a strong desire to know why something fixes a problem so that I can own it and tinker with it.*  So, why do horses rush?  Anxiety.  Horses that are anxious about jumping have two primary responses at their disposal, stopping or rushing, with variations there of.  Rushing can occur to the fence or bolting after fences.  Stopping, when it really comes down to it, tends to be followed by a horse trying to "get out of Dodge" or shutting down, using the tried and true, "if I don't acknowledge it, it isn't there" also often seen with the "reluctant loader," and for similar physiological reasons.

The primary structure in the brain responsible for anxiety is the amygdala, home of the infamous "fight or flight" response.  This center releases hormones, molecules used to signal the whole body it needs to react in each part's assigned way.  Anxiety can be a very useful response.  For a horse, it would save them from the infamous catamount lurking in the dark.  For a modern human, it is that call to action during an emergency.  However, for all parties involved in riding, the same hormones that send you from the start box like a cavalry charging to battle can cause your horse to panic, jump you right out of the tack, and land bolting across the field… causing a whole new kind of start box anxiety the next time out.

What all of this means is that as a rider, you need to condition your horse to experience commonplace situations without anxiety.  This requires a lot of patience and repetition.  In terms of rushing fences, this means the tried and true hop–and–plop exercise, repeated until a horse’s automatic response to approaching a fence is “oh, I need to get from here to there, no big deal, no rush” rather than “ahhhh, if I get it done it’s over, then maybe my rider will quit asking me to do this scary thing.”  The anxiety can be further heightened by a rider that clamps up approaching a fence, nit picks, holds, or catches a horse in the mouth over the fence.

So, don’t do that.

And how do you, dear rider, just not do that?  There are many ways, most of which require… you guessed it… practice.  Now, we have two parties that both need to practice the same thing.  How?  Set all your fences to small heights, it’s okay, no one is judging (and if they are, they aren’t worth having around).  Acquire a neck strap, a belt or stirrup leather will do, you don’t need to use it over every fence, but they are very useful to have just in case.  Now, pick up a trot and keep your hands at the very start of where the rubber of the reins meets the leather.  Yes, I mean loop your reins.  No matter what.  And yes, it might make you feel completely crazy, out of control, and get that little bit of anxiety going in your own stomach.  You’ll thank me.

If you have to, start trotting poles on the ground until the rhythm does not change.  How do you keep it from changing?  Think about the rise and fall in the trot as sinking and gently bumping up.  Let your hips loosen, your shoulder blades slight down your back, and, for goodness sake, let all the tension in your elbows go.  When you’re ready, continue onto small fences.  Go until you horse can reliably trot to a fence, hop over it, and depart in a quiet, relaxed manner.  If your horse takes a mega–leap over an itty, bitty fence, he earns himself several more jumps. 

Amazingly enough, I found that the more I did this, the more I was conditioning myself to relax in front of fences.**  Why?  Humans are animals, when you get right down to it, and do not always have logical response to situations.  Sometimes, your anxiety (or your horse’s anxiety) level may start high for unrelated reasons and be raised by the activity at hand.  Conditioning yourself to respond to anxiety inducing situations in a relaxed manner will improve not only your riding, but if you take it a step further, your life.

For example, I have had a habit of mentally reiterating my to–do list until needing to get everything done has me so anxious that I am unable to fully focus on anything or accept changes to my plan.  This is a similar situation to a horse rushing fences to get it over with… I needed to condition myself to approach each task as its own element, do my best with it, and proceed to the next task.  It is tough, I still rush tasks, but writing my lists down, establishing reasonable time frames, and not over scheduling myself has allowed me to stop rushing.  With lessened anxiety, I am able to get more done and respond better to change, just as a calm horse can be more adjustable on course.

*  Lila Gendal wrote an article for Eventing Nation on this: Exploring the Why

**Denny prompted me to do this… over… and over… and it has subsequently occurred to me he was forcing me to relax more than my horse.

Reflections in the Snow

Recently, we had a snow storm in Vermont.  No, not that one, the one before that.  I decided to work just one more horse because the snow didn't seem to be building up *that* fast when I turned out my big guy.  On my way back into the barn, I pause for a minute, stood still, and drew in the cool air.  For a minute all I heard was the pat of flakes, the crunch of it under hooves, and the faint babble of the creak running on the far side of the barn.  Exhale.

This is something I have been finding myself doing more lately, pausing to take in where I am.  When I worked for Sue, I used to do this- pause a second to look at Mount Ascutney.  There was one tree, maybe midway up, that turned a brilliant yellow.  Or I'd watch the morning mist rise feeding breakfast, enjoying the quiet alone with the horses.  These are the moments we rush through to get to the next thing and the next.... Until?

Until what?

New Years inspires a lot of reflection.  But, in reality, life might be better lived if shorter, more frequent moments of reflection took place.  2013 was a whirl wind for me: got a (more than) full time teaching job (well, that was fall of 2012); bought a house in January; got married in July; and finished a Masters degree with a 4.0, with three extra credits earned via another program to boot.  I could have used more moments to stop and appreciate where I was, but I really just... kept... going.  Except for the occasion when I'd spy my husband on the back porch, gazing at the pond, and I would join him.  Even then, I could not quite slow down all the coulda, woulda, shoulda, in my brain.  The weight of all I needed to get done dragged behind me because I let it hold me down.

And now there is 2014, the Year of the Horse.  I did not realize the coincidence until January 1st, but here it is.  And I am not really one for Chinese astrology, other than remembering Rats and Horses can have a tendency to head butt.  I am a Rat.  My mom is a Horse.  And this is the year, in all the jumble of deciding to resign from my teaching position and finishing my Masters, she finally came to the conclusion I came to when I first moved to Vermont: horses are part of who I am, an unavoidable passion of mine.  A friend of mine once noted that my internal monologue was pretty much just, "pony pony pony pony..." And they aren't far off.  I wake up and check out OTTBs that have been sent to me, I wander way too frequently to sales pages just to stare at photos and pedigrees.  If I'm not riding, I'm trying to figure out when I can... 

So, here I am, jumping off a large cliff, and trying to make horses work.  That is my 2014: horses, and whatever other jobs I need to piece together to make it (if anyone needs a fun cake made, I may be your gal).  With any luck, I can tutor as well.  I do like educating, both animals and people, as all parties involved learn something, myself included.

I feel a little crazy; but, no matter what I do, it comes back the hopes of a young me, living in Boston, imagining a life out west with my very own cow pony and the teenager, fascinated by the long-format, staring at TRF listings and dreaming Fair Hill dreams.

Little does Suki know, I may be looking for a way to signed her up for working cows.

The Art of Negotiation

Occasionally, someone jokingly asserts that working with animals is easier than people because they don't talk back.  This statement always makes me smirk, because it reflects quite a bit on the person talking.  Which is probably how they deal with their animals, by talking, not listening.  

Nothing drives this point home more than riding mares.  Once upon a time, not so long ago, I owned a little buckskin QH who enjoyed jumping quite a bit and was under the impression dressage was created by man to torture horses.  Nothing could get her ready to go like the whistle starting a jumper round and nothing threw on her brakes like trotting down center line.  So, she spoke and I listened.  Our relationship was not entirely balanced, though better than that she had with others who tried to ride her.  It was best described as a truce by Sue Berrill.  Unfortunately, the truce as written did not leave room for negotiation after years of very firm training of the rider by the horse.  Or, rather, the point became mote as she was of retirement age before I gained the skills necessary to put alternatives on the table.*

During and after that time, I rode quite a few other horses, most geldings, and got along with the majority fairly well.  Geldings are different, there's no suprise there.  For the most part, you ask and they either listen or you ask a little louder. If they find something you do offensive, they soon forget or become dull to it and generally move forward with life.  

If I don't listen to The Atomic Mare, she informs me my ignorance is unacceptable in very clear terms.  Slowly, she tried to do what that little buckskin did so well: train me.  In some ways, she was successful.  But, much to her dismay, I grew savvy to her agenda as I was a significantly more experience rider.  And, when I was unsure about how far was fair to push, I enlisted some help to ensure I remained fair in my requests.  Slowly, but surely, I became more adept at negotiation and dancing the fine line between too much of one aid, too little of another, and what sort of acting out was valid versus an attempt to circumvent my instruction via her own version of teen drama.

One such negotiation was the warm up.  I have been struggling with various philosophies of warm up.  In my life, I have been presented two schools of thought: work into the hand right away and loopy.  I have also had horses that prefer different warm ups as well as those who are more predisposed to moving leg into hand.

I tend to prefer to loopy warm up, but I could not figure out how to convince Suki to refrain from going Mach 10 at the trot without some contact.  So contact it was.  This made her bounce between a wretch and happy for the first 20 minutes of most rides.  Finally, I gave up and decided to try a method I had seen Denny use that also reminded me of the method used to teach a dog to walk on a loose leash.  Off we went, loopy rein, in half-seat (something done every ride, even in a dressage saddle) and if she got quick, "whoah."  If she didn't respond, firm tug on one rein.  If she blew that off, halt.  If she gave me a perticularly cranky response, calmly back up.  Rinse, repeat.

After a few repetitions, one rein was enough (potentially because once upon a time she had a one rein stop at the walk).  Then, it was whoah by voice.  This allowed her to have a looser warm up and, low and behold, a happier horse when I started picking up contact.

Note: posting on the buckle in your dressage saddle, fighting the urge to pick up contact at all, and keeping "light in the irons" is a great position reminder.  Also, pulling out the old up-up-down exercise on top of it can be quite the work out while your horse doesn't suffer (versus the bribery necessary for a horse to tolerate badly sitting the trot).

* She now leads a very happy, spoiled life as a therapy horse at High Horses.  Nothing pleases the anti-dressage horse more than a life lead being ridden off the halter and children ready to treat her like a princess.  I am very grateful she is able to give back and have such a loving home.

USEA Area 1: Enabling Life Long Learning

When I opened the email congratulating me on my USEA Area 1 Scholarship, I squeed just a little bit. That February, I had moved to Strafford, VT, conveniently up the road from Denny Emerson.  My two young horses were a few months back into work after a five month hiatus, and I was grateful to be at Huntington Farm with an indoor.  Things had been progressing with Suki, my six year old OTTB mare, on the flat with the help of Deborah Dean-Smith, but starting back jumping had been, well, somewhat heart stopping for onlookers.  A line of rails on the ground had almost landed me out of the ring and onto Route 132 when Suki decided it was such a big deal to trot through that her best bronco impersonation was entirely necessary.
Clearly, I needed help.

When I applied for the USEA Area 1 Scholarship, I had to lay out how I wanted to spend the funds.  This was an easy choice for me, as my experiences with Denny Emerson in the past had been very rewarding.  I have always appreciated his desire to teach bigger concepts and his honesty.  As someone who enjoys the act of learning and discovery for its own sake, I knew that I could not only gain positive experiences from working with him, but I could learn concepts that I could apply to my other youngster and those to come.

Learning with young horses does not start when the instructor walks in the ring.  Depending on the horse, even hauling to a lesson can be a learning experience.  Lucky for me, Suki did remember how to haul, how to stand quietly to mount, and that is about where her memory stopped.  She was excited about being in a new place.  And there I was, in a ring that has always made me nervous, probably because I love to pile too much pressure on myself, trying to convince my mare there as no reason to be excited.  As Denny walked into the ring, he quickly assessed the situation.  He had me approach a tiny cross rail and Suki balled herself up and sprang over it, not exactly the picture of nonchalance.  He told me to walk and trot around while others jumped so she could get used to the atmosphere and we could play over small things at the end, but that it would not count as a lesson.  I was blown away by his generosity when he also gave me an invitation to bring her up to the farm a few times to just walk around and get used to her surroundings before having our first "real" lesson.

9" or 2'6"?
Atomic Mare isn't taking any chances.

We took Denny's advice, hauling up to the farm to hack around, and Suki was a bit calmer when we began our first lesson.  Lucky for me, it was quite a warm day so Denny emphasized using the heat to tire her out a bit.  She needed to learn to approach a jump calmly at the trot, hop over it, and calmly saunter off.  Anytime she was too excited, she "earned" more tiny fences until she was consistently casual.  That was her end of the bargain.  As an "intense" horse and rider pair, I had my end of the balance to work on.  I had to work very hard not to grab when she got quick as it accentuated her desire to get quick because of her anxiety about being trapped.  It was very hard for me to just let go.  However, by the end of the lesson, between repetition and heat, we had both knocked our level of anxiety down several pegs to end on a very positive note.


The horse I brought to the second lesson, though she looked exactly the same, behaved in an entirely different manner.  She was very relaxed, so we got to do a bit more.  After calmly hopping and plopping small fences in the ring, we introduced cross-country elements on the longe.  Though she had gone BN as a four year old, the refresher without any rider input was necessary to maintain her level of relaxation.  Denny determined she was a very sensitive horse and if I get at all tense, our collective level of intensity would leap upward.  She also was introduced to cows, which she was completely calm about.  Apparently, she had remembered that part of her experience roading hounds passed cows.  We jumped some more under saddle and ended on a very positive note.  My homework, my permanent homework, was to work on not internalizing all my worries.

Our third ride turned out to be a surprise cross country school.  Suki warmed up softly, jumping casually, and off we went with Denny on Cordi to go school cross-country.  We worked on jumping with terrain questions, something that I was not entirely comfortable with on her yet.  She has always had this momentous hind end that pushed the rest of her along with it, and I need to let go and be confident in her ability to balance herself.  Funny thing, she is much more able to balance herself without my nitpicking.  She was game to jump everything, including a cross rail in and out of the water.  I was pleased.  Denny told me my horse had given me a great wedding gift in that ride.  I suppose I should mention that this lesson was a few days before my wedding.  No one at Tamarack or at Huntington could figure out how I was riding, never mind jumping, right before my wedding.  But there I was because, quite honestly, it was the only thing I could do and feel like my head was screwed on straight.

The Flying Sausage!
(According to *someone*, my TB is "fat")

Our last scholarship enabled lesson was a group lesson with two women from Flatlands that were getting ready to go Beginner Novice at GMHA.  Suki showed up that day with her "A" game.  Denny discussed the importance of balance versus impulsion, some that is a very fine line to dance, particularly with a horse as sensitive as Suki about aids.  It is very easy to get enough impulsion with her, but sometimes hard to negotiate requests for balance without crossing the line into making her feel trapped.  We also worked on counting the rhythm for the canter, out loud, which helped me maintain a quality canter.  She is sensitive enough that the act of thinking about the canter I want with the rhythm I want, is generally enough to cause the subtle changes in my body required to get that canter, rather than over applying my aids.  We approached a set of barrels with a rail, and she approached it perfectly, jumping out of her skin over the top of it, and as I landed gasping because she damn near cracked me in the sternum, I heard Denny yelling to me, "Did you feel that?  Make her do that again!" as he ran for his camera.  And while I could not make her jump quite that big again, she was jumping miles from where she was just a few lessons before.

I did not stop riding with Denny after my scholarship ran out.  Suki has come even further since then, jumping gymnastics like a pro and channeling her intensity for good instead of drama.  And, somewhere in all of that, I have become a whole lot more comfortable riding her.  Its not so much that I have ever been uncomfortable with her antics, per say, but I have this overwhelming desire to not make a mistake that results in a complete lock up.  Denny helped me significantly with my want to be good by putting the situation in perspective: if I wanted to keep riding my mare, I needed to become the kind of rider she needed me to be.  I needed to stop trying to be so controlling and allow my horse a bit of independence.

What keeps me coming back to Denny for help with my youngsters is his demand that his students be students of riding, not in it for the quick fix or one magic exercise; but, diligent pupils that accept that "things take time."  He is so supportive of starting young horses right that he also allowed me to bring my four year old, Salt, over to school in the ring and, subsequently, was very patient when I tried to have my first lesson over fences on him.  When I say tried, I mean he was not quite ready for working around other horses, but he learned a great deal and ended up trotting boxes under saddle as well as school XC on the longe.  Next year, I hope to bring him to Denny's and continue our education.  But, until then, I will be slowly laying down the foundation for that endeavor to be successful.

I will never forget the day during Adult Camp many years ago, when I was struggling with my horse Spot, a OTTB that lived most of his life behind the vertical, and Denny told me that I really ought to keep him at BN instead of moving up.  Years later, having competed Spot Training under her tutelage, Sue Berrill told me that they were pretty sure I would not come back after getting that honest response, as many don't.  But, I did.  Why?  Because I will also never forget the story Denny told about riding being able plateaus and suddenly realizing that the one you are on now is much higher than the one you were on before.  That before you know it, you'll be a mile ahead, not by focusing on how dreadful things are now; but, by sticking it out and accepting all good things come in time, with hard work.  If you had told me during that first non-lesson lesson that my horse would be casually schooling gymnastics and jumping a novice sized oxer off a long approach when the windchill made it below freezing this fall, I would have stared at you in disbelief.  However, through the generosity of Area 1's scholarship program, the patience of a great teacher, and a lot of hard work, it happened.  I have found myself a mile further on my journey as a life long learner.

"I don't know how to do this"

"Yes, you do."

"I can't."

"Well, can you find the density of this substance?"

"Yes..."

And so the conversation goes, until the student figures out the answer and I don't actually tell them much of anything.  It usually ends with my saying, "I thought you couldn't," and walking away with a wink.

This process is one I seem to go through constantly as a high school math/science teacher.  Both these subjects seem to be wrought with a whole lot of, "I can't possibly."  So does, it seems, training young horses.

The similarity hit me when trying to teach my leggy (not allowed to be) 17h OTTB to canter on the longe in side reins.  He couldn't possibly.  He could possibly prop, throw a fit, buck, run backwards, bolt, and do a very believable impression of a Standardbred.  But not canter on a circle.

So, after dancing a futile dance, chasing, clucking, cracking the whip, ducking, weaving, and doing my best impression of waterskiing, I decide to change the game.

"Do you remember how to whoah and yield your haunches at the walk?"

Yes.

"Do you remember how to trot off and whoah, square to me, when I drop my shoulder?"

Yes.

"Can you do these things until you're head is down, you're chewing, and relaxed?"

Yes.

"Can you canter?"

Yes.

Learning new things, especially when you are young or underconfident or both, is all about building on what you know.  It is about building confidence and maintaining a positive affect while being faced with new situations.  The worried mine, the stressed mine, hopped up on adrenaline and/or cortisol, cannot learn as effectively.  It does not matter if you are a horse or a human, "I can't possibly" is not a mindset that is conducive to learning.  Set your horse (and yourself) up for "can possibly" moments by building in small steps.  It's like trying to learn math, start with pre-algebra, not Calculus.