Slow and Sweet

I visited with Thunder yesterday although the wind was whipping along the sides of the barn and the indoor arena.  He was such a brave boy even when he looked like he might pop through his skin at the smallest sound.  I tried to put myself between him and everything he thought was scary, and I could feel his body relax and his nose on my arm in thanks.  "I won't let it get you, Big Top," I'd say, and he'd *nuzzle nuzzle nuzzle* in reply.  Such a sweet boy.

In the arena under saddle, we only worked at a walk (it's my opinion that when you're unsure how your horse will react, the last thing you want to do is make him go faster), but I got my money's worth in terms of a beautiful, collected, and focused ride.  Using a constant leg pressure on one side, then the other, I pushed his barrel side to side in a nice walk.  I blocked his urge to trot with my other leg as I kept the tempo for both of us.  When he jumped at a sound, my leg was there to stop him from moving laterally, my other leg was there to say, "I'm still in between you and the Scaries.  If whatever it is wants you, it will have to go through me first!"  I loved how when he'd jump, it only took him a split second to sigh and regain his composure; it was a beautiful feeling to really feel him say, "Ok, I trust you," and keep working.

We did patterns, we did circles, leg yields, everything I could think of at the walk.  He did it all.  He did it without tugging on my hands, without rushing, or falling behind.  I could hear him chomping and licking the bit as we worked; he literally had foam around his mouth and dribbling down his chin from concentrating so hard on the bit, even though my hands were soft and my reins practically looping down.  He walked by the tractor without a second glance.  He was a sweet, sweet boy from start until finish.  He made my day!

Today, I'm working more on me, and what I can do to help him be comfortable and focused each and every time.  I'm studying conformation, anatomy, and how my body as a rider affects the horse I ride; I want to make myself a better rider, as he is working so hard to be a better mount.  I want him to love me as much as I love him; to take as much pride in how far we've come together as I do.  I want him to always enjoy our times together whether we ride for minutes or hours.

I think that's a good goal to have.

The Good and the Bad

Yesterday was a good day: I visited Thunder and had a great ride.  I also met up with some old friends and met some new ones in the area's horse industry.  Today, not as much: the non-profit organization I work with lost a favorite mare from our therapy program.  That's not to say that the whole day was awful, but I think we all can agree that one event can turn around an entire day.  When working with horses, it seems like heartbreak or elation can happen nearly at random.

Starting with my ride on Thunder is a discussion of elation.  At the walk, Thunder kept his head focused and on the bit.  He bent in the corners and used his back evenly on the straight.  At the trot, he started off rushing through my breath and slow posting.  After working on his transitions between walk and trot for a little while, he slowed down and paid attention for the next command.  We extended the trot on the long sides and moved into a slow, seated trot on the short sides.  He listened beautifully.  When we picked up a serpentine pattern at the trot, he rushed on the straight and ducked his inside shoulder down into the turn, so I stretched the pattern out (making only three  times across instead of four or five), and even walked him through the pattern in collection once each way.  From there, he had it perfectly together.

After spending a few years not being regularly worked, Thunder has lost some of his fitness, and it really shows at the canter.  He throws his body rather than carrying it, rushing around, and he dips in the turns like a motorcycle.  It's especially pronounced on the left lead.  In order to try to get him to practice cantering while keeping himself together, we've done a lot of transition work there, too.  These transitions aren't entirely smooth, as Thunder is a clear case of "once at the canter, he wants to stay in motion," but they are becoming smoother and more collected.  I couldn't be happier with the boy.

The loss of Sweetie (the mare I told you about), on the other hand, is a discussion of heartbreak.  She was very old and arthritic, but she was certainly a "sweetie" and a barn favorite.  She will be missed by everyone who got the chance to work with her, volunteers and clients alike.  On Tuesday night I saw her as I did chores and pet her soft nose for the last time.  I'll really miss her a lot.

It's amazing how many ups and downs can come by within a week with horses, but to me, any time with horses is better than any time without.  As much as I'll miss Sweetie, there is still much work to be done towards becoming a better horsewoman for the rest of the herd on earth.  I have to keep practicing, keep thinking and focusing, and keep studying what I can to create the best equine relationships possible.

We Are Only as Good as Our Training

We all have experienced that moment right before something bad happens when our bodies seem to take on minds of their own and our minds can only repeat, "Here it comes!  Look out!  Look out!  Here it comes!"  I've experienced that feeling a few times in my life, but most recently yesterday during my lesson.  This is the story of how I almost fell off; of how it was training and not instinct that kept me in the saddle.

I started working with a new horse in my lesson yesterday.  He's big, he's beautiful, he's in really good shape; very brave and so honest and responsive that he's a "tattletale" when you make a wrong move.  He's a phenomenal horse.  As I rode, I noticed his big rangy stride at the walk, and his very springy and ground-covering trot.

The thing I noticed most, however, was my lack of stability in the saddle.  My balance was pretty off from the beginning.  My arms and hands weren't very quiet on the reins and my legs were swinging.  I was having a hard time keeping myself sitting upright and my leg in the right position at the same time; my hip angle was pretty closed, even at the walk/trot.  When we picked up the canter, it started out well, but I lost my balance and tipped over his right shoulder.

It's hard to put your center of gravity back where it belongs when you're riding a moving horse.  I remember feeling very stuck.  I remember feeling that a fall was completely inevitable.  The only thing my mind could tell me was, "You're going to fall!  Here it comes!  Look out!"  I winced, I struggled, and then I heard my trainer's voice as she repeated to me, "Sit back.  Sit up and sit back."

Wouldn't you know it?  I tried to do as she said, and I succeeded.  Crisis averted.  When my instinct panicked, my trainer knew what to do, and I fixed my situation if I listened and tried.  That's not to say that all scary situations in riding can be resolved by staying calm and "sitting back;" some situations happen in ways that can't be fixed while others happen so fast there's no time to think between the saddle and the ground.  That said, it certainly doesn't hurt to stay calm if you can.

This is why we have trainers: they are there to correct us, teach us, and to create the voices in our head that tell us what to do when situations go past our control.  Any lifeguard, EMT, doctor or firefighter can tell you that the reason they can keep calm and help someone in life-or-death situations is entirely due to their training.  It's the process of learning what to do so that you know what to do when you would otherwise freak out.  We've all had moments when we've lost control; in order to regain control, first we have to learn how.

Photo credit:  www.pasofinoniagara.com

O Consistency, Where Art Thou?!

Actually, I mean a few things by that, but it all boils down to one major problem: no consistency.  Not in my riding schedule, or my fitness schedule, my writing schedule (hellooo, when did I write my last blog post?!), or just my life in general.  This makes for a sometimes OK, sometimes not very good rider.  As I posted to my Facebook Page a few weeks ago, Aristotle says that, "We are what we repeatedly do.  Excellence, therefore, is not an act but a habit."  I have been riding inconsistently, therefore I am an inconsistent rider.  Yuck.  That's not what we're about here at Sonata Equestrian.  We're about trying our best and being strong partners to our equines.

Let's actually start by talking about the good things, however, such as my really great lesson on Evan a few weeks ago.  I remember riding and thinking to myself that I felt like I really "had it together."  Through the walk, trot, canter; over a few jumps; it felt easy, like I didn't have to think but just do it.  My trainer said it looked good.  I was really happy with it.

Then life took a little twist.  With one of my grandparents sick, I stayed up all night with her praying that she'd get better.  I went to work the following day, leaving her in the care of my parents.  At the end of the day, I received a phone call that while she had gotten better throughout the day, my grandfather on the other side had suddenly passed away.  With all of the arrangements and family visiting, my schedule didn't allow much time to ride-- I even had to cancel my chore night and a lesson the next week.

I went out and rode Thunder on that Friday, but he knew something was wrong and wasn't about to let me get away with anything but a really focused ride.  I can always count on him to make me work for it.  We did a lot of walk and trot work, but he was pushy and jumpy for much of it.  When I finally poured all of my thought process into riding, he came back together, and we rode very nicely for a while before I hopped down and walked around with him, working on his ground manners.  From that point he was a nice gentleman, and I really appreciated him and his "attitude."  It's true, he made me work hard, but I think he did it a little bit because he wanted to pull me back together, too.

On Tuesday I went to another barn for chores.  This is where I volunteer to feed, turnout, and clean up after a herd of about eleven horses.  I jokingly refer to this as my "horse control:" the preventive measure I take to keep myself from running out and buying a horse of my own.  It's not very effective.  I found that I enjoy caring for the horses very much, and I like participating in their herd life and spending time with them while no one else is around.  It really gives me some peace and it offers a lot of insight into how they behave when humans are scarce.

Tuesday was the day, however, that my joints and sinuses noticed the change in the weather.  My body was very stiff, and even the joints in my hands and feet were stiff and painful.  Ibuprofen, with its anti-inflammatory properties, was how I managed through the day in an office chair at the computer and then an evening of halter buckles and pitch forks.  I had to take another dose to sleep that night.

The following day was my lesson on Evan again, and though it was not a "terrible" lesson, I was very disappointed with my position once more.  Turns out that if you take time off from practicing, your body falls "out of practice."  With my stiff lower back and hips, it was hard for me to put my leg in a proper position until I dropped my stirrup irons.  We accomplished our goals but at a longer pace than I had hoped.  After the hard work I'd previously put into stretching my legs into better positions, I was frustrated to realize how quickly they returned to their old habits.

So now I have returned to stretching my Achilles' tendons, Downward Facing Dog, and regaining suppleness in my joints.  I'm working even into my hands to keep them soft and quiet.  I'm trying hard to remember that it is not a step backward, but that it's an ongoing process of give and take between mind, body, and horse.  Most importantly, I am keeping positive and looking forward to trying my best and doing it better next time!