Unblocked

April 3, 2011 2 Comments

I have a few rides under my belt since my meltdown / anxiety attack last Saturday.  I’m happy to report that after today’s rides on Atlanta and Frank, I feel like I’ve got most of my mojo back, and haven’t lost my damn mind – which I originally feared was the case.

Last Sunday, I got on Atlanta, and had a decent ride (that mare is a champ) but still wasn’t happy about it.  I didn’t want to go out to the barn that day, and I didn’t want to ride.  (In case you’re wondering, these reactions are profoundly atypical for me.)   I then went out of town for the week, and came back with a better attitude.  I wanted to get back in the saddle.

Steph loaned me Oliver yesterday, and I meant to ride both him and Atlanta.  However, two horses with some interesting lameness issues were seeing a new farrier yesterday, and I ended up spending a couple hours studying advanced hoofcare instead of riding both horses.  I ended up just riding Oliver, who, at the outset, was decidedly unenthusiastic.  He was enjoying a nap in the sun when I went out to his paddock to fetch him.

Oliver snoozing in the sun.

And when I clipped the lead shank to his halter, I was treated to the most aggrieved display of equine pathos I’ve ever seen.

Drama king.

He eventually gave up, clambered to his feet, and with no further drama we went inside and I tacked up.

However, Christy has been busy thinking about some of her students’ confidence issues (yes, I’m among that group), and how we’re riding.  I’m leaving a lot of detail out, but in my case, after looking at lots of old pictures and video, she believes that some of my issues might be from my current saddle (a Wintec Isabell on which I have large blocks) and the posture that I using when I was riding Maddie regularly last fall (longer stirrup, sitting upright and vertical) and the challenges that posture presents me when I lose fitness (such as I did early this year between being sick and traveling) or ride a horse that isn’t working at the same level Mads and I were at last fall.

She explained that the vertical posture you see at the upper levels takes a lot of strength for both horse and rider to maintain.  And lately, I’ve not been maintaining it, and have been leaning forward a few degrees – which Christy says is appropriate.  But this has been causing another problem -well, several actually.

Tipping forward, with no base of support.

In this picture, I’m trying to sit up straight.  However, a few things are conspiring against me, and really, they all start with the fact that I’ve got big thigh blocks on that saddle.  I’m curling my leg up, and my knee is hitting the block, creating a fulcrum around which you can see my whole self pivots.  And in my effort to sit up straight, I’m arching my back.  This is not a solid base of support.

Now, in this picture from last fall, when I was stronger and fitter, my leg is where it belongs – I stayed secure during this spook and it was no big deal.

Why having your leg under is so important.

However, when I ate dirt recently, it’s probably because I didn’t have a good base of support, and, as a result, I didn’t stick the spook.

Here’s a picture of me riding Jag from a couple years ago. You can see that I’m leaning slightly forward, but as Christy noted, I’m well balanced, and this is appropriate for the level I’m at. In this photo, I’m riding in an old Keiffer Lech saddle, which was slick leather and had miniscule blocks.  My lower leg is nicely hanging at the girth.

The long leg and knee blocks work when I’m working at a higher level.  At the moment, given the variety of horses I’m riding, we’re going to concentrate on redeveloping my seat.  I know I’ll emerge a better rider, so for now, what Christy says, goes.

So, on Oliver yesterday and Atlanta and Frank today, I rode sans blocks. I’m also ditching my jointed stirrups – turns out they worsen my stability rather than enhancing it. I’m focusing on supporting myself with my legs, and keeping my lower leg under me.

Christy has a new form of torture – posting, but not returning to a half-seat, not sitting.   Apparently my leg is dead quiet when I do this.  I personally think that is because all the blood in my body was racing to help relieve my screaming glutes during this exercise, leaving my lower extremities lifeless and unable to move.  Either way, the boss in the middle of the ring seems to be happy with it so we’ll continue.

This weekend’s rides were focused on putting these pieces back together.  No fancy riding was to be seen, but I was smiling when I dismounted each time, and at the moment, that’s the best outcome!

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Inexplicable

March 27, 2011 5 Comments

A few days ago, after my successful execution of my first emergency dismount, I was feeling pretty happy with myself, and added that skill to my little toolbox.   But I guess my spill off Mads a couple weeks ago, coupled with Chester’s bolt, left me more shaken in the confidence department than I originally guessed.

I scampered out to the barn on Saturday, eager to ride Stephanie’s horse, Oliver, and for a make up lesson with Christy on Atlanta.  And I actually had my best ride to date on Oliver, getting more relaxation, stretching and bending from him than I’ve achieved in previous rides.   Mentally, I was OK while riding Oliver – maybe a little nervous but really, nothing too bad.

After putting Oliver away, I fetched Atlanta, tacked up, and joined Christy in the arena.  I got on Atlanta, who is a consummate pro — and started to melt down.

I don’t know why, I let things get to me on Saturday.  I heard the wind, I was tense because someone had let some dogs into the barn and they were making a racket — all little, routine things that frankly would have set Maddie off, but didn’t phase the extremely experienced and well-educated mare underneath me.

The fact that Atlanta was ignoring all of these little nuisances was of precious little comfort to me.  As I walked Atlanta on a long rein, with Christy along side me on Liam, I stopped chit-chatting as I felt my chest tightening and my heart rate increasing.

What was going on?

I tried to breathe, but could feel myself getting more and more upset.  Now I was feeling sick, now I wasn’t really breathing, now there were tears in my eyes.   Christy asked me what was wrong, and when I didn’t respond verbally she knew something was up.

Meanwhile, Atlanta plodded along, pretty much on the buckle and totally unconcerned.

Just to add fuel to the fire, I started getting upset with myself for getting upset.  My nerves were jangling, I was on red alert, noticing every little distraction and noise.  I felt like I had finely tuned, extra-sensory perception because I was hearing every little sound – and, inexplicably, everything was getting to me in a way I have never experienced.  As we continued plodding around the arena, I became totally consumed with fear. I had a huge lump in my throat, my chest was constricted and I was taking choking breaths and sobbing.

Atlanta and Liam continued to plod along, being good sports despite probably being bored out of their skulls.

I have no idea what happened to me on Saturday afternoon, or why.  Was it an anxiety attack, or panic? I have no clue.   I’ve never had anything like this happen to me – this came out of left field.   I was completely unprepared for this bout of fear, and I was stunned by my physical response – both the sheer scale of it, and the way it crept up involuntarily, and then seemed to snowball.

After walking around for God only knows how long, I started to regain my composure and asked Atlanta to trot.  I hovered in two point, doing my damnedest to keep panic at bay.  I posted a bit, I practiced standing to change my diagonals – it wasn’t brilliant riding by any stretch, but at least I was still on the horse.  After a few minutes of jogging around, Atlanta started moving bigger,  and I became very unsettled.  Things got ugly as I decided to abandon my carefully honed dressage posture and tried instead to curl into the fetal position.    With nonstop coaching from Christy, I was able to uncurl myself for a few short moments.  Shortly thereafter,  I called it a day.

Back in the aisle, as I untacked, I was angry and frustrated.  I freaked out while walking on one of the steadiest horses I’ll ever ride.  In addition to being very well trained, Atlanta also speaks English.  If I forget how to half-halt, sit my butt in the saddle or use the reins, I just need to peep “Whoa” in the direction of her ears and she stops.  I can’t emphasize enough how incongruous my fear was with respect to the ride I had on Saturday.

Sunday

I was determined to ride today, but wasn’t enthusiastic about it.  Even at home, munching cereal and reading my new issue of Dressage Today, I was feeling trepidatious.   Once I arrived at the barn  I proceeded to procrastinate but eventually mind won out over stupidity and I brought Atlanta in.  I tacked up, and, for good measure, stuck my thigh blocks on Cathy’s saddle (she has a Bates Isabell, and my Wintec Isabell blocks work fine on her saddle) to give me some additional security, and hopped aboard.

I was feeling nervous and squirrelly, once again hearing every little crack, clank and rattle in the barn.  Once again, Atlanta was unconcerned.  Happily, I didn’t experience another mental and physiological freak out today, and I had a nice – albeit totally unchallenging – ride today.  We walked and trotted, did a little shoulder-fore, trotted some figure-8s and some 20m circles, spiraling in and out a little bit.  I didn’t ride the mare really forward, but it was more than her warm up jog.  I made a point of maintaining good posture, with my shoulders back, and posting hips-to-hands to accommodate Atlanta’s bigger gaits.

I still felt out of sorts – and frankly, I still do, even as I write this.  I’m headed out of town for a few days for work.  I hope I can return mentally refreshed, and ready to finally sit up and ride.

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Destination: Atlanta

March 24, 2011 3 Comments

Atlanta and me, after my first lesson on her.

My friend Cathy just got a high powered job, and found herself insanely busy at about the same time I found myself horseless, and she offered me some saddle time on her fancy mare, Atlanta. I was thrilled and readily accepted.  Atlanta has more training than any horse I’ve ridden.  She’s a beautiful Hanoverian, and I’ve spent the last year admiring her from afar.

Cathy and Atlanta at their first dressage show last summer.

I’ve not been in the saddle much lately, between my travel schedule for work, and getting sick.  Between my fast-deteriorating riding muscles, and Cathy’s leather saddle (I’m used to my grippy suede Isabell) I had my work cut out for me.   We walked and I worked on getting Atlanta to stretch into contact.

Starting to figure things out

After we warmed up, we started to trot.  Christy warned me ahead of time that Atlanta’s gaits are different than the Thoroughbreds I’m used to riding.  She has more suspension and is a bigger mover.   The difference was immediately evident, even though I wasn’t asking her to really move.  I had to post much bigger to stay with her, and her motion pitched me forward.

I felt totally discombobulated trotting. I have a lot of work to do.

I hopped up into a two point to try to get my legs under me, and work on stretching down into my stirrups. It didn’t feel great, but Atlanta motored on.  She’s a forgiving girl.

Working on our connection

We didn’t do much – I’m still getting over a sinus infection am not 100% – but it was a good ride, and a fun one.  Two of my last three rides have been pretty high drama (a spill, and a bolt) so it was really nice to get on a horse I feel safe on.  I’m taking another lesson on Atlanta this weekend and hope to have something more interesting to report.  In the meantime, thanks again, Cathy, for letting me ride your wonderful mare!

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I meant to do that. Really!

March 20, 2011 5 Comments

Chatting with my new buddy Chester, after our dramatic ride tonight

Today was an interesting day, to say the least, and it ended with the unscheduled completion of one of my greatest riding accomplishments to date.

Since I’m currently horseless, I’m hustling for rides, and was offered the chance to try a cute TB gelding named Chester.  He’s a big boy – he has to be every bit of 17H – and is a gentle puppy dog.    Despite the stormy weather, I saddled up, and joined Christy in the arena, where she was riding her green bean, Remy.

The ride started out uneventfully but that changed in a heartbeat when a loud clap of thunder scared both geldings out of their wits.  Chester bolted, and I was able to ride it, saying whoa, and pulling and releasing the reins.  However, I realized that he wasn’t whoa-ing.  It was time for plan B.

It’s interesting how your mental processes kick into overdrive in times of stress. It feels like you’re living in a slow motion film. I for one am a huge fan of this aspect of the human brain.  The ability to think in a fast moving crisis has saved my butt more than once, tonight included.

And, I’ll tell you, a bolting OTTB with a fast approaching wall in one direction and an oncoming (also bolting) horse in the other fits my definition of a fast moving crisis situation.

So, saying “whoa” and asking him to slow down wasn’t working.  I grabbed some mane and thought about bailing.  Then I caught sight of Remy heading in our direction.  Yep, it was time to bail.  At that moment, the horse I was riding swerved, just as I started to lean forward and kick my feet out of the stirrups.  At this point, my hands were on the horse’s shoulders, and I pushed up …. and off … swinging my right leg over …. and ….

…landed – not in a heap or spattered on the wall, but squarely on my two feet, with the reins in my hand!

I’m pretty sure I shouted “YES!” and fist pumped, before realizing that as relieved as I was, my mount was still freaking out.

Wasting no more time but beaming like a lunatic, I quickly took my skittery steed to to an open stall, cooing to him while I unbuckled the bridle.  He settled down, exhaled, then started nosing around for bits of hay.  Christy had also made it safely back into the aisle after safely getting off her big red whirlwind, who was now standing in his stall, shaking.

“That was a legitimate spook,” she said.  “Any horse – Liam, Frankie, Atlanta – would have spooked at that thunder,” she added, unnecessarily.  I told her that I felt great, I was thrilled to bits that I had executed my first emergency bail. (Read her account of riding during the storm.)
As she soothed Remy, Christy told me that she was proud of both horses.  “They took us with them,” she said, noting that while both had taken off, neither had gone bronco on us – no bucking, rearing, twisting.  They didn’t dump us.    Both of us were able to dismount safely.  Christy has talked about this before – a horse that takes you along when it spooks – and now I understand what she means.  And I agree, it’s a good thing.

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Farewell, Fondly.

March 15, 2011 3 Comments

The big pretty mare

I’m a firm believer in the adages, “When one door shuts, another opens,” and “Things happen for a reason.”

When my travel schedule ramped up in February, disrupting my riding routine with Maddie, she didn’t take it well.  She became a challenge to for me handle, on the ground and – uncharacteristically – under saddle.  Christy wondered aloud whether or not Mads was the good fit we had thought she was for the last few months.

A couple weeks ago, things came to a head when Maddie was flat out naughty, and dumped me during a lesson.  Unhurt but enraged, I got back on, and (I’m told) had the best ride of my life. However, it wasn’t fun, and afterward, Christy and I had a talk, ultimately agreeing that a horse that was better able to handle disruptions to the routine would be a better (and safer) option for me.

Shortly thereafter, Christy was chatting with Maddie’s former owner, Cassie, and told her that Mads would soon be for sale.  She forwarded some of the pictures and video you saw in the “Fancy Filly” post.  Fortuitously, Cassie knew of a talented eventer looking for a good horse.  She thought the two might click.  A call was made, and Heather came to see Mads and give her a try.

I was out of town and didn’t the two together, but I’m told that Heather rode Maddie absolutely beautifully.  Some emails and phone calls between Christy and Heather ensued, and on Sunday, Maddie went home with Heather for good.

Christy mentioned afterward that the two looked so good together that we’re probably going to regret selling Maddie.  Fact is, I already do. I regret not being the confident and assertive rider that can get the most out of a horse like Maddie.  That said, I don’t regret making the decision that I was overfaced, and admitting that I need a more sedate partner.  The reactivity that makes Maddie potentially brilliant is just too much for me, and I don’t mind admitting it.  I’ve seen people riding too much horse, and I’ve know women who suffered horrific injuries because they simply couldn’t safely ride the horses they owned.  I’m grateful to Christy for watching out for me, and selflessly suggesting that it was time to sell the horse (I was the only one riding her.) It had to have been tempting to try to keep the mare – she’s wicked fancy and could have been a great addition to the show team – and to keep trying on us.  In the short term, this might not look like a good business decision for Christy.  However, she’s cemented my loyalty, and I’m hoping that a new pony that I can lease and ride arrives soon.

Best of all Mads has a fantastic home. I think she’s going to love learning to jump, and I can’t wait to go see Heather and Maddie at a show.  I’ll miss the big girl, to be sure, but  I’m happy for Mads, and for Heather, who I suspect is thrilled to bits with her new mare.

Things happen for a reason.  This was one of the easiest horse sales ever – the planets were aligned. So, it leaves me looking at a few closed doors. I’m not sure what’s behind them, but we’ll find out soon enough!

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Canter Frankie and Call Me in the Morning

March 10, 2011 2 Comments

My friend Kim and her marvelous horse Frank

I owe a debt of gratitude to my friend Kim, who allowed me to climb aboard her gelding Frankie last night.  My confidence has been wavering of late, and doubts have been creeping in which is never a good situation for a rider.  Horses are telepathic creatures and mirror their riders’ mental states.  A confidence building ride was needed.  Frank was just what the doctor ordered.

I’ve ridden him numerous times, and he’s a good, steady character who I trust.  As a second level horse, he has lots of training. However, he’s also a former school horse. He’s crafty and has all sorts of tricks in his bag for evading something he doesn’t want to do.

One thing I know Christy has in mind for our lessons is teaching me to be more assertive.  We both know that I can “bring it,” really sitting up, taking control and riding assertively when I’m goaded into it by a horse that’s feeling hot, fresh or spooky.  Some of my best riding has been when I’ve been seriously annoyed by my mount’s behavior, and I decide that I’m just not taking b.s. from a lower-order mammal any more.  Switching into survival mode when things get too scary for my tastes will also bring out my inner ass-kicker. Which is good. These are healthy responses to equine goofiness.

But that’s not the way I usually roll. My default mode is much less demanding.  Horses can steal rein length on me easily. I tend not to absolutely require them to be on the bit and round at all times.  I allow them to ignore my aids, instead of responding promptly.    These are but a few of my milquetoast habits.   The challenge that Christy has outlined for me is to elevate my riding on an ongoing basis.

So, last night, on the relative safety of Frankie, Christy started to demand more of me, which started with requiring me to actually get (not just demand) more from the horse.

After Frank stretched and we started to go to work, the commentary from the middle of the ring was rapid-fire. “Stretch him, make him round,” Christy told me. “I’m trying!” I said, while Frank mentally tallied my number.

“DO IT NOW.”  Christy commanded.

For some reason, at that moment, “balancing rein” popped into my head.  I closed my fingers on the outside rein and took hold, softening the inside rein while asking for some bend unequivocally with my leg.  Frank rounded, stretching into the bit.

“There it is! Nice!” Christy purred.  Well, not exactly purred, but you know what I mean.

“Keep him there!”

My subconscious must have been playing Trivial Pursuit with my long term memory files, because at that moment, a favorite quote bubbled up into my thoughts: “Do, or do not.  There is no try.”

That’s what Jedi-master Yoda told a young Luke Skywalker in the original Star Wars movie, as he attempted to harness the Force and I watched, goggle-eyed, from the back of a station wagon at the drive in. She’s a lot prettier than Yoda, and she doesn’t wriggle her ears when speaking to you, but I suspect Christy has a more than a modicum of wise old Yoda in her.  I internalized ‘do’ rather than “try” at that moment. It’s an important difference in mindset, and it produces a different outcome.

It turns out that Jane Savoie agrees with Yoda (and Christy) on the subject of trying versus doing.  In her book That Winning Feeling! Jane tells readers to eliminate “try” from their vocabularies, saying that “try” sounds like a half-hearted effort.  Don’t try to do your best, she says.  Do your best.

So, resolving to do rather than to merely try, we moved into a trot, and Frank popped through his shoulder, flopping his ears at me and saying “gotcha.”  Christy noted that he wasn’t expending much effort and was behind my leg.  “Use the whip!” she said.

It never takes too much with a Thoroughbred, and Christy isn’t advocating a beating. But using artificial aids like a whip or spurs effectively trains the horse to respond crisply when asked nicely and quietly.  Those Grand Prix horses you see executing complex movements to the barely discernable aids of their riders are uuber responsive.  At the higher levels, you don’t see riders kicking their horses into a gait.  And the time to start thinking about developing and reinforcing responsiveness is now.

I didn’t reach back and give Frank a crack. Instead, I more or less tapped his flank, but that’s all it took.  He decided that I was serious, and stepped out into a nicer trot.  From there I was able to get him rounder.  More purring came from the middle of the arena.

A few minutes later, I needed to grab a quick walk break.  Before I could even half-halt him, Frank stopped as I was mid-post, butt out of the saddle.  Why? Had he read my mind?  No.  I had taken my legs off when I mentally decided to take a break, and that was all Frank needed.

It didn’t feel good and I was told that particular transition was, in fact, all kinds of ugly.  Christy reminded me that a good transition needs to be ridden forward into the bridle.  I asked for an upward transition, kicking and clucking, and got it three or four strides after I started asking.   Groaning came from the middle of the arena.  I performed a crappy transition down, and earned myself a lecture on ye olde half halt.

“You know how to do this,” Christy said. “And get him in front of your leg!  Get the upward transition!”

I collected my thoughts and asked Frank to round, and then walk more energetically.  As I asked for the upward transition, I tapped him with the whip and got a good response.

“That’s better,” was the assessment from the middle of the ring.

We did a few more transitions.  I was keeping the trot quality decent and the upward transitions became very prompt, but wasn’t getting the half halts, and my downward transitions were pretty sloppy.  I knew I needed to mentally and physically ride forward into the halt.  I resolved to ride forward, even with the halt in mind. We did another walk/trot upward transition, and Frank was Johnny on the spot, earning us a compliment from Christy.  I posted a few strides, sat softly while keeping leg on, then half halted from my core and he walked, finally garnering Christy’s approval.

“Okay, now I want to see a canter transition,” Christy said.  “Errr,” I thought, and then told myself to shut up. “Yes, Boss,” I replied out loud, mentally saluting and snapping  my heels together.

We did a nice upward transition and I asked Frank for some energy at the trot.  I had to get him in front of my leg.  Things felt pretty good, so I held my outside rein, sat gently and asked for the canter by raising my inside seat bone, which (I’m told) invites the canter by making space for a larger stride.   Frank stepped neatly into his gorgeous, uphill canter.  Within a few seconds I could feel myself grinning as Frank rolled along.  I was somewhat aware of Christy saying something about swinging my hips and following the motion.  I did, and I felt great – balanced, soft and secure leg, responsive and willing horse.   In short, I felt like a million bucks. Lots of horsemen say there’s little that a good canter can’t cure, and they’re right.

We transitioned down to the trot on my terms, and I was still grinning, and Christy was too. “That was my goal for you tonight,” she said. “Good job.”

We wound up the lesson, talking about getting me on to some different horses, in order to  hone my ability to think, feel and respond to various things different mounts throw at me. Christy also thinks that this will help me realize that I’m a better rider than I think I am.  Maybe she’s right – and I like her holistic approach of dealing with the bats in my belfry as well as the tactical ride I give the horse I’m riding.  I’m going to make a point of pursuing rides on a variety of mounts  – a few of my friends at the barn have offered me a ride on their horses, and I’m going to take them up on their generous offers for which I’m very grateful.

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Fancy filly!

March 1, 2011 4 Comments

I was tired last night and not feeling great, so I stayed on the ground once again.   I had some time to kill, because the arena was busy, so we had a marathon grooming session.  I curried a pony’s worth of hair off Maddie, who dozed almost the entire time.  I trimmed her tail and fetlocks, and pulled her mane.  Weirdly, she loves having her mane pulled.  In fact, if she needs reassurance, I will step to her side, ruffle her mane and gently pull at it.   To Maddie, mane pulling is soothing.  She was pleased with the results:

The arena cleared, so I put on her boots and out we went.  Christy and Steph were there, and I handed them my cameras, which I carry most evenings.  I was hoping to get some video of Maddie being extravagant – when she’s at liberty, she’s shown us some lovely, lovely gaits that I have yet to produce when in the saddle.  Maddie willingly complied.

It’s been a while since I’ve felt real suspension when riding her – but my riding has been spotty lately due to my work schedule and extended periods of feeling crappy.   I will never forget the first time I started to get suspension with Maddie under saddle – all of a sudden, the trot started to feel really funny to me.

“What’s happening?” I wailed to Christy.

“You’re getting suspension!” she told me.

“Errr, I don’t like it!” I replied as we buzzed by, and I fought, eyes popping, to stay with all the new motion below me.

“YES, YOU DO!!!” Christy said, unequivocally.

Anyway, Maddie was full of fancy last night.  It’s fun watching her go at liberty, because more often than not, she rounds herself, stretches, and shows gorgeous gaits I wonder if I’ll ever be able to ride.  Here’s one example – this weird picture is a still from a video – but look at how she uses herself.  No wonder that floating trot felt so different to me the first time I encountered it!

Here’s a little video snippet just as she was getting going.

Just for fun, we decided to set up a little tiny cross rail to see how she jumped.  We’ve not jumped Maddie, and don’t know if she’s jumped much, if at all.   At first, she was hesitant, but didn’t run out. She got lots of praise for her effort.

Within a few minutes, it was evident that this was a fun new game to Mads.  She trotted and cantered easily over the X with little encouragement.

And and even more quickly, the X became a raised cavelletti.  Mads went back and forth over the rails without breaking stride.  Watching this video, I can understand why cavelletti are favorite tools for developing gaits and strengthening stifles – you can really see her using her back end.

It was a fun night, and a good session.  In between all the new things, I focused on my groundwork skills, and got longing pointers from Christy.   And Maddie seemed to enjoy the variety too – she was alert and attentive, and willing to follow direction.  Interludes like this make the indoor arena less boring for all of us during these long Midwest winters.

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Alone

February 20, 2011 1 Comment

I went out to the barn today, looking forward to my first ride on Maddie in almost a week.  It was a horrible rainy day the horses were inside, so I had allotted plenty of time  for a nice long ride. However, there was one problem.  I was the only one there – and I don’t ride alone (just not safe in my opinion.)  No problem, I thought. I have some time to kill, and Maddie was pretty muddy.  I decided that a marathon grooming session would be a good way to pass the time until someone else arrived.

I curried (twice), brushed (thrice), picked her feet, picked clumps of mud out of her mane, but decided to bypass the dirty tail entirely.  And I was still alone.

So I shelved riding, and decided that a groundwork session was in order.   Picking up a longe whip, I took a sparkling Maddie into the arena and turned her loose.  My plan was to work on my ability to read her and influence her movements while at liberty.  In past lessons when we’ve worked on longing Christy has had me work on keeping the mare’s attention and controlling her movements from the ground.

Maddie was feeling frisky, and started trotting back and forth between the two barn doors that lead back to the barn.  She is always drawn to this end of the arena when she’s turned loose.   Standing between them (and at a safe distance of course) I started the session by preventing her from doubling back in front of the doors.  As she trotted by me going left, I extended my left arm (a cue I’ve been using with her when longing, to indicate the direction I want her to go), and flicked the whip with my right hand just as I could see her start to think about wheeling and turning back to the right.

It worked, and she kept moving left, circling around me.  I switched the whip into my left hand, extended my right hand, and stepped toward the place she was headed.   A ha!  Maddie changed direction neatly and went back around to my right.

We did this a few times until Mads decided that she was done trotting nicely, and took off bucking down one of the long sides, ignoring my cue to change direction.  She dropped into a canter, and I kept her going, cracking the whip and stepping quickly toward her hindquarters when she went to wheel and go the other way.  When her canter became more relaxed, she actually stretched low, bringing her back up and maintaining a really nice, balanced canter.  I asked her to switch directions, and moved her into a canter again.  There was some more bucking, and I sent her forward, making her do a complete circuit around me and not allowing her to change directions.  On her next pass, as she looped toward the middle of the arena cantering to the right, I decided to see if I could get her to change direction, quickly switching the whip to my right hand, and stepping quickly in the direction she was heading.  She tried to barrel by me, so I gave the whip a sharp crack and extended my left arm.  Mads wasn’t too happy but she executed a neat rollback, and a flying change of lead, and went the other direction.  Her inside ear was on me, and I had her attention, so I asked her to change directions again as she approached the other side of the arena.  We managed two more of these cantering changes of direction, working a serpentine down the length of the arena!   Best of all, she was licking and chewing the whole time, which is horse language for “Yes, Boss. Anything you want, Boss.”

She had been working pretty hard so I said “easy” and she dropped into a fancy, fancy trot – uphill and extended.  I gently kept her going in a big circle, and Maddie treated me to show of the entire range of her trot.  She rounded, she stretched, she extended, and even collected, keeping her back up and staying round of her own volition.  It was thrilling to watch and I really regretted leaving my iPhone back in the barn, otherwise I would have grabbed some video.

As she trotted I kept moving her around, changing directions and moving the arc of her circle.  She listened well, and stayed attuned to me.  I brought her to a walk, then a halt.   I called her to me, and gave her a much deserved head scratching.   Even though we didn’t ride, I was really happy with how well we worked.  Good mare!

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Leg yields, finally.

February 14, 2011 2 Comments

A step of leg yield! Notice how Maddie's inside hind is stepping inside the track of her inside fore.

For tonight’s lesson, I asked Christy to pick up where we left off yesterday – I wanted to focus on continuing to hone the mare’s responsiveness.  But first, we had to work through a pronounced reappearance of my bad habit of giving away one rein while hanging onto another.   So first, we went back to steering with the outside rein, while giving with the inside rein – but giving by moving my arm forward, rather than letting the rein slip through my fingers.  Christy had me imagine that I was holding a crop with my thumbs, and keeping my hands even, rather than letting one creep back near my hips.  That trick worked well.

So we moved onto lateral work.  I’m happy to report that last night wasn’t a fluke!  I put the mare to work, keeping off the rail and making deliberate turns, keeping her connected to the outside rein, and then yielding out on a circle. Once again, we had some nice moments, and the mare was pretty (though not perfectly) responsive.  However, she was responsive enough, and I was a little jelly-legged after a mid-lesson bolting spook that I was able to somehow ride.

This isn’t a pretty picture, but you can see that her back has come way up, and that she’s stepping inside with her right hind.

We worked in both directions, and got some particularly nice work going left. Again, we started on a circle, and spiraled in and out, taking a step or two of leg yield as we spiraled away from the center.

I decided to see if I could keep it together down the quarter line:

Mission to leg yield accomplished!

I still need to work on her responsiveness – but I feel like we’re headed in the right direction after these rides.  Progress is motivating!

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The sharper the knife, the less you cry

February 13, 2011 2 Comments

Cooks have a saying:  the sharper the knife, the less you cry.  Sharp knives are easier to handle and less dangerous than dull blades – they slice effortlessly through veggies and meat.  A dull knife, on the other hand, is more dangerous, because it requires more effort of the user to achieve the desired effect.  And like a sharp knife is easier to use, a responsive horse is easier to ride effectively.

This saying came to mind tonight as I was leading Maddie back to the barn after a lesson, and grinning like a fool because it had been a good ride.    I told Christy that I wanted to work on my lower leg aids, namely, my ability to use my spurs accurately. I had strapped them on last night for the first time in months, and some irritated behaviors from the mare told me that I had inadvertently banged her with them a couple times. While my leg position is much improved, I still revert to my old  “toes out” posture when I get tired.   Developing awareness and acuity with the spurs requires me to continue to improve my leg position and stability.

So as I warmed up, I practiced deliberately putting my lower leg on,  releasing, putting my spur on and releasing.  However, as I did this I wasn’t getting much of a response from the mare.  I was also having trouble dropping my heals and holding a good position – my hips were tight, and probably a bit tired from two strenuous rides yesterday, and my earlier ride today on Oliver.   After promising Christy that I’d continue to work on my flexibility and strength, I took the spurs off.

So the lesson changed course. As we worked on my leg position and aids, which were partly successful some of the time, Christy told me that I was reverting to my bad habit of curling my heel upward, sticking it in the horse’s side and leaving it there.  I focused on being more deliberate with my aids.

However, I wasn’t getting the response I was seeking.  Unsure of whether or not I was eliciting a response because I guess I forgot what a correct leg yield felt like, I asked Christy watch for response while I attempted to leg yield out on a circle.   I got a big  fat nothing. We talked about it a bit and I told Christy that I wanted the horse that I started riding last May.  Mads was so light and sensitive then, and would respond instantly to any aid.  And I’ve dulled her responses.

So we started working on redeveloping a response,  We started at the walk.  Christy asked me to back up any requests I made of the horse with the whip, but advised me to treat any response – a head toss, a break to trot or canter, as good and to praise it, and to ride it.  My first opportunity came quickly as Mads ignored me when I tightened my leg against her.  I gave her a little whack with the whip and she hopped into a trot.  “That’s fine,” Christy said, as I half-halted and brought Maddie back to a walk.  We repeated this a few times, and within a few minutes, we produced a nice little leg yield down the quarter line!

Christy had us move into a trot.  I got the mare moving in a nice forward gait with good contact.  I asked for a leg yield on a 20 meter circle, and didn’t get a satisfactory response.  I gave the mare a little swat, and she propped and swished her tail – and went strongly forward. “That’s fine,” Christy called to me. “You need to get her in front of your leg!”

We continued on the circle at an energetic and connected trot.  “You have her undivided attention now,” Christy said as we breezed around her.  And she was right.  The mare had one ear back on me, and was steady in the bridle. I asked for the leg yield again, and … Maddie floated outward.  There it was!   I was thrilled.

I went to change directions, and as we moved off in a trot, Christy asked me what I thought of the upward transition.  There was no denying it, it was pretty crappy.   We half-halted and walked, and I asked for the trot, reinforcing it with a tap of the whip.  The mare stepped off immediately.   This was better.  We tried it again, and I asked for more enthusiasm, by being a bit more emphatic with my leg aids, but not touching the whip.  She went straight forward, into contact, with no head shaking or nonsense.  “That’s good!”  said Christy, as I let the mare trot on.  “Now, how light can you make your aids, but still keep that immediate response?”

We walked, and after a minute, I closed my legs softly on the mare’s sides.  She struck off in a nice trot right on the spot.

This was a seminal lesson,and an empowering one.  I can fix my forwardness and responsiveness issues if I align my mental intent and my aids, and take care to reinforce my aids with whip or spurs if (and only if) necessary.  I was amazed at the progress we made in one short ride.  I can’t wait to get back in the saddle, and continue to hone and sharpen my aids, and Maddie’s responses.  One thing I need to remember though is to stay consistent.  To do otherwise is unfair to the horse.  I need to ride every transition crisply, encouraging and rewarding prompt response, and reinforcing my aids clearly when needed.

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