Issue du Jour: Rein Imbalance

January 10, 2011 5 Comments

The "after" picture - better leg position, with my whole leg rolled inward, and toes foreward.

Finally.  I finally had a decent ride, and lasted for almost the full lesson.  It’s about time. Best of all, looking at some video of the ride, I can see that the work on my postion has really paid off.  My leg looks a lot better, and if feels a lot better.   My leg is hanging more correctly from the hip, and draping around the horse.   It’s not 100% perfect – I still curl heel up and my toes out when I apply leg.  So, while I know I need to continue to work on lengthening and stretching my legs, I also know that I’m headed in the right direction.

The "before" picture: toes out, hips open, and little leg contact with the horse.

Great.  Now, on to the issue du jour – the imbalance in my rein pressure. I think that Christy cracked this nut tonight when she commented that mine isn’t just a left rein issue – I’m imbalanced in the right rein too.  I hold the left rein and give the right – I let my right hand creep forward.  This probably explains why Mads and I circle beautifully to the right – as I’m inclined naturally to hold the left rein and soften the right.  Now, I need to achieve the same feel and balance in the other direction.  We worked on softening the inside rein, while holding the outside. Christy chipped away at it, and by the end of the ride things were clicking.

Dressage isn’t about leaps forward. It’s an exercise in increments.

 

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Love Rules.

January 9, 2011 4 Comments

Jag. He's still my number one boy.

Like everyone else, I’m thinking about my resolutions for the new year.  However, when it comes to riding, I’ve not yet managed to pin down exactly what I’d like to accomplish, so I”m going to reflect on what the last twelve months taught me.

Looking back, 2010 was a strange year.  One year and ten days ago, I was laying in my bed,  slightly concussed, spectacularly bruised, coughing up arena dirt, and thinking that I’d have to go get my left hand looked at  – it was monstrously swollen and very sore. (It was in fact broken, I would spend the next six weeks in a cast.)

That was also my last ride on Jag, who we later learned had recurring kissing spines and was no longer sound for riding.   As unfortunate as that incident was, it taught me a couple of very important lessons.

1) Listen to the horse, and listen to your gut. That ill-fated ride was on a very cold day – too cold to really work.  So I got on, just planning to walk and stretch.    I was working on asking Jag to bend to to the right, and he was resisting.  I continued to pick, asking for serpentines and circles.  He just didn’t want to give me correct bend.  Now, we had some questions about whether or not this was some sort of new, testing behavior, or if it was a pain issue.   I had a sneaking suspicion it was the latter – chiefly because Jag had always been the most uncomplicated of horses – pleasant and willing under saddle.   The only times in the past he had been unwilling was when he hurt.   But I didn’t listen to my gut, or my good horse.  I kept picking at that right bend, thinking that because we were working at a gentle walk, it wasn’t too taxing for the horse.  Boy, did I get that wrong, and I paid the price.  I unwittingly goaded Jag into a rage, and when he finally had enough, he took off at top speed and dumped me unceremoniously on the mounting block.

So here’s what I took away from this experience: Keep an eye out for new behavior.  Horses are not deep thinkers. They don’t while away hours in their stalls, thinking up new behaviors to tick you off.  If a new, negative behavior crops up, there are two reasons.  1) The horse has a physical issue, and he is communicating this to you; or 2) You have trained this new behavior, either through ignorance or incompetence, and it’s your own damn fault.   Either way, you need to pay attention. Listen to the horse. And if you have a nice, honest, willing horse, behavioral anomalies are big red flags.  Ignore them at your own risk.

I’m glad I learned this lesson.  It came in handy at my first show with Mads, when she pinned her ears and was downright nasty when I went to tack her up for the last class.  A quick inspection revealed to me that she was back sore.  The deep footing and a too-wide gullet had taken their toll.  We scratched the class.  And I shudder to think about what the outcome would be had I pushed it.

2.  Love rules all. If you love your horse, and do right by your horse, everything will be okay.  I know this sounds simplistic.  But this is actually the more important of the four lessons, and I told you a few paragraphs previously how lesson #1 saved my butt.   I was devastated when my vet broke the news that it was time to retire Jag.  I had always planned on giving him a nice retirement, but was hoping to have years of fun in the saddle first.   I started to look for places to board him, and resigned myself to a lot less riding.

In the spring, after his kissing spines were under control and he was back to being a happy, pleasant horse,  Jag went to Wyngate Equestrian, a beautiful barn 30 minutes north of Woodstock (and my current barn).

A bleached-blond Jag basks in the summer sun.

With the help of the talented and caring woman who runs Wyngate, Jag successfully transitioned to living barefoot, and out on grass.  He had a blissful summer and is extremely contented today. I visited him weekly, and soon learned to relish my time with the big guy, grooming, feeding treats, walking around the property, finding delicacies on which to browse.  It turns out that giving a much-loved horse a well deserved and luxurious retirement is very gratifying.

Things have a way of working out.  I made a slow return to the saddle, starting on my friend Kim’s marvelous boy Frankie,  progressing eventually to Maddie, with whom I’ve clicked.  Maddie has made me work hard, and learn a lot (especially about maxim #1.2, training a horse new (and unwelcome) behaviors.)  (More on that later.)

In addition to these two lessons learned courtesy of Jag, two other things I learned last year truly resonated with me.

3. Practice discomfort. George Morris talked a lot about overcoming fear in the clinic I audited in November.  His sage advice? “You have to practice what is not comfortable. If you’re not comfortable going fast, you practice fast. Practice your discomfort.”   He’s absolutely right.  I won’t improve if I don’t push the envelope.  However, GM is not encouraging us to go forth and be stupid.  Which is a good segue into lesson #3.

4. Get the basics DOWN, and perfectly (or as close to it as you can.)  Dressage is built on a progression of skills that require a rider (and horse) to have solid fundamentals to perform well and get good scores.  And while I’ve spent more time working at the trot than I care to think about, the fact is, this deliberate approach has set me up well for Training level, which showcases trot work.    And there are other benefits.  As I master new skills in the trot -from half halts to bending to shoulders-in and leg yields – and learn to feel what correct execution feels like, I can take that education with me to different gaits.   And as I learn, I only become more solid and confident, and wake up one day ready to try something new, because I’ve given myself sufficient strength and confidence to take that next step.  (Special thanks to Christy, who is the architect of this lesson.)

So I’ll take these lessons into 2011, which I guess means that I, Sarah, do hereby resolve to remember and apply the lessons I learned in 2010, and use them to guide my progress in this coming year.

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It gets worse, it gets better (?)

January 7, 2011 4 Comments

I don’t know about you, but when I tackle a home organization or cleaning project, things generally get worse before they get better.  When I go to re-organize my office, or switch from summer clothes to winter duds in my closet, I invariably end up first destroying the space I’m tackling, and then putting it back together.

I think I’m doing the same to my riding !

Things were better tonight, but still not back to normal. Physically, I was much more comfortable – I wasn’t as stiff and sore (I skipped working out today) but I did stay on for 45 minutes, and got some work done.  The muscle endurance is still not there. I’m going to give the legs  another day of rest tomorrow, and just do some easy cardio and a core workout.  I’m more than a bit bothered by the fact that I can’t trot round for a few minutes without my legs burning.   This too shall pass, I’m sure.

Mads was hanging on the left rein something fierce, likely because I was doing the same. Christy had me work on turning left with a loopy left rein, meaning I had to be really active with my inside leg, and control the turn with my outside rein.  Obviously, I have not corrected the imbalance identified when I did the Eqisense analysis, and learned that I was placing a ton of pressure in that left rein, even though they felt even to me.   Here’s the analysis feedback screen showing vastly uneven pressure in the reins, though I would have sworn to you on a stack of Bibles, hand to God, that I was holding them evenly.

It took a while before the light bulb flicked on in both my head, and Maddie’s.  We waddled drunkenly around, narrowly missing walls.   Things improved when I used my outside leg as a correction, to prevent the mare from turning right.  And I used the inside rein slightly, to keep her looking left.

Christy had me release contact in the left rein after I softened Mads to the left, and got the desired response: a good left bend, with nice contact into the outside rein.  I presume dropping the rein had two purposes, or maybe even three. First, it was an immediate and clear reward to Maddie when she did the right thing.   Secondly, it removed the mare’s ability to hang on that rein.  And finally, it started to reinforce the habit and feel of lighter contact for me in that left rein.

We ended the ride by shuffling around at a halting trot with no stirrups.  I’m riding hesitantly without my stirrups, because I’m afraid of getting going, and having them bang into Maddie’s sides, and evoking a spirited response.  I’m going to either relinquish them entirely next week (though, for the record, Christy has promised to give them back to me) or at least loop them over the pommel – if the edges of my cheese-grater pads won’t hurt horse or rider.

Family is visiting this weekend.  I’m taking a two-day hiatus, and hope to be back in the saddle on Sunday.

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A small hurdle, hurdled.

January 5, 2011 4 Comments

Tonight I flat out felt like hell in the saddle.  I’ve been working out, trying to un-do the fitness collapse my two weeks off and a bout of the flu brought.  Today, despite the fact I had a lesson, I did an awful cardio-step workout that kills my legs. Tonight was no exception.  My muscles were tired and sore.

I mounted up and we got to work – but immediately, Christy spotted something weird.  I was curling my leg back, towards Maddie’s flank, as we trotted around in two point, warming up.  She alerted me to the problem, and I tried to fix it, but it wasn’t happening.  I started to post, and that didn’t help either.

We dropped to a walk, and I kicked free of the stirrups and let my legs hang a minute, then started rotating my ankles and stretching.  Ahh.  That felt good.  After a few minutes, I put my feet back in the stirrups, and Christy gave her seal of approval.  Off we went again.

For about 15 seconds.

Clearly, things weren’t working for me tonight.  I started curling my leg again, and things still felt awful.  I dropped the stirrups again.

And then, because one of my resolutions is to just shut up and ride, I said to Christy, “Hey, I want to try something.”  I nudged Mads into a trot.  While I was too busy staying focused on the horse, I think I did hear Christy’s jaw audibly drop and hit the ground.  She’s been trying to get me to drop the stirrups for, oh, months …. maybe even years.  Mads has a trot I can ride without stirrups.   I never contemplated dropping the stirrups on Jag, who had a trot that felt like a pogo stick, it was so bouncy.

Granted, we weren’t doing much of a trot.  But we did four or five little shuffle-y circles around Christy, and called it a night.

I really want to ride more and better without stirrups.  It’s the only way to develop a truly independent seat.   And it’s sound practice and makes one a safer rider.  In particular, I’d like to be able to drop and pick up my stirrups – or adjust them when they slip – with ease.   Tonight was the first step.

So it was kind of a stupid ride tonight, but in the end, I had an important win.

Tomorrow we’ll give another lesson a shot. I’m going to do some yoga and pilates, and gobble a couple Advil before heading to the barn.  Hopefully I’ll put things together tomorrow night!

 

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Joy

January 4, 2011 1 Comment

These winter nights, when it’s dark and cold, are sometimes hard to face.  After a long day of work, the prospect of carousing around in the freezing dark sometimes doesn’t appeal.   I was feeling tired and sluggish this afternoon – and while I’m truly happy to be back in my riding routine, as the sun sank the prospect of the barn became daunting.

I pulled on breeches, wool socks, turtleneck and fleece, and ran out the door before my darkening mood could sink my plans.

Arriving at the barn, I hot-footed it across the cold parking lot, and into the not-much-warmer barn, teeth chattering.  I realized too late that I really should have added some long underwear to my evening’s attire.  As I hustled around, greeting the mare, setting her beet pulp and alfalfa cubes to soak and fetching my tack, I started to warm up.  Mads was standing by her door, ears pricked.  I pulled her out. scratched her jaw for a minute, and put her in the cross ties.

As I groomed and tacked up, I got warmer, and happier.  I slipped Mads a few extra mints – she seemed pretty happy with the proceedings too.   We went into the arena, and mounted up. From the get-go I had nice contact – none of the hanging-on-the-rein nonsense from last night.  We warmed up, stretching down, flexing right and left, doing a little shoulder fore and some serpentines.  We trotted off, and Mads was simply gorgeous.  Light and responsive, responding to my softening inside rein.  I hopped up into two point and let her cruise for a minute, while I stretched out my hip flexors.  Mads trotted on, ears flopping.

Picking up my post and the reins, we started doing some slightly more interesting work – circles and serpentines in varying directions and sizes.  Mads remained nicely round and on the bit.    We worked on transitions within the gait – I half halted and reduced my post going into the short side, not quite collecting, but asking (and getting) shorter strides and a nice connection.  Turning down the long side, I gave Mads a little cluck, and elevated my post.  Bam! There was my nice trot!  We rolled down the long sides, and she came right back to to me on the short sides.  Good mare!

I was thrilled, and, I’m sure, beaming.  My dark mood and lack of motivation had melted away like the last snow in spring.  It was joy, pure and simple.

At the end of our ride, we hustled back into the barn.  I dove into my coat, and put a heavy cooler on the slightly-steaming mare.  After I cleaned her up, we hung out in the aisle, both pleased with the other and enjoying each others’ company.

Lovey-dovey

Got carrots?

There! That's the spot!

I like you too, Mads.

Finally, a special shout-out to my friend Liz, author of the Loving Cloud, blog, who is recovering from surgery.   Cloud misses you but wants you to know that he’s getting lots of attention, and things aren’t too bad.  Still, he’s like you to hurry back to the barn please.

You're not my Mom, but I see you have carrots. Let's talk.

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20 minutes, 30 minutes, 40 minutes …

January 3, 2011 3 Comments

Oh YAY!

I finally got back on a horse tonight – after a two week hiatus since our last ride – a good one which spawned the “Balancing Rein” post.  To say I was happy would be really understating things.   Mads felt great, and we got right to work once I had stretched out a bit and reconnected with all the muscles I hadn’t used while grounded.

We had a lesson with Christy,  who threw down the gauntlet by saying “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could pick up where we left off?”  I made non-committal noises.   I usually ride like a sack of freaking potatoes after time away from the barn.   That said, I had taken some measures against complete atrophy while I was away.  When I wasn’t laid up with the flu, I worked out,  and did lots of squats with my toes turned slightly inward, to stretch and strengthen my hip muscles – those same muscles I’ve been working on developing in the saddle to support my new, improved seat.

And it paid off – somewhat.  My legs felt good and looked great, according to Christy.  I wasn’t poking my toes out to the sides — I was keeping my leg softly against the side of the horse.  That was good.   However, after the first set of trot work, I was starting to feel winded.  I stole a glance at the clock!  7:20! I had been riding just 20 minutes!

Oh, Lord. I was going to be a long night. I couldn’t believe it.

But at least we were managing to pick up close to where we left off.  We practiced spiral in and spiral out, working on managing Mads when she leans on one rein.  Christy had me soften the inside rein repeatedly while really holding the outside rein.   We had some nice moments, but this still needs some work.   I need to use my leg more actively to get the mare into the outside rein, and be faster with releasing when she softens on the inside.

Anyway, I kept sneaking glances at the clock.  Christy caught me this time. It was just 7:30, and I could feel my face reddening and my shirt growing more damp under my fleece.

By 7:40, I was done.

I suppose this is good from the standpoint that at least we know I’m really riding, using my whole body, and not merely going along as a passenger. And I now ride like this out of habit.   So that’s cool.

But man, it’s discouraging to be so wiped out after such a short ride.    Onward and upward.  The mare got a few extra alfalfa cubes in her mare mush.  Hope she’s ready to go tomorrow!

My plan for the rest of the week?  Cruise around in two-point and do lots of posting tomorrow night, and really try to get some endurance back.  Subject myself to Christy for lessons on Wednesday and Thursday.

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Grounded, but not for much longer

December 30, 2010 2 Comments

Amazing.  I took the last two weeks of the year off work … and haven’t thrown a leg over a horse during that entire time.  Pre-Christmas chaos and a post-Christmas bout of the flu conspired to wreck my plans of extra lessons and focused rides.

I finally made it out to the barn tonight – I’m still far from 100% –  and got a warm reception from Maddie, who was happy to hang out and submit to lots of ear-rubs and forehead scratches while her bucket of “mare mush” — a generous scoop of beet pulp topped off with alfalfa cubes – soaked.  I fed her, finished grooming, and poked a few more carrots down the hatch for good measure.  I’m away for the weekend, but am determined to be back in the saddle on Monday.

I swear, if I’m grounded this long anytime soon, it better be because I’m in Europe or something equally worthwhile.

Mads keeps an eye on things. Christy took this picture earlier this year.

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The Balancing Rein

December 17, 2010 3 Comments

Mads steps under herself with her left hind. Good mare!

The Rettger Dressage Interactive Dressage & Blogging Team was fully represented last night at the barn.  I got to ride with Liz, who pens the Loving Cloud blog, and Steph, who authors Dressage Adventures.  And, of course, in the center of it all was Christy, who has been writing the popular TB At X blog for a couple years.

And I finally had a good ride on Maddie last night – one in which fear and trepidation melted away.  In fact, I had to check myself – we were doing some good work in the trot including leg yields – and there were a couple times where it seemed like the most natural, logical thing to do would be to lift the mare into a canter – but I didn’t because I really wanted to keep to the task at hand.  But the fact that my heart was *there* was significant.

The start to the lesson was not ideal.   The arena was full and one of the horses – a spookier sort – was acting up, and some of the others were reacting.  I decided to delay my lesson a bit and let the rodeo come to a close.   After about 10 minutes, the arena cleared, and I walked Mads out.  Just then, however, a horse in the back barn started behaving badly – there were loud banging noises and the owner was loudly correcting the errant critter.

Mads went on red alert – whites of eyes showing.  The situation in the back barn had her full attention.  We stood for a minute, and I hoped she’d relax.  I scratched her neck and picked at her mane – something she loves – and exhaled deeply, blowing air noisily out of my mouth.  She did relax – momentarily – dipping her head toward me, softening her eye, and exhaling with a sigh in return.  But then there was more banging, and she was back on red alert.

Maddie wasn’t being bad, but she wasn’t paying attention to me, either.   I wish she’d take some lessons from Cloud, who seems to always have his attention riveted on Liz.  He followers her like a puppy, and when they ride, he always has an ear flicked back, listening to her.  Like Christy and Liam, Liz and Cloud have a true partnership that I envy, and hope to emulate.

So I put Mads back on the longe, and we worked on my longing skills, which really means we worked on my ability to read, interpret and influence the horse’s body language.   Mads was good.  She transitioned neatly up and down, promptly and with no fuss.   And soon she had an ear tuned in on me.  So I put the stirrups back on my saddle and mounted up.

And I felt great.  No trepidation, no ramen-noodle legs.  We were relaxed and got to work. Pretty soon we were in a solid working trot – the mare was over her back and tracking up.  It was time to work on leg yields, something that I thought I had some problems with.

It turns out my problems are less about the leg yield itself, and more about setting myself and Mads up for the leg yield. You can give flawless cues, but if your horse isn’t through and fully into the outside rein, you aren’t going to get a successful yield.   Now, I know this.  But I was having trouble feeling it, and, I’ll  admit, sometimes trying to cheat and asking for a yield at the wrong time – when we didn’t have good bend or a good connection.

So Christy had us do the spiral in/spiral out exercise at the trot, in which one really controls the turn and the diameter of the circle with the outside rein.  I’ve done this before, but for some reason, things clicked tonight.  Maybe it was because Christy described that inside rein as a “balancing rein” – that description really made sense to me.  I was doing a good job for once of not hanging on that rein.  Instead, I played on it, softening, squeezing, and testing my contact and trueness of bend by releasing it altogether here and there.  In the process, I produced the. loveliest. trot. as we circled right – which is a much more difficult direction for Mads.  She was round and engaged.  I asked for the yield on the circle, and felt her step smoothly out. “Good! That’s it! You’ve got it!”  Christy affirmed what I was feeling from her spot in the middle of our circle.    We changed direction, and it only got better.

What was my breakthrough tonight?  Really, it was another lesson in educating my seat, and learning to really feel throughness – that magical combination of bend, and roundness, and tracking up and on-the-bit that results in the most spectacular feeling of connected nimbleness.

Another great lesson, brought to me by Christy — with an able assist from my very good mare.

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Bogeymen

December 15, 2010 3 Comments

Ferociously cold weather has kept me out of the saddle for the last few days – when it hovers near zero, the arena footing freezes, and it’s really not healthy to work the horses in those temperatures.  I did get a ride in on Saturday, which was the first ride since the craziness of last Thursday.   Annoyingly, I was jittery and it took me a while to start breathing – despite the fact that Mads had returned to her sweet self.  It wasn’t a terribly satisfying ride, because by the time I got my head together, my legs were done – the muscles I’m re-building still don’t have a ton of stamina.  I decided to quit before I lapsed back into my old, still-more-comfortable bad habits.

So I was looking forward to tonight, but the drama llama made a return.  Invisible bogeymen were inhabiting the far side of the arena.  It was pretty windy out, and the doors were banging.  The far corner of the arena apparently hid a large population of them, because Mads was bothered by that corner, cutting the turn short. I took a deep breath, steadied my position, dropped my heels down, and rode.  We did little circles all over the arena, switching direction and changing things up.  Mads kept an eye on that corner. I kept breathing, made a point of not looking at the corner, and tried to stay relaxed, even as I bent her closer to the bogeymen.  I tried to yield her out to the rail with no avail.  Not wanting to set that precedent, we moved away a bit, and I insisted on the yield, and got it.  I’ll be frank – I’m not quite confident enough to ride aggressively (as in insisting on the yield and not compromising if the horse resists) in this sort of situation, and I don’t want to pick a fight I won’t win.

Another rider was having a lesson on her steady-Eddie gelding, who was blind to the corner full of lurking gremlins.  He trotted along the rail, totally unconcerned.  Remembering how George Morris had a dependable horse give a spooky one a lead over a scary jump, I waited for the gelding to trot by, and put Mads right behind him.  First time by the corner she was better, but not 100% great.  Second time, even better.  Third time, not a look.  Good mare!  I decided to move on from all the circles and yields, and started working a little shoulder in down the long sides, half halting and doing “little trot” on the short side, and then asking for a bigger gait on the long side.  I wanted to refresh my half-halts and work on adjustability within the gait.

On the first couple passes, I didn’t get much of a response from Mads when I asked for a bigger gait.  Going into a short side with an unenthusiastic trot, I half-halted the mare and in the same instant pushed her forward, bending into the corner.  A ha!  Her back finally came up, and I felt her step smartly underneath herself.  I gave her a cluck, closed my legs, and invited a bigger gait by increasing the “air time” of my post.  Bam! There it was! The power of that gait never fails to surprise me – it’s an altogether different gear.  When I get that gait from Mads, I feel like the world is our oyster, and we can do anything.

There was one problem.  In that strong transition up to the big trot, I partially lost a stirrup – it slipped back onto the arch of my foot.  I HATE this feeling – and it’s not safe.  Normally, I correct it immediately, which for me, means dropping to a walk, because I’m not yet adept enough to move the stirrup around on my foot while going at any sort of pace, and definitely not when Mads is in “warmblood” gear and is trying to strut it like Totilas.

Okay, I exaggerate but you get my point.

So, back to my situation.  I knew almost instinctively that I had to keep going in that gait I had sought and asked for.    I had to ride her and encourage her forward, and reward her correct response to what I asked.  I rode that lovely trot for almost a lap with my foot hung up in that stirrup.  I then half-halted and asked her for a nice downward transition on my terms, and got it.  Then I fixed my stirrup. We went back to work, and she moved out nicely for me, adjusting well within the trot.

I was glad that I rode her through the sillies and was able to get some good work.  Part of the new confidence comes from my more secure position, which gets better and better – and stronger – with each ride.

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Tact and Compromise

December 9, 2010 3 Comments

She's full of ideas. Not all are good.

I was looking forward to my lesson tonight.  My new position is getting stronger.  The temperature was 18 degrees warmer tonight than last’s meager 10 degrees.  I put on a cool black sweater and my tall Mountain Horse Fusion boots.  Yes, I’m cheesy enough to think they look cool.  As I swaggered out the door, my thoughts were of big trots and leg yieds, of forward horses and gorgeous canters.  I grabbed my Flip.  Yep, I wanted some video of tonight’s ride.

At this point, experienced horse people have fallen off their chairs laughing at this post.  They know what comes next.  Or, more specifically, they know what *doesn’t* come next.  The following account will not be a tale of a magical ride.  (Those happen when you’re wearing an orange t-shirt, trashy pink saddle pad, and haven’t knocked the mud entirely off the horse.)

No, the rest of this post will be devoted to telling a tale of plans gone awry.

I pulled Mads out of her stall, after greeting her with some neck scritches which she eagerly accepted.  But about two seconds after putting her in the cross ties, I noticed that her demeanor was different.   Her ears were up.  She was staring straight ahead down the aisle into the arena.  She was tense.   I picked, curried, brushed and tacked.  We went into the area, and Maddie’s thoughts were clearly everywhere but on me.  Her muscles were quivering, nostrils were dilated, her eyes wide.  The ears were pointed everywhere but at me.  You see, it was pretty windy outside – you could hear it gust and howl – and there were occasional banging noises on the metal arena doors.  Christy told me that a lot of horses had been acting up that day.  I guess it was our turn.

I finished the routine, tightening the girth and walked her a minute.  She was tense and jumpy, snorting and ignoring me.  I pulled the stirrups off the saddle and picked up a longe line.

I quietly led Mads to the middle of the empty arena, and asked her to walk. Her head was turned away from me, and she was blowing a bit through her nostrils.   The doors banged and she hopped into a tense, giraffe-y, nervous trot, spooking and shying.    By this time, Christy had made it into the arena, and told me to get control, which seemed at that moment to be unlikely – Maddie’s attention was everywhere but me.

We were going straight back to some of the groundwork lessons I had done with Mads earlier this summer.  I have yet to write about those adventures – but the gist of the situation was this – I was being a pushover, letting Mads get away with behaviors I shouldn’t, and she was becoming disrespectful. Simply put, I had to get my act together if I was going to continue riding her and working safely around her.  And I got the job done!  We did a lot of basic groundwork, and I quickly had a much more pleasant horse.  She really was looking for a leader, and once I established the fact that I was the boss, and gained her acknowledgment of that fact, I had an entirely different and happier horse. This process did teach me that you have to stay on top of these things, however, and not let familiarity become an excuse for unwanted behavior.  Occasionally, we  go back to Basic Groundwork 101 and tonight was one of those nights.
Christy told me to assert myself on the longe, and had me shorten the line so I could maintain some contact and bend as I worked the mare.  As I longed her, Christy also had me move forward, and move the mare around the arena.  Any movements that were not my idea – an uninvited turn, change of gait, a spook – were not to be rewarded.  The pressure had to intensify when Mads reacted in an unwelcome manner.

We longed all over the arena,  and for a long time, Mads was simply not listening to me.  The drama continued but  I kept at it, changing direction and moving her around while Christy coached me from the sidelines.    Eventually, Mads started to relax, stretching as she trotted, even as the wind howled outside.  I asked her to walk, and she exhaled deeply, stretching her neck out.  She was relaxed.  Her ears relaxed, and one was turned toward me.

Okay, so the mare had mellowed out, but I certainly hadn’t.  All the confident swagger from earlier before had long vanished.    My heart was pounding and I swear, my femurs were both missing – my legs felt far from steady.   Leading my now relaxed, floppy-eared, drooling mount back to the mounting block, I tried to get a grip on myself.  Christy suggested putting the quarter sheet on – a chilly horse is a sassy horse – and I agreed.  I needed a bit more time to compose myself.

I took a minute to convince myself to put my foot in the stirrup and swing up.  “Breathe,” came the crisp command from Christy, who started us walking in circles.  She knows me and Mads cold, and she knew that I was rattled.  We walked in figure eights and small serpentines, keeping the mare engaged and bending.   “See? You’re fine,” she said, reminding me that really, none of Maddie’s spooks were bad  – she pretty much spooks in place, and I’ve ridden them before and will ride them again.  The wind howled and we rode on, me barely breathing, and Maddie chewing the bit and stretching, probably wondering what the big deal was.

Tonight marked the first time that I had ever worked a horse down from a high energy/high stress situation into safe riding mode.  So, despite the fact that the real work happened on the ground, the win was in fact in the saddle.

George Morris, in the clinic I audited recently, said something as he was watching a talented rider give her hot and super-forward Thoroughbred a beautiful, tactful, empathetic and effective ride.  “Thoroughbreds require tact and compromise,” he said, watching the pair make child’s play of a difficult course of jumps.

It sounded good at the time, and I nodded to myself in agreement when he said it.  But after tonight, I really understand what he meant.

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