Turns out when I think something is going to suck, I revert. Forget following hips, melty seat, or soft elbows. I revert right back to my hunter / jumper training, which I rode for the first decade of my life. And which is now going to ruin the next decade of my riding!
From beginning lessons to flat classes to hunter over fences, one would think that I would have had an instructor that wanted me to understand how to positively influence a horse. But no, I was jumping 3 foot courses with no real communication with a horse. If the horse stopped at a fence? Keep your heels down, stick your butt out, and don't move. If the horse took off bucking? Keep your heels down, stick your butt out, and don't move. If the horse took off with you? Keep your heels down, stick your butt out, and don't move.
Come to think of it, no wonder I have fear issues. I spent a decade being a passenger on various horsie freight trains, both agreeable and disagreeable...
So now, any time I think "this is going to suck", I go all zombie. Nothing moves, I lose all my joints, and bounce up and down stiff like a metal pipe wrapped in duct tape. The elbow thing is a huge tell. Events go something like this:
1. Horse zooms past us, preferrably bringing down a rail or two right behind Tobin and nearly crashing into us from lack of straight lined-ness after a jump (honestly people, it's not that hard)
2. I think "this is going to suck" and go zombie
3. Tobin goes directly from melty marshmallowy forward powerful dressage horse to jaw-bracing, tight-backed, head-in-the-air f*** you nag in 0.3 seconds flat
Nothing like real time feedback. Poor Donnie just gritted his teeth and made it work, although he sometimes would get anxious (Mom, why are you a z-z-zombie?) and run off to the next county. Poor guy really has a little thoroughbred in him wonder which side of his Oldenburg breeding gave it to him. Maybe he spent a lot of time running off in the Black Forest as a youngster, I know he repeatedly ran off with various rich ladies in Southern California, which is why he dropped in my price range in the first place...
I never thought I'd say this, but Tobin's "give you nothing for free" attitude really is paying off in spades.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Soft Hands? More like Soft Elbows
I've always been confused by the term "soft hands". What does it mean? How are hands "soft", if you are supposed to keep your hands closed around the reins? I've heard the whole "squeeze your hands around the reins like a sponge", but when your horse is running around with his nose in the air like a third rate nag, and throwing his shoulder through your outside rein to boot, how is gently squeezing the reins going to help?
Enter Tobin. Who has finally, FINALLY explained this to me. Tobin's main charm, aside from being a 4th level dressage horse, is that he gives nothing away for free. Which means, do it perfectly or he will go around with his face braced against you and his nose in the air.
Ali and I have spend the past few weeks getting my hips to move, which made Tobin quite a bit happier about, well, moving. At least to the point where an eventing vet came by to see another horse and saw me riding, and commented that I "looked like a dressage rider". Which, I took to be a compliment since I was riding Tobin who a.) doesn't like to move and b.) is a paint horse, and one has to try quite a bit harder to look like one is riding dressage when one is on a paint horse who doesn't want to move.
But, the path between me and eternal dressage glory on Tobin was blocked. Every few strides he'll soften into this ooey awesomeness, then a few strides later brace his face and stick his nose in the air. It's a very clear "f*** you" from him. But I had no idea what I was doing between one phase to the next.
Ali brought up "soft hands". To which I inwardly groaned, and outwardly responded: "What the hell does that mean anyway?" To which she shrugged, and said, keep the bit feeling the same in his mouth all the time. Don't drop it, and don't pull on it. If you do either, he thinks it's going to suck and he'll brace lickity split.
Right.
So, I wish I could say something magical happened right away after that advice, but it took me another 2 weeks to have the epiphany, during which Tobin owned me every time going to the left, bracing his jaw on the right, pushing his shoulder through my right rein and beelining for the rail.
The epiphany? My elbows and shoulders are joints! And they like, move and stuff. So, like my hips are now following Tobin's back, my elbows and shoulders have to move so my hands follow his face. I think the fingers come in after that to establish bend and stuff.
The result when I manage to do it? A magically back-lifted, forward swinging Tobin, who (gasp) steers, all of the time. We spent 45 minutes with him reaching down and nearly dragging his nose in the ground at walk, trot and canter. Sure that's a not-even-training-level frame, but it was divine nonetheless.
Enter Tobin. Who has finally, FINALLY explained this to me. Tobin's main charm, aside from being a 4th level dressage horse, is that he gives nothing away for free. Which means, do it perfectly or he will go around with his face braced against you and his nose in the air.
Ali and I have spend the past few weeks getting my hips to move, which made Tobin quite a bit happier about, well, moving. At least to the point where an eventing vet came by to see another horse and saw me riding, and commented that I "looked like a dressage rider". Which, I took to be a compliment since I was riding Tobin who a.) doesn't like to move and b.) is a paint horse, and one has to try quite a bit harder to look like one is riding dressage when one is on a paint horse who doesn't want to move.
But, the path between me and eternal dressage glory on Tobin was blocked. Every few strides he'll soften into this ooey awesomeness, then a few strides later brace his face and stick his nose in the air. It's a very clear "f*** you" from him. But I had no idea what I was doing between one phase to the next.
Ali brought up "soft hands". To which I inwardly groaned, and outwardly responded: "What the hell does that mean anyway?" To which she shrugged, and said, keep the bit feeling the same in his mouth all the time. Don't drop it, and don't pull on it. If you do either, he thinks it's going to suck and he'll brace lickity split.
Right.
So, I wish I could say something magical happened right away after that advice, but it took me another 2 weeks to have the epiphany, during which Tobin owned me every time going to the left, bracing his jaw on the right, pushing his shoulder through my right rein and beelining for the rail.
The epiphany? My elbows and shoulders are joints! And they like, move and stuff. So, like my hips are now following Tobin's back, my elbows and shoulders have to move so my hands follow his face. I think the fingers come in after that to establish bend and stuff.
The result when I manage to do it? A magically back-lifted, forward swinging Tobin, who (gasp) steers, all of the time. We spent 45 minutes with him reaching down and nearly dragging his nose in the ground at walk, trot and canter. Sure that's a not-even-training-level frame, but it was divine nonetheless.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Volume
I went straight from riding Tobin with 7 other horses in the arena (and only about 3 of us were capable of steering) last night to handwalking Donnie.
It was going from a constant shout ("On your outside!", "On your right!", "Crossrail, coming through!", "TOBIN MOVE YOUR BUTT!!!!") to the quietest of whispers, and I was relishing the change as Donnie and I headed out into the night, away from the lights and bustle of the indoor arena.
He was alert, but his eye was soft, and he kept nuzzling me for cookies every few steps. All was still and quiet this time of night along the back lane. A car came up behind us, the crunching gravel worrying Donnie a bit. We stopped and had a few pets and a cookie while we waited for the car to pass. I whispered good boys in his ear and told him how wonderful he was. He exhaled.
We kept meandering, I focused on keeping my energy and communications at a whisper, to keep him steady and mellow. The clip clops of his hooves were rhythmic and soft in the night. He was always light on his feet...
We passed a horse coming the other way, this one was feisty and approached us with his hand-walker at a brisk gait somewhere between a walk and a trot. Donnie pricked his ears, quivers in his halter, tenses up. I stop him and quietly tell him easy, boy. We wait for the horse to hurry past us, his feet clattering down the lane. Donnie quietly chews as the hoofbeats move off into the distance, he relaxes. We continue.
I look up at the cold, night sky. A breeze ruffles Donnie's mane. I tell him thank you for these quiet moments together. He puts his nose on my shoulder and blows a quiet, gentle warm breath.
It was going from a constant shout ("On your outside!", "On your right!", "Crossrail, coming through!", "TOBIN MOVE YOUR BUTT!!!!") to the quietest of whispers, and I was relishing the change as Donnie and I headed out into the night, away from the lights and bustle of the indoor arena.
He was alert, but his eye was soft, and he kept nuzzling me for cookies every few steps. All was still and quiet this time of night along the back lane. A car came up behind us, the crunching gravel worrying Donnie a bit. We stopped and had a few pets and a cookie while we waited for the car to pass. I whispered good boys in his ear and told him how wonderful he was. He exhaled.
We kept meandering, I focused on keeping my energy and communications at a whisper, to keep him steady and mellow. The clip clops of his hooves were rhythmic and soft in the night. He was always light on his feet...
We passed a horse coming the other way, this one was feisty and approached us with his hand-walker at a brisk gait somewhere between a walk and a trot. Donnie pricked his ears, quivers in his halter, tenses up. I stop him and quietly tell him easy, boy. We wait for the horse to hurry past us, his feet clattering down the lane. Donnie quietly chews as the hoofbeats move off into the distance, he relaxes. We continue.
I look up at the cold, night sky. A breeze ruffles Donnie's mane. I tell him thank you for these quiet moments together. He puts his nose on my shoulder and blows a quiet, gentle warm breath.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
But, it's Spring!
It is warm, and I smile as I sneak out of work for a quick lunch time walk with Donnie. It is windy as I approach the barn; I can see the various horse blankets flapping in the breeze as they hang on blanket rails down the barn aisle.
"Hi boy!"
We head down by the pastures, my special treat for the precious daylight hours I get to spend with my horse. It is windy, and the horses in the pasture are enjoying the warm sunshine and brisk wind.
It's springtime! they say, as they kick up their heels in pasture play.
Donnie pricks his ears, quivers, but walks quietly on.
"Good boy."
We pass a lone palm tree, its giant leaves rustling fiercely in the wind.
Tree? Donnie asks. He stops, looks, ears pricked.
"You're all right boy."
His ears still pricked at sharp attention, he quivers, but walks quietly on.
"Good boy."
We find friends. A couple of riders going our way. I smile and fall in stride, chatting quietly with Jay about Donnie's schedule and recovery. He sympathizes with the long lay up. Donnie appears content in the group.
They pass us, Jay's black horse going at a quick jig.
They're leaving! Donnie kicks up his heels, attempting to run, to play.
I stop, let him run into my hands on the lead rope. Tension, stop, immediately let the lead rope go slack as he swings around and stops, obeying the pressure.
They're leaving!! Donnie insists. It's spring! Let me run and play!! He arches his neck and attempts to trot off after the pair.
"Not with that right front leg, you don't." I remind him, quietly, as he runs into my hands again. Tension, stop, immediately let the lead rope go slack as he obeys.
I don't care! He turns in and rears up, front hooves too close for comfort.
"HEY." Sharp, quick yank on the lead rope. Step in, let the rope go slack, and send him away from my space. He returns to all fours, turns perpendicular to me, moves away, puts his head down and lets out a good, fat buck.
We both come to a halt. The lead rope is slack. I cross my arms, he flinches. I say nothing, but stand quietly. I count to 50, slowly, calming my heartbeats. He flicks his ears backwards and forwards a million miles a minute. The wind gusts. The pair of horses disappear from view. He turns his head towards me.
But I want to play. Why won't you let me?
"I'm sorry, darling. I know this sucks." His eye is soft enough again, although he still quivers with every gust of wind and every rustling leaf.
We head back to the barn. He wants to rush, run me over. I keep my right hand on his neck, half pushing against him. He leans against my hand slightly, enjoying the pressure. It seems to calm him, gives him something to think about, maybe reassures him.
We return to his stall in one piece. I exhale, as another gust of wind sends all of the blankets rippling down the aisle again. And I resolve to explore the option of handwalking inside the arena, next time.
"Hi boy!"
We head down by the pastures, my special treat for the precious daylight hours I get to spend with my horse. It is windy, and the horses in the pasture are enjoying the warm sunshine and brisk wind.
It's springtime! they say, as they kick up their heels in pasture play.
Donnie pricks his ears, quivers, but walks quietly on.
"Good boy."
We pass a lone palm tree, its giant leaves rustling fiercely in the wind.
Tree? Donnie asks. He stops, looks, ears pricked.
"You're all right boy."
His ears still pricked at sharp attention, he quivers, but walks quietly on.
"Good boy."
We find friends. A couple of riders going our way. I smile and fall in stride, chatting quietly with Jay about Donnie's schedule and recovery. He sympathizes with the long lay up. Donnie appears content in the group.
They pass us, Jay's black horse going at a quick jig.
They're leaving! Donnie kicks up his heels, attempting to run, to play.
I stop, let him run into my hands on the lead rope. Tension, stop, immediately let the lead rope go slack as he swings around and stops, obeying the pressure.
They're leaving!! Donnie insists. It's spring! Let me run and play!! He arches his neck and attempts to trot off after the pair.
"Not with that right front leg, you don't." I remind him, quietly, as he runs into my hands again. Tension, stop, immediately let the lead rope go slack as he obeys.
I don't care! He turns in and rears up, front hooves too close for comfort.
"HEY." Sharp, quick yank on the lead rope. Step in, let the rope go slack, and send him away from my space. He returns to all fours, turns perpendicular to me, moves away, puts his head down and lets out a good, fat buck.
We both come to a halt. The lead rope is slack. I cross my arms, he flinches. I say nothing, but stand quietly. I count to 50, slowly, calming my heartbeats. He flicks his ears backwards and forwards a million miles a minute. The wind gusts. The pair of horses disappear from view. He turns his head towards me.
But I want to play. Why won't you let me?
"I'm sorry, darling. I know this sucks." His eye is soft enough again, although he still quivers with every gust of wind and every rustling leaf.
We head back to the barn. He wants to rush, run me over. I keep my right hand on his neck, half pushing against him. He leans against my hand slightly, enjoying the pressure. It seems to calm him, gives him something to think about, maybe reassures him.
We return to his stall in one piece. I exhale, as another gust of wind sends all of the blankets rippling down the aisle again. And I resolve to explore the option of handwalking inside the arena, next time.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Best Compliment Ever
Last night I got a note from Tobin's mom. A fabulous rider going third level in her own right, hearing this from her made me feel pretty good indeed!
"Hey, with Tobin back to work and Allie not riding Wednesday nights and Saturdays are open if you wanted to pick up some more ride time before Donnie gets back to work. I am seriously going to miss having you on him he always feels SO good after you ride..."
We are all motivated by different things for horses--- some to achieve that oh-so-elegant look while on horseback, others for companionship and snuggle time--- for me, more than anything else, I am motivated to become a better rider so that I can improve the way a horse goes every time I ride.
"Hey, with Tobin back to work and Allie not riding Wednesday nights and Saturdays are open if you wanted to pick up some more ride time before Donnie gets back to work. I am seriously going to miss having you on him he always feels SO good after you ride..."
We are all motivated by different things for horses--- some to achieve that oh-so-elegant look while on horseback, others for companionship and snuggle time--- for me, more than anything else, I am motivated to become a better rider so that I can improve the way a horse goes every time I ride.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Staying In The Moment
"You look like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop," Ali said last Monday as I was walking Tobin around the arena for our warm-up.
And, well, I was. Tobin had taken a funny look at a wheel barrow and tossed his head a little at it a moment ago. So, I was naturally waiting for him to do something silly at the horse tied over there, or the car being unloaded over there, or the pony inside the arena with us jumping, or the other horse inside the arena with us whose steering appears to have gone haywire.
"Stop it," Ali said.
So I tried to think about something else. Sit my butt down, wiggle my hips around, wiggle my toes, weight my foot... Follow follow follow with my seat. Ok that's a bit better.
After a while, we moved up to canter. And I poured all of my focus into my seat. Sit. Follow. In the rhythm of the stride, I focused on putting my weight in my outside seat bone while lightening up my inside one, then shift the weight to the middle, then into my inside foot. Do not let my outside seat bone leave the saddle during any part of that. Rinse and repeat.
Between focusing on that, focusing on keeping the rhythm, and steering, my brain was full. And when my brain is full, I get out of my own way which lets me ride a zillion times better. We cantered around the whole arena, I didn't even think twice about putting him all the way against the rail on the far end where it was dark, open to the night, and right by a car with people unloading a bunch of stuff. And we were focused on what we were doing, so none of it bothered either Tobin or me. Amazing.
I lost myself in the exercise of rhythm and following, taking care to keep my brain full. We practiced it for several minutes to either side, and it was the closest I'd come to finding "the zone" riding dressage. I'd found "the zone" previously riding, but only ever either going cross-country or jumping, when the rhythm of the canter and the fences in a course can lull my brain into just going with it. (Of course, only on the days where I didn't pee my pants or get bucked off, which is why I stopped jumping anyway. That and the hospital bills...)
At the end of the lesson, Ali pretty much summed up my riding life in a nutshell:
"There is something mental going on with you, isn't there," she said. "Here you have this horse going beautifully, and then something happens, and you freeze, which breaks the whole picture. Your challenge is going to be getting into this state where your seat is melty and everything is lovely, faster. You know how to do it and you do it beautifully, but you have to work on getting there and being there and staying there right away, not after 10 minutes of fussing around."
"It's a funny thing with you. The horses know you know what you're doing. They respect you. They want to listen to you. They're asking you what you want, but you're turning around and asking them if they're going to spook at stuff outside the arena. Usually that worry is something that beginning riders are worried about, because they can't command the horse's attention. You command their attention completely, but it's like you don't believe it."
And, well, I was. Tobin had taken a funny look at a wheel barrow and tossed his head a little at it a moment ago. So, I was naturally waiting for him to do something silly at the horse tied over there, or the car being unloaded over there, or the pony inside the arena with us jumping, or the other horse inside the arena with us whose steering appears to have gone haywire.
"Stop it," Ali said.
So I tried to think about something else. Sit my butt down, wiggle my hips around, wiggle my toes, weight my foot... Follow follow follow with my seat. Ok that's a bit better.
After a while, we moved up to canter. And I poured all of my focus into my seat. Sit. Follow. In the rhythm of the stride, I focused on putting my weight in my outside seat bone while lightening up my inside one, then shift the weight to the middle, then into my inside foot. Do not let my outside seat bone leave the saddle during any part of that. Rinse and repeat.
Between focusing on that, focusing on keeping the rhythm, and steering, my brain was full. And when my brain is full, I get out of my own way which lets me ride a zillion times better. We cantered around the whole arena, I didn't even think twice about putting him all the way against the rail on the far end where it was dark, open to the night, and right by a car with people unloading a bunch of stuff. And we were focused on what we were doing, so none of it bothered either Tobin or me. Amazing.
I lost myself in the exercise of rhythm and following, taking care to keep my brain full. We practiced it for several minutes to either side, and it was the closest I'd come to finding "the zone" riding dressage. I'd found "the zone" previously riding, but only ever either going cross-country or jumping, when the rhythm of the canter and the fences in a course can lull my brain into just going with it. (Of course, only on the days where I didn't pee my pants or get bucked off, which is why I stopped jumping anyway. That and the hospital bills...)
At the end of the lesson, Ali pretty much summed up my riding life in a nutshell:
"There is something mental going on with you, isn't there," she said. "Here you have this horse going beautifully, and then something happens, and you freeze, which breaks the whole picture. Your challenge is going to be getting into this state where your seat is melty and everything is lovely, faster. You know how to do it and you do it beautifully, but you have to work on getting there and being there and staying there right away, not after 10 minutes of fussing around."
"It's a funny thing with you. The horses know you know what you're doing. They respect you. They want to listen to you. They're asking you what you want, but you're turning around and asking them if they're going to spook at stuff outside the arena. Usually that worry is something that beginning riders are worried about, because they can't command the horse's attention. You command their attention completely, but it's like you don't believe it."
Mental Toughness
I've been wrestling with this topic for the past few weeks. It snuck up on me quiet-like, and I didn't even realize I had a problem until I found myself in a don't-want-to-get-out-of-bed-in-the-morning state of mind for weeks at a time these past few months.
I'd always thought that I was pretty okay in the mental department. I did well in school and had good jobs. I had friends and a loving family and horses. At one point, I was out of school a couple of years, I was getting praise and raises at work, I was having a ball out of the office with my friends, I was at the top of the world and thought I was pretty bad ass.
And then it happened. I got promoted to a position where I have very little support, and yet a lot of responsibility to design and ship good product. There isn't any "boss" for me to make happy, and a whole team of people I have to make miserable every single day to get my job done. It plain sucks. And after almost two years of tackling complaints from this team on a daily basis, I'm thinking by now I'm pretty crap at my job.
The same problems plague my riding. I have no faith in my abilities. The horse bucks or spooks or bolts, or is lazy, or looks around for something more interesting to focus on, and the world comes crumbling down around me. Of course the horse is going to buck / spook / bolt / be lazy / be distracted! Why should he listen to me? I am crap at this, just like I'm crap at everything else.
And this, I think, gets at the root of my fear issues that I've been tackling for years as well. I'm afraid because I feel out of control because not only do I not feel like the horse is listening to me, I don't even feel like he *should* be listening to me!
The answer I've come up with? Mental toughness. There is a point in life where you no longer get gold stars, or carrots, or a well-deserved pat on the head for doing a good job. In fact, there are points in your life when many of the people in your life are telling you the exact opposite, even if you are doing the right thing. And when you get there, you need every shred of mental toughness you can muster to keep going, figure out what you want, and enjoy your life.
According to some reading I've found, mental toughness has 6 components:
1. Confidence: believe in yourself and your abilities
2. Focus: on the task at hand
3. Motivation: find something that you believe is worth getting out of bed for
4. Courage: to go after what you believe, even if nobody else understands
5. Composure: keep it together!
6. Resiliency: failure is inevitable. How will you bounce back?
So, I am in operation kick-myself-in-the-ass mode, working on confidence, motivation, courage, and resiliency. It is a slow, terrifying and tiring process, but hopefully in the end worth it.
I'd always thought that I was pretty okay in the mental department. I did well in school and had good jobs. I had friends and a loving family and horses. At one point, I was out of school a couple of years, I was getting praise and raises at work, I was having a ball out of the office with my friends, I was at the top of the world and thought I was pretty bad ass.
And then it happened. I got promoted to a position where I have very little support, and yet a lot of responsibility to design and ship good product. There isn't any "boss" for me to make happy, and a whole team of people I have to make miserable every single day to get my job done. It plain sucks. And after almost two years of tackling complaints from this team on a daily basis, I'm thinking by now I'm pretty crap at my job.
The same problems plague my riding. I have no faith in my abilities. The horse bucks or spooks or bolts, or is lazy, or looks around for something more interesting to focus on, and the world comes crumbling down around me. Of course the horse is going to buck / spook / bolt / be lazy / be distracted! Why should he listen to me? I am crap at this, just like I'm crap at everything else.
And this, I think, gets at the root of my fear issues that I've been tackling for years as well. I'm afraid because I feel out of control because not only do I not feel like the horse is listening to me, I don't even feel like he *should* be listening to me!
The answer I've come up with? Mental toughness. There is a point in life where you no longer get gold stars, or carrots, or a well-deserved pat on the head for doing a good job. In fact, there are points in your life when many of the people in your life are telling you the exact opposite, even if you are doing the right thing. And when you get there, you need every shred of mental toughness you can muster to keep going, figure out what you want, and enjoy your life.
According to some reading I've found, mental toughness has 6 components:
1. Confidence: believe in yourself and your abilities
2. Focus: on the task at hand
3. Motivation: find something that you believe is worth getting out of bed for
4. Courage: to go after what you believe, even if nobody else understands
5. Composure: keep it together!
6. Resiliency: failure is inevitable. How will you bounce back?
So, I am in operation kick-myself-in-the-ass mode, working on confidence, motivation, courage, and resiliency. It is a slow, terrifying and tiring process, but hopefully in the end worth it.
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