Riding with my mind

Friend Nat, me, and the sleepy Paxfilly herself.

Clearly, blogging has not been my focus nor my strength in the past months. After my fear post in November, I received some amazing feedback through comments, e-mails, and even a phone call or two. Much thanks for that. It would be a lie to say "I'm over it!" but also a lie to say I haven't improved daily. No, I'm not riding Indigo yet. I'm not ready, and obviously he is not, either— I've let him be more or less dormant, minus a few ground lessons, and where his manners were fair before, he's adopted a much less go-with-the-flow attitude. Several people, my husband included, have generously offered to work with me and mount him the first time themselves.. I'm not ruling that out, and it might help, but worse than hurting myself is the thought of getting someone else banged up because of my own insecurities. Though I'm not ready for that step on my own, I'm doing fine on other horses and losing the heart-in-the-throat feeling that mounting a squirrelly horse gave me so strongly after the incident in Utopia. I push myself a little bit every time I ride someone new, and it feels better and better. Not like it used to be, but that's fine. I can be patient.

I have worked with Pax, and see her going off to be properly started next fall. She has taken to —sigh..— jumping things. Like fences, and gates. And barrels. And I think the corner of the plastic round bale holders. She lept out of the arena two weeks ago and only slightly snagged her back feet. Hoping it is all a phase, in part because.. (exciting news to follow:)

Camp is finally getting a new riding arena! Of real pipe! And real footing! And even level ground!

Finally, the stars have aligned and the right people have uttered the word "yes" and it looks like we should have the old arena, tacking area, and corral torn down and a new structure standing by the beginning of March. Sounds like a potential donor has committed to getting us sand footing and railroad ties to line and elevate the arena itself, providing the solid, safe, less rocky ground that will benefit our kids and our horses. Can't express how stoked I am, and likewise how thankful. Temporary fencing has gone up and tomorrow the tear-down process begins. Riding lessons cancelled for the rest of February, though you bet I will still be riding Bandit.

Bandit.. My hero. Through all of this anxiety junk, he's been about as good as I could ask him. He has packed me on trails at weird hours of the day, and put up with my dressage-dreams-fueled weird exercises and experiments that come to me from nowhere. We dealt with some grouchiness and pain issues at our last regular dressage lesson, and swapped some things around (extracted his ground-down wolf teeth; powerfloated; de-beaned; trimmed; restarted SmartFlex Senior.) I was more than a little nervous that he'd turn up lame or not turn up at all, so to speak, at the Joan Bolton clinic we lucked into riding in. Instead, I learned (within minutes) all the ways that I was exacerbating his flaws and giving him all kinds of reasons to protest the gymnastic elements of dressage that are lacking in our normal skill set. By the end of the ride, you couldn't have Windexed the smile off of my face. 

Clinic, 1-27-2012. Come so far, and so far yet to go!

Both Cindy, the instructor I've been riding with north of Kerrville, and Joan (and Heather Blitz, rider of the great Paragon) practice riding through biomechanics, as conceptualized and taught by Mary Wanless. From Mrs. Blitz's website, linked to above:

The person who has been the biggest influence in my riding is my biomechanics coach, Mary Wanless.  I met Mary in 1993 and have continued to learn from her to the present.  Her research into the effect of riders’ bodies on horses is extensive and unique and not found in more “traditional” training.  Her theories continue miles beyond teaching the beginner to improve their seat.   The more advanced I become in my riding,  I find her even more helpful.  Like a mechanic tuning my engine as I need more and more technique, power and refinement.  As you progress up the levels, it gets harder and harder to find words to describe what we’re trying to achieve  but Mary’s style, using analogies and sensory feedback allows for amazing communication and understanding in a world of feel and timing.  I have always had a special niche in my own teaching because of my education from Mary and will forever be grateful for the day I was introduced to her. 

Bible-like. Kept by my bedside.

Reading Wanless' Ride with Your Mind Masterclass and Ride with Your Mind Essentials is changing my riding every day. I used the Essentials text to focus my attention on one muscle group at a time, and was quite quickly lead to the realization that there are many notions of horsemanship that I absolutely must let go. The balance, seat, and leg that I've received compliments (and good horsemanship scores) on repeatedly leave me vulnerable to a dozen traps that break the energy flow that can suddenly turn an acceptable ride into a connected, lifted, and beautiful one. We are so far from making that the norm, but those fleeting moments of roundness and softness are happening more and more often and I'm slowly developing the muscle memory to know where I need to be in order for the beauty in him to come out. I realize I would be eternally farther along in the process if I could spend some time riding a schoolmaster and being taught how and when to press the buttons to receive the award. Instead, it's a joint process with two personalities and two sets of flaws to contend with, as well as thirty-three years of bad habits between us. Outside of this circle of riders I've become privy to (weather through the barn I've been riding at or through YouTube searches of horse-and-rider teams employing the same principles) I have not seen riding like this. I want it, badly. 

My involvement in NATRC currently hovers at sitting on the advisory board of the newsletter and editing things for the Hoof Print. I'm glad I get to be involved there, but I'm completely looking forward to competing in the Wimberly Wayfarer later in the spring. Wimberly is another gorgeous Hill Country town, closer to Austin, and I think the familiar scenery could lend a little calm to my bucket o' crazy pony. He is so prone to absorbing the atmosphere around him.. at the dressage clinic, he was miraculously the quietest, most well-behaved little gelding of the bunch. I got several compliments on his ability to stand tied anywhere I put him; a skill honed strictly from trying to learn the ropes of long distance competitive trail. Yet when we're at CTRs, he's a bucket of nerves who tries to remove his eyeball and instead removes the trailer door, all in one foul swoop because a completely familiar person got a completely unremarkable distance away from him. Oh well. Can't have it all, and I'm lucky to have my old man!

Deconstructing some fear stuff.

I kid you not, this was my fortune at supper last night.

I have recently discovered being scared.

Like, really scared.

From my understanding, (and Equus, etc. subscriptions) riders of all natures deal with fear at one point or another.  Also, the only riders I've met who never deal with any twinge of fear are idiots as a general rule.

But for the multitude of things I am scared of in life— heights being at the top of the list— horsemanship has always been a very controllable subject. Doofy horses might put my senses on higher alert, but I'd ride them.. and often liked to.

I have a good sized list of things I will not do because I don't think they are worth the risk anymore, personally. I haven't ridden without a helmet since I was 22. I haven't ridden double since I was a teenager. I got confident enough to gallop around bareback in college but don't feel the urge to go that fast without a saddle again. Riding on busy roads does not excite me. Moving fast on slick pavement with any kind of grade has made me nervous since a fall I had at the age of 20. I've always known I can sit a few bucks, but no bronc busting. I wish I could say I never ride alone, but I don't have that luxury. Becoming the director of an equestrian program instead of just a hired hand changed a lot of the way I ride, and I started defining my boundaries a bit.. but for the most part, it made me a better rider. I think everyone has their limits. I also knew (know?) what I was (am?) good at, and worked to better what I sucked at.

Yesterday, I went to go ride. I have been advised by my doctor to stay off of horses preferably through November and into December, but I've had to ride several times during that time period and felt fine afterwards. One of my duties and one of the things I really enjoy is trying out and working on new camp horse acquisitions— figuring out what they're good at, what needs tuning up, and which students or campers would benefit from riding them. Our farrier brought us an older, half-blind black mare a few weeks ago who is broke as anything. He used "Jessie" for mounted shooting, apparently, and general ranch work, but she's past the age of being terribly useful at any jobs involving speed.. Exactly the age we want for a good-natured babysitter horse.

I've had a few weeks to get to know Jessie on the ground, so while my husband was trimming ponies down at the barn, I tacked her up and lead her out to the arena to take her for a test drive. She hasn't been used in a year or so, but had given us no reason to doubt her usefulness. I lead her to the mounting block, stood on the top step, and started to put a foot in the stirrup. As many slightly pissy old mares do, she flapped her lips and twitched her tail. I hesitated. And then I started to shake, and, shortly thereafter, cry.

Jessie Girl.. half asleep. As usual.

(It is not fun to write that.)

Richard had been watching me the entire time, and he came over to see what on Earth I was doing. Because he has a huge heart (and probably because he's a camp guy, weekend wrangler, and used to the occasional hysterical little girl) he talked me through swinging over and— again, this pains me to write— lead me around the arena about half a lap. I had composed myself by then and rode her for a half hour or so, sans lead line, and she was fine. Rusty, grouchy, and slow.. but perfectly fine.

A couple of days before Jessie, my former boss (and friend) put me on his three-year-old colt to lead trail rides. I was perfectly fine with that. The colt, "Smiley," was incredibly well-mannered and polite, but he's still just a baby and I didn't hesitate to ride him. He even boogered once, and I probably tensed more than I normally would, but we moved on and had a nice time. I think perhaps I wasn't as afraid because I wasn't the boss in that situation. Sure, in my short relationship with my horse, I was the boss.. But there was my actual boss there, maybe not physically, but I was doing a job he asked me to do and I had no problem with executing it and leaving that young horse hopefully a tiny bit better for his widened experience. Not real fear on my part. But when I'm the top dog at my own place, I burst into tears getting on a geriatric, sleepy ranch horse. 

What brought this crap on?

I'm tired of telling the story, but if you recall my last post about taking three-year-old mustang Indigo to his first ACTHA ride.. I took him, but we didn't get to go on the actual trail ride. Instead, he transformed from the quietest, un-phaseable colt I've ever met to a real fun little bronc. He tossed me before I could even get in the saddle the first time and continued to buck for close to 90 seconds. (I checked my watch.) 

Smiley.

I ignored my guts, which told me to quit. I also ignored my experience, which (should have) told me to stop and figure out what had made this little horse do such a violent 180 in his behavior.

Instead, I got back on (and was bolted and tossed in very short succession) not once, but twice. I had to be picked off the ground on the last go-around, but besides doing some damage to the normal alignment of my skeletal system and being bed ridden for a day, I came off gloriously unscathed.

He's been to a chiro, who reports (a) saddle fit pain (b) possibly the remnants of a fall, equalling misalignment of his spine and a tilted pelvis (c) tenseness and muscle overcompensation all over his body. He has shown us twice that he is ready and willing to buck again when you try and step a foot in the saddle. I have not done any more than that.

I've been to a chiro, who says my legs are crooked, my pelvis is wonky, and my lower back is toast. Which I knew. Not to snark what she does; it was a huge help! 

I took him to a Natural Horsemanship ground clinic. He has been reported to be a "left-brained introvert" on the "Parelli Horsenality" spectrum, "extremely passive-aggressive," and "potentially dangerous or violent." I really liked the folks at the clinic, but I'd also like to believe they are wrong. We had some success with the Seven Games and I don't discount their use. But I didn't walk away feeling terribly encouraged about him. I'm not done trying, and he is still sore. Those are notes for a later date, anyways.

To sum it up and psychoanalyze myself.. I'm primarily scared of getting injured. Potentially much, much worse than I was. (I got off quite good, with a couple of weeks of a really cool limp.) But fueling that is a hypersensitivity to every ear twitch and stomp and snort— I'm terrified I'm going to overlook the warning signs that I'm about to become a lawn dart again. And I have a tough time trusting my mount. I trusted Indigo with a lot last summer, and he never once gave me a reason to doubt him. There is a sense of failure in my first solo experiment in training a horse from square one. There is frustration. And yep, definitely still a hefty dose of fear at the thought of sitting on him again. I've fallen off more times than I can count (like most riders, probably)— but this was definitely different.

Anyway.. what to do about it?

Obviously, seek help. I don't have dozens of horse friends in the area who I would want to take instruction from (doesn't that sound witchy?) But there are others I trust and want to learn from who have offered to help with Indigo. I have (and will) use them, plus the equine chiro and our vet. I am not at all ready to get back on him again, but if pain is any indication, he isn't ready to carry a rider, either.

I loved the woman I was taking dressage lessons from with Bandit, and I will be using her again as soon as she gets back from training in Florida. I have a couple of leads on other trainers and instructors who I may have to drive a bit to utilize, but I think it's worth it.

And I'm just going to keep riding. I dismissed my two months with no riding because I was afraid my nervousness would only get worse. Riding Bandit has helped; even though he is far from a Steady Eddie, I know his moves and I trust our relationship. Unfortunately, he is still recovering so I'm limited in what we do. (That bad eye looks pretty good, though!) I'm going to ride Jessie and Ranger, who are new (they need it before they go into lessons) but who I know are well broke and relatively mindful.  I'm going to get back on Annie next week and see if going back to twice weekly rides will help her with her chronic witchiness.

I wish I had more people to ride with. Not experts, just horse folks. I wish I could be at a boarding  barn sometimes, and this is one of those times. I miss the horse community— not the great one that exists when I get to be at NATRC rides, or the one I have on Facebook thanks to a short lifetime of riding and acquiring friends along the way. But actual human beings to ride with, so I'm not always the one at the barn by myself. Would that solve everything? No way, but it would make things easier. 

"The horse doesn't love you." — Jere Johnson
But I am so glad to have my old man to totter around on!

Possibly the best advice I've received thus far is to stop replaying the bad memory over and over again. I haven't been able to quit completely, but I think about it less frequently. There's something masochisticly pleasing about hitting the "replay" button on that mental tape.. and hitting the ground over, and over, and over again. Gah. Sucks.

But it is getting better!

Have you had a sudden onset of fear while riding? What've you done about it?

I confess to taking some inspiration to write about all of this from a blog called Drafts with Dots; the writer had a nasty incident involving back hooves and her face, and is still in the process of recovery. She writes much more frequently and poignantly than I do, and the fact that she could do it prompted me to try. I think the simple act of typing out the things I hate to think about banishes some of the squicky gut feelings. I know I'm getting better. And at the end of the day, I still absolutely love to ride.. and almost more so, I love to teach children to love riding like I do.