I had a lesson with John today. For a change, I was actually well organised and well warmed up by the time of the lesson, so we could get straight on. He watched us walk and trot on both reins and then do a walk to canter transition on each rein. He didn't actually say very much, which is usually quite a good sign! He seemed pretty impressed with how she's improved, particularly on the right rein.
He did notice that in our canter transitions, she tends to fall to the inside, sort of jumping inwards into canter, rather than pushing out into the outside rein. To work on this, he got me to work in trot and come down the three-quarter line, leg-yielding towards the track. When I got to about half way between the 3/4 line and the track, I had to ask for canter, while still leg-yielding to the wall. It didn't sound that hard - I've often leg yielded in trot to the wall and then cantered on the track - how hard could it be? Very hard! I was so mal-coordinated! It's one thing being able to use the wall to help, but asking for canter while still leg-yielding was really really difficult! I also realised that it is probably me that makes her throw her weight to the inside in the transitions, as when I was asking for them in the leg-yield, that was exactly what I was doing with my body - it was more exaggerated as she was moving sideways. When I actually sat up and asked for the canter transition up from my inside seatbone and held it in the outside rein, it was lovely!
What I then found difficult, particularly on the right rein, was maintaining the sideways movement in the canter. The first step was nice, then she would fall right again. It took all my powers of coordination to really keep my inside leg on to keep her travelling sideways. He definitely knows how to get me using my little brain. However, the really good bit was the trot after I had done this exercise. Because I had actually used my inside leg and my outside rein properly through the movement, I had this lovely, powerful, swinging trot and I just wanted to hang on to it for dear life!!
Then the even better bit was what John said at the end. For quite a while, my goal has been to start taking Echo to some dressage shows in the Spring. Today, at the end of my lesson, John said that we are ready to do our first test now. I was so chuffed - having got to know him a little over the last year of having lessons with him, I'm pretty sure that he wouldn't say that lightly. It feels like when we get it right, we can really get it right and it's so much fun! I came out of the lesson beaming. I don't yet have a show to go to - in fact, there's an awful lot of preparation work to do first, as she hasn't ever been ridden away from home. However - that little comment just gave me the confidence and boost to the self-esteem that I really needed. I can't wait!!!
Sunday, 22 February 2009
Thursday, 19 February 2009
Blast from the past
The lady that I bought Echo from came to see her earlier this week. I have difficulty explaining who she is, as she didn't exactly breed her - at least, not on purpose! She bought her horse, Pebble, a lovely coloured cob-type mare, then found out several months later that she was in foal. Echo was born a month or so later and I bought her as a yearling. The last time she had seen Echo, it was as a rather scared little yearling climbing anxiously onto a trailer. She has of course seen photos and been kept up to date with our progress, but I knew that it would be very different for her to actually see her in person.
It was quite emotional actually - she seemed very happy with how Echo has turned out and was struck by how similar she is to her mother. Her mother has more white on her face, but other than that, their heads are almost identical. Pebble is a little lighter in her colour and very slightly heavier in her build, but the likeness is uncanny - part of the reason why she named her Echo in the first place, I think!
I rode her for a little while at first; the indoor was being used, so I had to go in the woodchip arena, which is not very easy to ride in, being on a slope. She had gone so beautifully the day before, but then seemed to have forgotten it all again when I got on that day. It's so annoying when that happens! She went quite nicely - she wasn't bending as well to the right as she has been the last couple of times, and she was a little sharp as she always is in that arena, but she didn't put a foot wrong really (I'm just a perfectionist!!).
Sue then rode her, which was so lovely to see - I genuinely don't think I've ever seen someone so thrilled to be on a horse before! Echo went really nicely and I was extra proud of her, as she has only ever had one other person sit on her once before. She dealt with it very well and trotted around beautifully - very clever pony.
I'm having a lesson with John on Sunday, so I will report back soon! I might have a little jump tomorrow - I haven't jumped since my last lesson and I feel like a change - it's so nice to be able to mix things up like this now!
Saturday, 14 February 2009
Ouch!
I worked myself super hard today. And Echo, come to think of it! It was such a beautiful day and I really wanted to go for a hack, but there was no one around to hack out with, so I went in the indoor school. I decided to mostly focus on myself for a change, making sure that my position was right and that I was sitting straight. I get slack with these things, having lessons so infrequently.
I even rode around with my whip behind my back, threaded through my elbows, like the picture of Pippa Funnell on her book about flatwork! It was good actually - I had Echo on the right rein, to try to get maximum benefit for her out of the exercises too. After warming her up, I took my stirrups away and rode the rest of the session without them - It really makes me think about the flexibility in my hips abd lower back, riding without stirrups - it's so good for you!! She felt amazing: she was bending really well to the right, although I was having to really work with my legs and my seat to hold that bend. My right leg tends to come forward so that when I ride her to the right, she then hangs on my right side, as it is so stiff. As soon as I started to loosen my right hip, she found it much easier to bend to the right.
I then practised some walk to canter transitions - also on the right rein. We kept getting the wrong lead, but by really concentrating on my position and how much leg I was using and in what places, I was able to get some good ones in the end. Not having stirrups meant that I was able to get her really 'through' in the canter, and she felt like her whole neck came up by about 6 inches. When I get it right, she feels like she has so much potential - I think I should try to get it right a little more often!
We were both exhausted at the end, so rather than walk her in the school, I thought I'd go for a little walk out on the heath. It was the first time I'd been out since getting scared a couple of weeks ago, so I'm really glad I did it. Because I had been riding her so strongly forward from my leg in the school, I continued to use my legs a lot out in the open too, so she was a lot more relaxed. I've found that this is the case recently; I need to ride her in the school for a bit, in order for me to really ride her. When we go straight out on a hack, I find that I tend to sit there like a lemon, which means that she takes charge more and ignores me - as you'd expect - with a lemon for a rider!
Got back to the yard and went to get off and realised that I might have overdone the whole sitting trot with no stirrups thing - my back feels like I've been doing back flips. It's a good feeling though, when you ache after something has gone well - rubbish when you ache and haven't even achieved anything!
I even rode around with my whip behind my back, threaded through my elbows, like the picture of Pippa Funnell on her book about flatwork! It was good actually - I had Echo on the right rein, to try to get maximum benefit for her out of the exercises too. After warming her up, I took my stirrups away and rode the rest of the session without them - It really makes me think about the flexibility in my hips abd lower back, riding without stirrups - it's so good for you!! She felt amazing: she was bending really well to the right, although I was having to really work with my legs and my seat to hold that bend. My right leg tends to come forward so that when I ride her to the right, she then hangs on my right side, as it is so stiff. As soon as I started to loosen my right hip, she found it much easier to bend to the right.
I then practised some walk to canter transitions - also on the right rein. We kept getting the wrong lead, but by really concentrating on my position and how much leg I was using and in what places, I was able to get some good ones in the end. Not having stirrups meant that I was able to get her really 'through' in the canter, and she felt like her whole neck came up by about 6 inches. When I get it right, she feels like she has so much potential - I think I should try to get it right a little more often!
We were both exhausted at the end, so rather than walk her in the school, I thought I'd go for a little walk out on the heath. It was the first time I'd been out since getting scared a couple of weeks ago, so I'm really glad I did it. Because I had been riding her so strongly forward from my leg in the school, I continued to use my legs a lot out in the open too, so she was a lot more relaxed. I've found that this is the case recently; I need to ride her in the school for a bit, in order for me to really ride her. When we go straight out on a hack, I find that I tend to sit there like a lemon, which means that she takes charge more and ignores me - as you'd expect - with a lemon for a rider!
Got back to the yard and went to get off and realised that I might have overdone the whole sitting trot with no stirrups thing - my back feels like I've been doing back flips. It's a good feeling though, when you ache after something has gone well - rubbish when you ache and haven't even achieved anything!
Tuesday, 3 February 2009
Fear
I was never a particularly fearful child. I loved exciting rides at the fair, I loved my dad driving fast, the feeling of nearly being out of control was exhilarating and liberating. When I got into riding, I loved to go fast. In fact, the memory that prevails of my riding experience is the time that I went on a beach ride with my riding school. It was an evening ride and there seemed to be loads of us. We travelled down to Littlehampton to ride along the beach and my mount was to be a little dark bay mare called Cadbury, who I had never even sat on. It didn't bother me; I have never forgotten the wild, intense joy that felt as if my chest would burst, as I thundered across the open sand. There was no fear of not stopping - the ponies would tire long before the end of the beach and I can honestly say, no feeling has ever come close to rivalling that adrenaline rush.
Summer days were spent working endlessly at a local riding school, loving the ponies as if they were my own, riding bareback to the field, boasting of heroic acts of horsemanship required to stay on the 'ginormous' buck that a particular pony had put in; I used to jump without stirrups, without reins, holding a cup of water in each hand and with my eyes shut; I would vault on a pony while it was cantering and leap from my mount in order to win a race of some sort. I have nothing but fond memories from this time.
I can tell you the exact day that this changed. I had never had a pony of my own and had instead relied on free rides provided in return for long hours as a helper at a local riding school. However, when I was about fourteen, my parents had a little more money; they were certainly not rich, but had a little more than when I was a small child. To this day, I don't know how I managed it, but I eventually persuaded my dad that he should buy me a horse and that I had found a horse that I liked. I think by actually saying HERE is a horse I want to buy rather than the hypothetical 'can I have a horse?' was what worked. Essentially, I put him on the spot. I tried this horse out a few times and was adamant that I wanted her. Within a few weeks, she was mine.
I don't think I could have picked a more unsuitable partner if I had tried. I was a confident rider, but I rode Fell ponies and Section Ds, not six year old flighty thoroughbreds. I should have bought myself a sturdy pony with a leg in each corner, but I ended up with a mare with serious and dangerous psychological problems. I bought her from a dealer that my friend worked for, thinking that it would be OK, because I sort of knew him. It wasn't. The first time I rode my beloved new horse, she planted herself solidly in the arena and refused to move. It was the strangest experience - she actually didn't seem able to move. Here I was, proudly mounted on my brand new horse, the envy of all the helpers at the yard, and she was planted - rooted to the spot. We tried everything - I coaxed, I kicked, I got someone to lead her, I got her fieldmate out to lead her in front, but nothing worked. She wasn't going anywhere. Getting upset by this point, I kicked again and smacked her a few times. The rest is a bit of a blur. I remember her running backwards, I sort of remember her rearing and I remember hitting the floor, with my horse falling on top of me.
I won't go into the rest of the details, as the 'Hattie experience' could fill a whole post of its own, but it was on that day that I realised that, no matter how good a rider you are, no matter how well you can stay on to 'ginormous' bucks, the horse can always win. The horse is always stronger and if he really wants to, he will get you off. This was a devastating revelation; my first moment of understanding that I was not invincible and that riding was a dangerous game. The next time I rode her, with the dealer there who had sold her to me, sealed my fears. I was so tense that I must have clamped up the moment I got on. Hattie proceeded to gallop flat out around the school, feeling very much as though she were going to jump the fence at the end and take off down the road. I had no idea what this crazy animal would do and that has ingrained in me a deep-rooted feeling that I can never know what these animals will do.
When I worked for David for two years, you would think that riding every day as my job would cure me of my fears; in fact, I think it ingrained them even deeper. I was desperate to be fearless, but every time something scary happened, I felt this wash of terror and it was totally irrational. When I became a better rider, I started to get offered the ride on some of David's better horses, but I couldn't do it. I rode one of them once - one that David has since competed to advanced level. It would have been a fantastic opportunity, but I was utterly rigid; the moment I got on him and couldn't do anything. My body went into meltdown and I was terrified. I couldn't even have told you what I was scared of happening. For me, my fear is not that easy to pinpoint - it's more of an instinct that I can't control.
David found it funny. I was labelled a 'wimp' and he just let me get on with it. His wife, Serena, took a slightly more philosophical approach and told me not to be ashamed of it, and that I should just do what I'm comfortable with. If I don't like riding hot horses, then I shouldn't ride hot horses - simple as that. But there was a part of me that still couldn't help feeling embarrassed by my inability to conquer my nerves.
When I bought Echo, I had really mixed feelings. I had been given a coloured cob to train by David and Serena, and we had done very well. When I am confident, I am capable of riding reasonably effectively. I bought Echo because I had loved this cob so much and thought that she was the type of horse I could train myself. Interestingly, I had never been too worried about backing the young horses at David's. This could be because I only ever had to do the initial work - the backing and first riding. There was very little expected of me, other than to do what I was told. I also found that horses, when started correctly, are usually very obliging in the first few rides. If they are going to act up, it is usually when they have worked out what is going on and I rarely kept the horse for that long.
When it came to teaching Echo to be lunged at David's, I was really nervous. She was my responsibility. The future of my riding career rested on what I taught her then and that thought terrified me. David saw me with her on the first day there and said, 'You'll never ride that horse.' This had a strange effect on me: on the one hand, I was crushed - perhaps he was right... But on the other, I was incensed. I WOULD prove him wrong - no matter what!
Again, the first few times riding Echo I was fine - I knew the processes, I had someone helping me and I felt safe. What terrified me was the next stage - the riding free - the combating of any problems I was faced with. Was I up to it? What would happen if I mucked it up? This was my horse - I would have to deal with it. None of these were gripping fears, but were certainly concerns at the back of my mind.
So this post is about fear. About my fear that engulfs me at certain moments when I am on a horse. Ever since Hattie I have been nervous of hacking; nothing specifically happened with her out hacking, but it goes back to that feeling that ultimately, no person can ever be totally in control of a horse. It all seems more real and worrying when out in the open countryside. I am a self-confessed control freak and I don't always know what my horse will do.
Last week, I took Echo out for a wander around the cross country course to cool down after a particularly intense schooling session. She had not gone well and I was feeling angry - not at her, but at myself. We got into the woods at the end of the main route in and Echo was striding out nicely. Starting to relax, I began to enjoy myself and forget the irritation of the schooling. We had just turned a corner, when I felt Echo go rigid and shoot forwards from under me. I took a stronger contact instinctively, and tensed up myself. I turned round to see what it was and realised that a big German Shepherd (belonging to the yard owner) was wandering around in the trees. I relaxed; of course this would scare her. However, she didn't relax - she got even more tense, feeling like a coiled spring beneath me. I turned her, so that she could look and see the dog, but she obviously couldn't - she could only hear him rustling.
It's at moments like these that I realise that my horse doesn't totally trust me. All those lovely idealistic perfect horsemanship books say that the horse turns to you to be the leader at these moments, but nothing I could do would get through to her. When I turned her back to the track to walk on, she had wound herself up so tightly that she felt as if she was going to explode. This is when the wall comes down. I freeze - I don't know what I'm scared of - it's probably a combination of things, but my vision goes blurry and my heart races. I become utterly focused on what the rigid quivering horse underneath me is thinking and I can't make myself ride through it. So I jumped off.
The moment my feet touched the floor, I was deeply ashamed of myself and thoroughly angry and my complete ineptitude. Furious, I tried to lead her forward, but she was now even more wound up than before. Believing that I had been wrong to admit defeat, I went about trying to mount again, but she was now spinning round in circles, probably trying to get away from this crazy woman clinging to her side! I had just got into the saddle, when I realised that in front of us was a big group of people cross-country schooling, going fast up a hill and over a jump. By this point I couldn't cope. Anticipating her reaction, I jumped off again and led her back the way we had come. She pranced at my side like a stallion (although I couldn't help but admire the elevation in her hock action!!) and I raged silently to myself. Why was I so stupid? Normal people wouldn't have got scared. I am such an idiot.
By the time I got back on, halfway back to the yard, I was in despair. Perhaps I didn't deserve a horse like Echo if I couldn't even stay on her when I got tense. How will I ever take her to a show if I can't ride the moment she gets upset? Theses were the thoughts running through my head as I returned to her stable.
It was interesting, then, to listen to John talking to one of his students about fear at the weekend. He claims that he is not naturally the bravest rider, though he has competed in major 4* events. I asked him how he managed it and he said by working at it. He said something that I have been thinking about ever since: a brave rider is not one that doesn't see the danger. I can't remember the exact wording of the second half of the sentence, but it was something along the lines of 'it is somebody that works to get around that danger'. He said that it isn't wrong to be scared. He also said that I shouldn't be angry with myself if I have to get off - if that is what I need to do in that situation.
I really don't know. I look back with such fondness at the time when I was a gutsy kid, up for anything, but when this fear hits me, it is as if a cloud has descended and I lose control of my limbs and my breathing. It doesn't happen often, but fear is a funny thing and I wonder whether there really is any way of combating it, or whether I will be haunted by it for life.
Summer days were spent working endlessly at a local riding school, loving the ponies as if they were my own, riding bareback to the field, boasting of heroic acts of horsemanship required to stay on the 'ginormous' buck that a particular pony had put in; I used to jump without stirrups, without reins, holding a cup of water in each hand and with my eyes shut; I would vault on a pony while it was cantering and leap from my mount in order to win a race of some sort. I have nothing but fond memories from this time.
I can tell you the exact day that this changed. I had never had a pony of my own and had instead relied on free rides provided in return for long hours as a helper at a local riding school. However, when I was about fourteen, my parents had a little more money; they were certainly not rich, but had a little more than when I was a small child. To this day, I don't know how I managed it, but I eventually persuaded my dad that he should buy me a horse and that I had found a horse that I liked. I think by actually saying HERE is a horse I want to buy rather than the hypothetical 'can I have a horse?' was what worked. Essentially, I put him on the spot. I tried this horse out a few times and was adamant that I wanted her. Within a few weeks, she was mine.
I don't think I could have picked a more unsuitable partner if I had tried. I was a confident rider, but I rode Fell ponies and Section Ds, not six year old flighty thoroughbreds. I should have bought myself a sturdy pony with a leg in each corner, but I ended up with a mare with serious and dangerous psychological problems. I bought her from a dealer that my friend worked for, thinking that it would be OK, because I sort of knew him. It wasn't. The first time I rode my beloved new horse, she planted herself solidly in the arena and refused to move. It was the strangest experience - she actually didn't seem able to move. Here I was, proudly mounted on my brand new horse, the envy of all the helpers at the yard, and she was planted - rooted to the spot. We tried everything - I coaxed, I kicked, I got someone to lead her, I got her fieldmate out to lead her in front, but nothing worked. She wasn't going anywhere. Getting upset by this point, I kicked again and smacked her a few times. The rest is a bit of a blur. I remember her running backwards, I sort of remember her rearing and I remember hitting the floor, with my horse falling on top of me.
I won't go into the rest of the details, as the 'Hattie experience' could fill a whole post of its own, but it was on that day that I realised that, no matter how good a rider you are, no matter how well you can stay on to 'ginormous' bucks, the horse can always win. The horse is always stronger and if he really wants to, he will get you off. This was a devastating revelation; my first moment of understanding that I was not invincible and that riding was a dangerous game. The next time I rode her, with the dealer there who had sold her to me, sealed my fears. I was so tense that I must have clamped up the moment I got on. Hattie proceeded to gallop flat out around the school, feeling very much as though she were going to jump the fence at the end and take off down the road. I had no idea what this crazy animal would do and that has ingrained in me a deep-rooted feeling that I can never know what these animals will do.
When I worked for David for two years, you would think that riding every day as my job would cure me of my fears; in fact, I think it ingrained them even deeper. I was desperate to be fearless, but every time something scary happened, I felt this wash of terror and it was totally irrational. When I became a better rider, I started to get offered the ride on some of David's better horses, but I couldn't do it. I rode one of them once - one that David has since competed to advanced level. It would have been a fantastic opportunity, but I was utterly rigid; the moment I got on him and couldn't do anything. My body went into meltdown and I was terrified. I couldn't even have told you what I was scared of happening. For me, my fear is not that easy to pinpoint - it's more of an instinct that I can't control.
David found it funny. I was labelled a 'wimp' and he just let me get on with it. His wife, Serena, took a slightly more philosophical approach and told me not to be ashamed of it, and that I should just do what I'm comfortable with. If I don't like riding hot horses, then I shouldn't ride hot horses - simple as that. But there was a part of me that still couldn't help feeling embarrassed by my inability to conquer my nerves.
When I bought Echo, I had really mixed feelings. I had been given a coloured cob to train by David and Serena, and we had done very well. When I am confident, I am capable of riding reasonably effectively. I bought Echo because I had loved this cob so much and thought that she was the type of horse I could train myself. Interestingly, I had never been too worried about backing the young horses at David's. This could be because I only ever had to do the initial work - the backing and first riding. There was very little expected of me, other than to do what I was told. I also found that horses, when started correctly, are usually very obliging in the first few rides. If they are going to act up, it is usually when they have worked out what is going on and I rarely kept the horse for that long.
When it came to teaching Echo to be lunged at David's, I was really nervous. She was my responsibility. The future of my riding career rested on what I taught her then and that thought terrified me. David saw me with her on the first day there and said, 'You'll never ride that horse.' This had a strange effect on me: on the one hand, I was crushed - perhaps he was right... But on the other, I was incensed. I WOULD prove him wrong - no matter what!
Again, the first few times riding Echo I was fine - I knew the processes, I had someone helping me and I felt safe. What terrified me was the next stage - the riding free - the combating of any problems I was faced with. Was I up to it? What would happen if I mucked it up? This was my horse - I would have to deal with it. None of these were gripping fears, but were certainly concerns at the back of my mind.
So this post is about fear. About my fear that engulfs me at certain moments when I am on a horse. Ever since Hattie I have been nervous of hacking; nothing specifically happened with her out hacking, but it goes back to that feeling that ultimately, no person can ever be totally in control of a horse. It all seems more real and worrying when out in the open countryside. I am a self-confessed control freak and I don't always know what my horse will do.
Last week, I took Echo out for a wander around the cross country course to cool down after a particularly intense schooling session. She had not gone well and I was feeling angry - not at her, but at myself. We got into the woods at the end of the main route in and Echo was striding out nicely. Starting to relax, I began to enjoy myself and forget the irritation of the schooling. We had just turned a corner, when I felt Echo go rigid and shoot forwards from under me. I took a stronger contact instinctively, and tensed up myself. I turned round to see what it was and realised that a big German Shepherd (belonging to the yard owner) was wandering around in the trees. I relaxed; of course this would scare her. However, she didn't relax - she got even more tense, feeling like a coiled spring beneath me. I turned her, so that she could look and see the dog, but she obviously couldn't - she could only hear him rustling.
It's at moments like these that I realise that my horse doesn't totally trust me. All those lovely idealistic perfect horsemanship books say that the horse turns to you to be the leader at these moments, but nothing I could do would get through to her. When I turned her back to the track to walk on, she had wound herself up so tightly that she felt as if she was going to explode. This is when the wall comes down. I freeze - I don't know what I'm scared of - it's probably a combination of things, but my vision goes blurry and my heart races. I become utterly focused on what the rigid quivering horse underneath me is thinking and I can't make myself ride through it. So I jumped off.
The moment my feet touched the floor, I was deeply ashamed of myself and thoroughly angry and my complete ineptitude. Furious, I tried to lead her forward, but she was now even more wound up than before. Believing that I had been wrong to admit defeat, I went about trying to mount again, but she was now spinning round in circles, probably trying to get away from this crazy woman clinging to her side! I had just got into the saddle, when I realised that in front of us was a big group of people cross-country schooling, going fast up a hill and over a jump. By this point I couldn't cope. Anticipating her reaction, I jumped off again and led her back the way we had come. She pranced at my side like a stallion (although I couldn't help but admire the elevation in her hock action!!) and I raged silently to myself. Why was I so stupid? Normal people wouldn't have got scared. I am such an idiot.
By the time I got back on, halfway back to the yard, I was in despair. Perhaps I didn't deserve a horse like Echo if I couldn't even stay on her when I got tense. How will I ever take her to a show if I can't ride the moment she gets upset? Theses were the thoughts running through my head as I returned to her stable.
It was interesting, then, to listen to John talking to one of his students about fear at the weekend. He claims that he is not naturally the bravest rider, though he has competed in major 4* events. I asked him how he managed it and he said by working at it. He said something that I have been thinking about ever since: a brave rider is not one that doesn't see the danger. I can't remember the exact wording of the second half of the sentence, but it was something along the lines of 'it is somebody that works to get around that danger'. He said that it isn't wrong to be scared. He also said that I shouldn't be angry with myself if I have to get off - if that is what I need to do in that situation.
I really don't know. I look back with such fondness at the time when I was a gutsy kid, up for anything, but when this fear hits me, it is as if a cloud has descended and I lose control of my limbs and my breathing. It doesn't happen often, but fear is a funny thing and I wonder whether there really is any way of combating it, or whether I will be haunted by it for life.
Saturday, 31 January 2009
No negativity here, thank you!
I went out last night. Now, I'm not a big drinker, but I had a couple - enough to make me a little on the groggy side this morning. Then I got a phone call asking if I wanted to take someone's slot and have a lesson with John and I said yes, probably unwisely! It didn't give me a great deal of time, as I had a couple of things to do beforehand. I got to the yard about 20 minutes before my lesson was due to start - had to groom, tack up and warm up in that time. It was never really going to happen.
I rushed to get ready, rushed to get on and rushed down to the arena. I wasn't able to ride indoors, as I had hoped, because there was a riding school lesson in there, so I had to go in the woodchip arena. This is surrounded by horses being turned out and is exposed, so the freezing wind was whipping across it. Nice. It was OK, I was on and there just as the previous lesson was finished, but I didn't have my head on or my thoughts in place, added to the slightly shaky feeling from last night.
Because I was on edge, Echo didn't really settle and I wasn't any good at sorting it out. I had a real strop, stopped and said, "I can't ride today!" Oops - wrong thing to say, and I knew it as soon as I said it! He told me that it was pointless to have that kind of attitude - it doesn't get you anywhere. He said that if I tell myself I can't ride today, then I won't be able to ride today - simple as that. He said that any negative statement must have a comma at the end and be followed by a solution. He's said it before to me: "There are no problems - only solutions." That's all very well, but I couldn't think of any solutions today. She wasn't actually going that badly - I just couldn't get her going any better.
John seemed to sense that half an hour was not going to be time to get things going in the direction they should, so changed the tactics. He put three poles together on the floor between a pair of wings and got me to trot over them. It was strange - she kept jumping them from miles away, leaving me behind and launching herself over them. He put it up to a cross pole fence and asked me to still trot into the jump, without thinking about jumping it. The problem was, two strides out from the jump, I froze and stopped riding. This was throwing her, as she didn't know what to do. Once I started actually keeping her together and riding through the fence, forgetting it was there, she was great.
He then got me to come over it in canter and we both find this much easier. John said that she was poking her nose out a bit on the approach and that I should hold her together right up to the fence. It was great on both reins and we stopped there. He seemed quite impressed with her attitude to it. She is absolutely one of the nicest horses to jump that I have ever known - she doesn't rush into the fence and she doesn't rush away from it - it is as if she is cantering a 20 metre circle that happens to have a jump in the middle - I love it! When we had finished he pointed out that I have to stop making excuses for myself; by telling everyone that I'm rubbish at jumping, I am making it much harder for myself. I'm not experienced at jumping, but I can do it, and he even said that she's a natural. I feel like I should whisper that, in case it isn't true, but actually she really does enjoy it and so do I. Never thought I'd say that!
After my lesson, I watched a couple of others. It was really interesting to see how negativity seems to blight so many peoples' aspirations. One girl is going to an indoor eventing competition tomorrow and the fear of going is making her physically sick. She doesn't think that she will be able to 'support' her horse in the ring, as she will be so nervous. Thinking like that is definitely not going to help. Funny that I can immediately recognise it in others, but still do it myself. Another rider who is incredibly talented in lots of ways, has told himself that he can't do flatwork. He can't tell which trot diagonal he is on and refuses to believe that he could learn to. It was only when John explained to him how important it is for the horse's well being that we trot on the correct diagonal, that he started to consider it. He seems to have a block in place with his flatwork that makes him believe that he can't do it.
So the lesson to be learnt from today is that I can do it. I can get Echo to bend correctly to the right, I can get a good left rein contact, I can get her weight onto her hindlegs and her forehand up, and goddammit I can jump too! Feeeeell the positivity!
I rushed to get ready, rushed to get on and rushed down to the arena. I wasn't able to ride indoors, as I had hoped, because there was a riding school lesson in there, so I had to go in the woodchip arena. This is surrounded by horses being turned out and is exposed, so the freezing wind was whipping across it. Nice. It was OK, I was on and there just as the previous lesson was finished, but I didn't have my head on or my thoughts in place, added to the slightly shaky feeling from last night.
Because I was on edge, Echo didn't really settle and I wasn't any good at sorting it out. I had a real strop, stopped and said, "I can't ride today!" Oops - wrong thing to say, and I knew it as soon as I said it! He told me that it was pointless to have that kind of attitude - it doesn't get you anywhere. He said that if I tell myself I can't ride today, then I won't be able to ride today - simple as that. He said that any negative statement must have a comma at the end and be followed by a solution. He's said it before to me: "There are no problems - only solutions." That's all very well, but I couldn't think of any solutions today. She wasn't actually going that badly - I just couldn't get her going any better.
John seemed to sense that half an hour was not going to be time to get things going in the direction they should, so changed the tactics. He put three poles together on the floor between a pair of wings and got me to trot over them. It was strange - she kept jumping them from miles away, leaving me behind and launching herself over them. He put it up to a cross pole fence and asked me to still trot into the jump, without thinking about jumping it. The problem was, two strides out from the jump, I froze and stopped riding. This was throwing her, as she didn't know what to do. Once I started actually keeping her together and riding through the fence, forgetting it was there, she was great.
He then got me to come over it in canter and we both find this much easier. John said that she was poking her nose out a bit on the approach and that I should hold her together right up to the fence. It was great on both reins and we stopped there. He seemed quite impressed with her attitude to it. She is absolutely one of the nicest horses to jump that I have ever known - she doesn't rush into the fence and she doesn't rush away from it - it is as if she is cantering a 20 metre circle that happens to have a jump in the middle - I love it! When we had finished he pointed out that I have to stop making excuses for myself; by telling everyone that I'm rubbish at jumping, I am making it much harder for myself. I'm not experienced at jumping, but I can do it, and he even said that she's a natural. I feel like I should whisper that, in case it isn't true, but actually she really does enjoy it and so do I. Never thought I'd say that!
After my lesson, I watched a couple of others. It was really interesting to see how negativity seems to blight so many peoples' aspirations. One girl is going to an indoor eventing competition tomorrow and the fear of going is making her physically sick. She doesn't think that she will be able to 'support' her horse in the ring, as she will be so nervous. Thinking like that is definitely not going to help. Funny that I can immediately recognise it in others, but still do it myself. Another rider who is incredibly talented in lots of ways, has told himself that he can't do flatwork. He can't tell which trot diagonal he is on and refuses to believe that he could learn to. It was only when John explained to him how important it is for the horse's well being that we trot on the correct diagonal, that he started to consider it. He seems to have a block in place with his flatwork that makes him believe that he can't do it.
So the lesson to be learnt from today is that I can do it. I can get Echo to bend correctly to the right, I can get a good left rein contact, I can get her weight onto her hindlegs and her forehand up, and goddammit I can jump too! Feeeeell the positivity!
Sunday, 25 January 2009
Much better
She wouldn't look at the camera though - something was obviously much more interesting at the other end of the yard!
While I'm adding photos - thought you might like to see Echo's little brother Jeff in his smart new Christmas jumper that stops him gettting chilly and wet at the yard.
Cruelty
Echo didn't go so well yesterday and I ended up feeling really angry with myself - I will write about this another time, as it requires some thought and some soul-searching. However, I wonder whether I am too mean to my horse...
She was stubborn and difficult to ride yesterday. I don't think it was me, as I actually started out feeling really positive and calm. She is a mare, however, and is prone to stroppy days every now and again! She was quite hot when I finished, and as we are soon to be visited by the lady that bred her, she is in need of some tidying up. So...I pulled her mane when I got back. I find it really hard to bring myself to pull her mane - she doesn't particularly mind it, but something of the silly sentimental passive animal-lover in me niggles at the back of my mind telling me it's cruel. I need to toughen up! I would never have thought that when I was working with dressage horses!
Usually, she has gone so well, that I think it would be mean to repay her with a mane-pulling session - yesterday, I wasn't feeling so compassionate! She fidgeted for a little while, and she doesn't much like it being pulled at the top, by her ears, but she now looks a hell of a lot better. I know there are all sorts of more 'humane' methods of tidying a horse's mane, but you must understand, my lovely horse has a big chunk of cob blood in her, therefore has a mane that somewhat resembles a Thelwell pony when it's natural! I hope to go to some shows in the spring, so for the purposes of plaiting, had to do something to thin it and shorten it.
I feel like perhaps I am trying to convince myself here, that I did it for her own good rather than to get her back for being naughty. I hope you don't think I am too mean to my horse! I will post a photo of my efforts soon, to show the improvement.
She was stubborn and difficult to ride yesterday. I don't think it was me, as I actually started out feeling really positive and calm. She is a mare, however, and is prone to stroppy days every now and again! She was quite hot when I finished, and as we are soon to be visited by the lady that bred her, she is in need of some tidying up. So...I pulled her mane when I got back. I find it really hard to bring myself to pull her mane - she doesn't particularly mind it, but something of the silly sentimental passive animal-lover in me niggles at the back of my mind telling me it's cruel. I need to toughen up! I would never have thought that when I was working with dressage horses!
Usually, she has gone so well, that I think it would be mean to repay her with a mane-pulling session - yesterday, I wasn't feeling so compassionate! She fidgeted for a little while, and she doesn't much like it being pulled at the top, by her ears, but she now looks a hell of a lot better. I know there are all sorts of more 'humane' methods of tidying a horse's mane, but you must understand, my lovely horse has a big chunk of cob blood in her, therefore has a mane that somewhat resembles a Thelwell pony when it's natural! I hope to go to some shows in the spring, so for the purposes of plaiting, had to do something to thin it and shorten it.
I feel like perhaps I am trying to convince myself here, that I did it for her own good rather than to get her back for being naughty. I hope you don't think I am too mean to my horse! I will post a photo of my efforts soon, to show the improvement.
Wednesday, 14 January 2009
Counter-bend and Caprioles!
I chickened out! I didn't have the jumping lesson in the end, but I did tell John at the end of my lesson that I would like some help with the jumping, but that I'm not interested in jumping enormous fences or anything; I really just want to be able to pop over a few jumps every now and then and for it to build Echo's strength and suppleness. It also provides a relief from the schooling, without having to go out for a hack. It has been decided that we will spend ten minutes or so at the end of my next lesson on jumping. I have warned him of my lack of natural ability!
My lesson was good - it felt positive and John said her walk had improved and that her carriage was much better. Good news. He watched me walk, trot and canter on both reins and said that the bend is definitely improving to the right. However, we worked for a while on the left rein, which I found really useful. He asked me what her inside hind felt like. I had to think about this, as I confess that I'm not always 100% tuned in to every part of my horse's body! Once I'd got my head round it, I realised that she didn't feel like she was totally engaging the left hind. John pointed out that she is hitting the floor with her foot as it is travelling backwards rather than as it's coming forward. If I can get her taking the step right as she's reaching forward, her hindlegs will carry the weight much more successfully - at the moment they are a little out behind her. Interesting, but quite hard to fix. I realised that I needed to use a lot more energy in the trot, really asking her to reach under and carry herself. The trot definitely improved.
We went onto the right rein and worked on getting a good right bend - he actually pointed out that I am asking for too much bend. I have it in my head that I have to bend her to the right, and then I get too much, so she's bound to fall out through the left shoulder. When I corrected this with my left hand, I was then able to put my inside leg on and push her into the left contact a little more. It really was only a little more - the problem is not yet fixed, but it was a start. He also got me to trot her on the right rein, but with a left bend. I found it much easier doing it this time, than when he made me do it before, as I have taught her to be more obedient to my directional aids from my legs and seat. She finds it really hard maintaining the bend, but then, when I put my inside leg on and ask for the right bend, she does it correctly and it feels like such a relief!
The canter work was quite brief, but wonderfully self-explanatory. I did a rubbish transition first of all - and guess what? I got a rubbish canter! He made me slow down the process of the transition, by establishing the sitting trot first, then ensuring that I have a good outside contact and am not in the middle of a turn, then asking for the canter from my seat. Abracadabra - a good canter is the result. It's irritating when the answer (and the mistake) is so simple! In the theme of transitions, he also got me to work on my walk to trot transitions. She often jumps into trot from walk - particularly on the lunge - and I always assumed it was to do with her being weak behind. However, he got me to really think about my timing in the transition - and to ask her with my seat and support her with my legs to get her hindquarters really engaged. It isn't perfect every time, but it definitely reduces the jump up into trot.
Since the lesson I have been hacking a couple of times and Echo has seemed to enjoy herself. The cold weather has made the ground pretty hard, but there are still sandy tracks in the forest which you can trot and canter on. Echo rather disgraced herself on one of the occasions though. I took a friend hacking who has not ridden for many years. She borrowed one of the riding school horses and we went off for an hour's wander on the heath. It was a very cold day, and I half thought about riding Echo in the school for a few minutes first, just to take the edge off her, but she had been so good last time I went, that I thought it was probably unnecessary. Bad decision. She was on her toes the whole time; spooking, jumping, grabbing the bit in trot and refusing to slow down... not really the Echo that we all know and love. She settled eventually and I suggested that we have a little canter up a short slope - that way, I thought, if my friend was unhappy cantering, it would be over very soon and being on a hill it wouldn't be too fast. The opposite in fact! Echo started to canter, then started doing a sort of rocking horse canter, then she stopped dead and bucked. Poor girl, my friend nearly ran into the back of me, got very close to Echo's back feet when she was bucking, and generally didn't know what the hell had gone on!
It's so weird - she has these funny episodes in canter when out hacking - it's as if she gets herself in a tangle and just strops because she can't do it! Holding my head in shame, I apologised to traumatised unhorsey friend and arranged to go out for a long hack the following Sunday with my usual hacking buddy, to dust off the cobwebs and find some tracks for some good long stretches. She was an angel for most of the ride - it was a beautiful (but freeezing) day and I had ridden Echo in walk, trot and canter on both reins before setting out, so she felt relaxed and confident. We led the whole way, as my friend's horse was feeling particularly ploddy that day, but she strode out and was calm. She was, however, very ignorant to my half-halts, so I made the most of my friend falling behind, by regularly stopping her and then walking on again. Eventually, she came back to my aids and was then much more relaxed in trot, as I actually had control of the pace in trot. We had a couple of long canters - the first was awesome - up a hill, steady, powerful, calm...the second started off like that, but I don't know what happened halfway through. I think she might have heard the other horse's hoof beats a bit louder behind her, but she suddenly leaped into the air (doing a good impression of a capriole!) and shot off for a few strides! Echo never does this! She is obviously feeling very well at the moment.
I wasn't particularly worried by that behaviour - I would rather she leaped and ran for a few strides than she stopped dead. I have always preferred a horse that bucks to one that backs off or rears - always best to keep the forward momentum, I reckon! We haven't had another chance to hack recently, but the schooling has been going nicely! Talking of which, I should go and ride now...
My lesson was good - it felt positive and John said her walk had improved and that her carriage was much better. Good news. He watched me walk, trot and canter on both reins and said that the bend is definitely improving to the right. However, we worked for a while on the left rein, which I found really useful. He asked me what her inside hind felt like. I had to think about this, as I confess that I'm not always 100% tuned in to every part of my horse's body! Once I'd got my head round it, I realised that she didn't feel like she was totally engaging the left hind. John pointed out that she is hitting the floor with her foot as it is travelling backwards rather than as it's coming forward. If I can get her taking the step right as she's reaching forward, her hindlegs will carry the weight much more successfully - at the moment they are a little out behind her. Interesting, but quite hard to fix. I realised that I needed to use a lot more energy in the trot, really asking her to reach under and carry herself. The trot definitely improved.
We went onto the right rein and worked on getting a good right bend - he actually pointed out that I am asking for too much bend. I have it in my head that I have to bend her to the right, and then I get too much, so she's bound to fall out through the left shoulder. When I corrected this with my left hand, I was then able to put my inside leg on and push her into the left contact a little more. It really was only a little more - the problem is not yet fixed, but it was a start. He also got me to trot her on the right rein, but with a left bend. I found it much easier doing it this time, than when he made me do it before, as I have taught her to be more obedient to my directional aids from my legs and seat. She finds it really hard maintaining the bend, but then, when I put my inside leg on and ask for the right bend, she does it correctly and it feels like such a relief!
The canter work was quite brief, but wonderfully self-explanatory. I did a rubbish transition first of all - and guess what? I got a rubbish canter! He made me slow down the process of the transition, by establishing the sitting trot first, then ensuring that I have a good outside contact and am not in the middle of a turn, then asking for the canter from my seat. Abracadabra - a good canter is the result. It's irritating when the answer (and the mistake) is so simple! In the theme of transitions, he also got me to work on my walk to trot transitions. She often jumps into trot from walk - particularly on the lunge - and I always assumed it was to do with her being weak behind. However, he got me to really think about my timing in the transition - and to ask her with my seat and support her with my legs to get her hindquarters really engaged. It isn't perfect every time, but it definitely reduces the jump up into trot.
Since the lesson I have been hacking a couple of times and Echo has seemed to enjoy herself. The cold weather has made the ground pretty hard, but there are still sandy tracks in the forest which you can trot and canter on. Echo rather disgraced herself on one of the occasions though. I took a friend hacking who has not ridden for many years. She borrowed one of the riding school horses and we went off for an hour's wander on the heath. It was a very cold day, and I half thought about riding Echo in the school for a few minutes first, just to take the edge off her, but she had been so good last time I went, that I thought it was probably unnecessary. Bad decision. She was on her toes the whole time; spooking, jumping, grabbing the bit in trot and refusing to slow down... not really the Echo that we all know and love. She settled eventually and I suggested that we have a little canter up a short slope - that way, I thought, if my friend was unhappy cantering, it would be over very soon and being on a hill it wouldn't be too fast. The opposite in fact! Echo started to canter, then started doing a sort of rocking horse canter, then she stopped dead and bucked. Poor girl, my friend nearly ran into the back of me, got very close to Echo's back feet when she was bucking, and generally didn't know what the hell had gone on!
It's so weird - she has these funny episodes in canter when out hacking - it's as if she gets herself in a tangle and just strops because she can't do it! Holding my head in shame, I apologised to traumatised unhorsey friend and arranged to go out for a long hack the following Sunday with my usual hacking buddy, to dust off the cobwebs and find some tracks for some good long stretches. She was an angel for most of the ride - it was a beautiful (but freeezing) day and I had ridden Echo in walk, trot and canter on both reins before setting out, so she felt relaxed and confident. We led the whole way, as my friend's horse was feeling particularly ploddy that day, but she strode out and was calm. She was, however, very ignorant to my half-halts, so I made the most of my friend falling behind, by regularly stopping her and then walking on again. Eventually, she came back to my aids and was then much more relaxed in trot, as I actually had control of the pace in trot. We had a couple of long canters - the first was awesome - up a hill, steady, powerful, calm...the second started off like that, but I don't know what happened halfway through. I think she might have heard the other horse's hoof beats a bit louder behind her, but she suddenly leaped into the air (doing a good impression of a capriole!) and shot off for a few strides! Echo never does this! She is obviously feeling very well at the moment.
I wasn't particularly worried by that behaviour - I would rather she leaped and ran for a few strides than she stopped dead. I have always preferred a horse that bucks to one that backs off or rears - always best to keep the forward momentum, I reckon! We haven't had another chance to hack recently, but the schooling has been going nicely! Talking of which, I should go and ride now...
Wednesday, 31 December 2008
Tiny...but it's a start!
I always seem to add blurry pictures, and this video is no exception! It is quite hard to see, but since I have it, I thought I'd put it on here. Now, this may be a tiny weeny little jump, but it's the first obstacle we've jumped since...July? She felt pretty good actually - particularly the second time, when I approached in canter. The stride was good and she seemed to really enjoy it. I have a lesson with John on Saturday and I'm tempted to ask him to help me with my jumping. Thing is...I'm RUBBISH at jumping and I know he'll pull me to pieces. I'll see how resilient I am feeling on the day I think!
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
Don't criticise the horse!
Woohoo! - they've finally let me get onto my blog at school. I'm a busy girl and have lots of work to do when I'm here, but I also live in a house with two other girls and only one computer with Internet access, so it was a struggle to get anything posted.
I had a surprise lesson with John last week. I've been meaning to write about it for a few days now, but I've had to think quite carefully about the things he said and how it made me feel. I had warmed up before he arrived and so was ready to start immediately. He asked how I was getting on and I told him that I though things were improving - particularly Echo's straightness. The last time he saw us we were having real issues with the left shoulder and left contact, as she wasn't taking the contact forward into my left hand at all. In this lesson, however, she was really starting to straighten, and I'm sure it has something to do with me learning to use my left leg.
What I have been doing is trying to control her left shoulder with my left leg. I've found that this does work to some extent - it has definitely helped so far, but John pointed out that I still haven't got enough contact in my left hand. He said that I should control her left shoulder with my left rein rather than my left leg, as I need my left leg to move her quarters around. I played about a bit with this during the lesson and felt much more positive - I can take a contact with my left hand - I just don't!!
In the way all good instructors do, he called me over to go through some things and while I was talking to him he asked me what my long term goal is with Echo. I have never really attempted to define this; I feel that you have to just see how a horse goes - otherwise you let yourself open to disappointment and won't appreciate your horse. When I broke her in, my goal was simply that she be a well-rounded, well-behaved, pleasurable ride. She is this. Obviously, as you make progress, goals change and now I am pretty sure that we can compete in a bit of dressage. In order to give John a tangible goal, I said that I would like her to eventually, at the peak of her career, be able to perform a decent Medium test. I am under no illusions that she is going to be a world-beater, but I believe that any horse, with the right training and dedication, is capable of doing this, if you are prepared to work hard enough. All of the movements for a medium test are only extensions of the exercises I do now anyway.
John was slightly taken aback, but said that if this was the case, I would have to start working towards it now, not leave it until later. He said that the movements in any test are only schooling exercises, not performances, so I should begin to use them in my training, using them to develop her, rather than seeing them as an end product. All of this makes perfect sense; I have started to work at my shoulder in and in fact, we went on to practise this in the rest of the lesson and it was really successful. However, he then said something which has bugged me ever since. He said, "I often sit there wondering why you've taken such a difficult route." By this, he meant why I have chosen a horse of Echo's type, if I want to be a dressage rider.
I was quick to defend her. I know that what we lack in natural ability and flashy paces, we will have to make up for in accuracy and suppleness - John has always said this, and I trained a pony far more stocky and 'unsuitable' than Echo to quite a high standard before. However, I was really surprised by the 'I'm not sure why you're bothering' subtext to his comment. The dressage riders that I worked for before becoming a teacher had competed internationally at grand prix, yet they encouraged me to take on a 14.2hh gypsy cob type and work hard on him. They were of the opinion that it was just as worthwhile making an 'ordinary' horse go very well, as one that is flashy. Indeed, without wishing to blow my own trumpet, I used to beat a lot of under-schooled flashy horses on my accurate and obedient gypsy cob.
I know what he meant. I would get a lot further in dressage if I had a horse with more natural ability, however, I wanted a horse like Echo. I have had her since she was a yearling. Apart from the early handling and halter training she received, which set her up to be extremely obedient, everything that Echo can do is down to me. I broke her in with very little help, I hacked her out for the first time (and believe me, I am NOT a brave rider by any means), I jumped her for the first time (and I don't jump!) and I would never have had the guts to do any of these things, had Echo not been the character that she is. I am phenomenally grateful to my wonderful horse for being so patient with me, for looking after me and for teaching me so much. I could never be disappointed with her, because she has already exceeded my expectations. But, I'm a perfectionist and once something has been achieved, I want new goals to work for and I think this will always be the case.
Though I know that he didn't intend to offend me, and he didn't really, I felt a need to justify myself and my horse. He then remarked that when he first started in a racing yard, an old jockey told him, 'you can criticise and owner's wife, but whatever you do, don't criticise an owner's horse!' I think there is some truth in that.
I had a surprise lesson with John last week. I've been meaning to write about it for a few days now, but I've had to think quite carefully about the things he said and how it made me feel. I had warmed up before he arrived and so was ready to start immediately. He asked how I was getting on and I told him that I though things were improving - particularly Echo's straightness. The last time he saw us we were having real issues with the left shoulder and left contact, as she wasn't taking the contact forward into my left hand at all. In this lesson, however, she was really starting to straighten, and I'm sure it has something to do with me learning to use my left leg.
What I have been doing is trying to control her left shoulder with my left leg. I've found that this does work to some extent - it has definitely helped so far, but John pointed out that I still haven't got enough contact in my left hand. He said that I should control her left shoulder with my left rein rather than my left leg, as I need my left leg to move her quarters around. I played about a bit with this during the lesson and felt much more positive - I can take a contact with my left hand - I just don't!!
In the way all good instructors do, he called me over to go through some things and while I was talking to him he asked me what my long term goal is with Echo. I have never really attempted to define this; I feel that you have to just see how a horse goes - otherwise you let yourself open to disappointment and won't appreciate your horse. When I broke her in, my goal was simply that she be a well-rounded, well-behaved, pleasurable ride. She is this. Obviously, as you make progress, goals change and now I am pretty sure that we can compete in a bit of dressage. In order to give John a tangible goal, I said that I would like her to eventually, at the peak of her career, be able to perform a decent Medium test. I am under no illusions that she is going to be a world-beater, but I believe that any horse, with the right training and dedication, is capable of doing this, if you are prepared to work hard enough. All of the movements for a medium test are only extensions of the exercises I do now anyway.
John was slightly taken aback, but said that if this was the case, I would have to start working towards it now, not leave it until later. He said that the movements in any test are only schooling exercises, not performances, so I should begin to use them in my training, using them to develop her, rather than seeing them as an end product. All of this makes perfect sense; I have started to work at my shoulder in and in fact, we went on to practise this in the rest of the lesson and it was really successful. However, he then said something which has bugged me ever since. He said, "I often sit there wondering why you've taken such a difficult route." By this, he meant why I have chosen a horse of Echo's type, if I want to be a dressage rider.
I was quick to defend her. I know that what we lack in natural ability and flashy paces, we will have to make up for in accuracy and suppleness - John has always said this, and I trained a pony far more stocky and 'unsuitable' than Echo to quite a high standard before. However, I was really surprised by the 'I'm not sure why you're bothering' subtext to his comment. The dressage riders that I worked for before becoming a teacher had competed internationally at grand prix, yet they encouraged me to take on a 14.2hh gypsy cob type and work hard on him. They were of the opinion that it was just as worthwhile making an 'ordinary' horse go very well, as one that is flashy. Indeed, without wishing to blow my own trumpet, I used to beat a lot of under-schooled flashy horses on my accurate and obedient gypsy cob.
I know what he meant. I would get a lot further in dressage if I had a horse with more natural ability, however, I wanted a horse like Echo. I have had her since she was a yearling. Apart from the early handling and halter training she received, which set her up to be extremely obedient, everything that Echo can do is down to me. I broke her in with very little help, I hacked her out for the first time (and believe me, I am NOT a brave rider by any means), I jumped her for the first time (and I don't jump!) and I would never have had the guts to do any of these things, had Echo not been the character that she is. I am phenomenally grateful to my wonderful horse for being so patient with me, for looking after me and for teaching me so much. I could never be disappointed with her, because she has already exceeded my expectations. But, I'm a perfectionist and once something has been achieved, I want new goals to work for and I think this will always be the case.
Though I know that he didn't intend to offend me, and he didn't really, I felt a need to justify myself and my horse. He then remarked that when he first started in a racing yard, an old jockey told him, 'you can criticise and owner's wife, but whatever you do, don't criticise an owner's horse!' I think there is some truth in that.
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