Sometimes, things click
I had the shortest lesson ever this week. And one of the best in a long time.
It didn’t start out so great. Things were running late, so I was warming up a bit on my own–and warm up in winter = two point. Two point for a couple minutes so the horse’s back can warm up? Not my favorite thing, but worth doing. Two point for twenty minutes? Oy!
Once the lesson started, we were doing some work with bending and quarter lines and turns–and I was in that “I sort of get it but I’m not entirely sure I get it” place that I seem to be in so much lately. So my instructor had me leg yield from the rail to the center line and then ride into the halt.
And it clicked.
The feeling, I mean. It’s so much easier to stay centered during a leg yield if the horse is on all the aids. It’s so much easier to do a leg yield when the horse is really moving forward. And the feeling when a horse is really reaching underneath himself on the cross steps is incredible.
But the halt. Oh the halt. It’s the halt we’ve been waiting for all summer. It was a truly different thing than the park-horse halts I’ve been struggling with. It was the sort of halt where the horse is so round and underneath himself that you know he’s ready to step off into any movement you want to ask of him, and he’ll step off already on the aids. A beautiful, beautiful thing.
My instructor would have continued on with the lesson, but I was close to being done anyway. It was the perfect place to stop, and it’s a great feeling to be carrying through the week.
In which I ride a school horse and feel like an idiot
I rode the Schoolmeister this week. I always feel like I’m going to break him, which is ridiculous. The horse not only has my number, he also has my address, banking information, and email passwords. The only one about to be broken in this situation is me. Fortunately, it’s only my pride we’re talking about.
Case in point: the very simple instruction to “turn left.” I couldn’t do it.
The problem is that he’s a school master, through and through. Very well trained–so he does exactly what you ask for. Exactly. What’s. Asked. Not what I want, even though I’m sure he knew I didn’t really want to do a quarter spin, reining-horse style. Or a turn on the haunches. Or a turn on the forehand.
Good grief. Turning is one of the things you learn in your first lesson, right after the instructor says, “Here is the horse. These are his ears; this is his hind end” and right before she says, “I did tell you that he would jump over that oxer if you didn’t turn. Now, would you like to get up out of the dust, hop back on, and turn this time?”
Eventually, we did turn. Fortunately. I don’t think my ego could have handled it if we hadn’t. It’s bad enough that I can’t get him to halt properly. Stop, yes. But he parks out behind like an Arab halter horse. Which would be fine, if he were an Arab halter horse. But he’s a dressage school master, and he snickered all the way back to his stall. My goat, the cows, the chickens… heck, the whole farm. He’s got it all.
He’s just a very different ride than the two horses I normally ride. They’re greener, so we can muddle through things together. If my aids are a little fuzzy, it’s ok–because their responses are a little imprecise. The Schoolmeister? Exactly what’s asked. As soon as it’s asked.
It means I know immediately if my aids are wrong–and I know immediately if they are right. Instant feedback is a good thing. It also helps that he is so clear about what is right and wrong; there is no middle ground. It’ll make a difference when I go back to the other two horses. One would hope, anyway. I also realized my seat and legs are definitely better than they were last time I rode him–even on my once-a-week schedule, there IS progress.
Progress is always good. Maybe next time I’ll even be able to halt.
More Power
Arrh! Arrh! Arrh!
Clearly, somebody’s been watching a little too much Home Improvement. Ahem.
For the past few weeks, we’ve been concentrating on really riding the horse up into the bit. Not, let me be clear, creating a headset with the reins and then trying to catch up with the rear end. I start with a working-length rein and ride forward-forward-forward until the horse steps up through her back and reaches into the bit–she’s the one who takes up the slack in the reins, and, if the word doesn’t make you cringe, she’s the one who creates the frame.
All I have to do is maintain the contact and remind her to keep the energy coming forward.
“All” I have to do. *snort*
It’s a completely different trot when we get it: her step is larger and more powerful, but it feels like there is more room in the arena because she’s straight and listening to the aids. There’s time to adjust little things, without worrying about the big things. And although it can take a lot of work to get her to really move forward, once she’s there, maintaining is easy. (Not true of all horses, unfortunately. The super-cute gelding I rode this week will actually step up fairly well when you ask him to, but you better have legs of steel to keep him going forward. Ye gads!)
Although I know I’ve had this trot before, it’s been so long it feels like the first time again. And I finally have a glimpse of why upper-level riders can be so motionless on their horses: when the horse is engaged behind, and pushing through the back, and reaching into the contact, the rider doesn’t have to half-halt them to death to maintain the frame, or constantly cue with the leg to maintain straightness. The cues can be focused on creating the next movement and not correcting errors in this one. Right? I think so.
And it’s not at all the same thing as riding a hot, forward horse–in that case, you spend as much time rating the forward motion as you do trying to push a cooler horse up into real engagement. With the mare, who is a little cooler and takes convincing to get her to engage, once she’s engaged she actually needs very little leg to maintain. And the hotter gelding I rode actually slowed way down and started stretching out his stride once he engaged–vs. his earlier quick, frantic trot. But he took much more leg (reassurance) to maintain the engagement than the cooler horse. I doubt that’s true across the board for hot/quick vs. lazy/cool horses, but it was interesting to ride both types and feel real engagement on both types.
I also love how subtle my aids can be once the horse is engaged. We were reversing through the circle and it was finally a case where the “close the fingers on this hand, now close the fingers on the other hand” actually worked to create fluid, balanced turns and changes of bend in the reverse. Except for closing my fingers, the rest of my body could stay still and centered.
It’ll take time before I’m able to consistently maintain the back-to-front engagement, but it’s great to have had that feeling again. And to have had moments where I felt like the horse was truly on my aids and I was riding, not harassing or nagging her through an exercise.
My trainer has been telling me forever to “love” the forward trot, and I finally really get why: the next step up from “forward” is “engaged,” and an engaged trot is something to truly, truly love.
When is it “ok” to buy a green horse?
I am not a fan of green riders–whether they are totally new to horses or are re-riders trying to re-learn what they used to know–buying green horses.
I want to buy a green horse.
I’m a re-rider.
Yes, I know. Green + Green = Black + Blue.
The thing is… (and isn’t there always a “The thing is…”?) I’ve never had a chance to really work with a green horse for an extended period. I’ve had plenty of small training opportunities, and I loved them, but never a greenie. It’s something I always wanted to do.
It’s just the danger of failing what could otherwise be a very nice horse scares me. And I know that’s a very real danger for re-riders, who know more than their bodies can actually do.
Six months ago, what I knew and what I could do weren’t on the same page. They weren’t even in the same book. Or library. Actually, I doubt they were in the same time zone. Right now, I’d like to think I’m back in the same book. It might be a very thick book, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same one. Only this time it has footnotes, as the things I used to know sort of “click” what what I’m doing now.
I’d just like to know what page I need to be on by this time next year so that I can get a green horse and not worry quite so much that it’s a completely inappropriate decision.
Where’s that magic checklist? You know the one: you get one point for each of the following skills that you can do right this moment, and a quarter point for each of the following skills that you used to do, plus five points for every day you would be able to work the green horse, plus ten points for each of those days that would be in lesson situations with an experienced trainer, and if your total points are X or more, you may buy a green horse.
The sad thing is this whole “green or school master” anxiety thing is sooooo misplaced. It’ll be at least a year before I can buy a horse of any color, and who knows where I’ll be, skill wise, this time next year? More importantly, who knows if I’ll even meet my financial goals? I shouldn’t worry about this question until I’m ready to start looking.
For all I know, all I’ll be able to afford will be a My Little Pony.
I wonder if there are any green My Little Ponies?
Oh. My. Abs.
During my riding lesson today, J had us doing some sitting trot during one portion of an exercise. For some background, you should know:
- Thanks to all the back injuries I had as an undergrad, I lost a lot of the “feel” I used to have while riding, and in order to really sit the trot, you have to be able to feel the horse’s back—what it’s doing, how it’s moving.
- My hips are very tight—and to sit the trot, you also need loose hips. But I’ve been having trouble moving with the horse at the walk—even when I could feel how she was moving.
- As a result of #1 and #2, we’ve done very little sitting trot—and the thought of sitting trot terrified me a little bit, because if you can’t feel what the horse is doing and move with it, you end up bouncing around like a sack of rocks, which isn’t good for the horse’s back—or yours. And I’m not interested in screwing up my back again.
I couldn’t really tell you how it happened, but something clicked, in the way things sometimes click. I was sitting the trot today better than I have EVER sat the trot before. When you’re really sitting it, all the horse’s movement gets absorbed in your seat/hips… I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s an incredible, incredible feeling.
However, the movement is not unlike doing those bicycle crunches—you know the ones where you take your elbow to the opposite knee? Imagine doing a very subtle variation of that—think of flexing/moving your ab muscles just a few inches up and down, up and down… for fifteen or twenty minutes.
Not to take anything away from the how amazing the sitting trot feels but… Oh. My. Poor. Abs.