Wow! I got to be the boss two days in a row! (More, actually, but I'm only counting test days here).
Even though it was Monday, I rode Quila today because of the rain day last Friday. She's getting a bit sticky in her poll again--we'll want to treat it again after the Dressage Affaire--but she warms out of it. After the basic trot/canter work, we practiced forward/back in trot and canter, and she showed me that she's on the aids and listening... and that her engine is really working, too. We had a German farrier here a few weeks to do a tune-up on the horses. He's an expert that works on some of the top horses there, and he showed a few secrets to our regular shoer. He didn't need to make any changes with Quila in front, but he finessed a few things in back, and since then I've noticed that she's naturally travelled straighter and has more push from behind, and slowly, that has translated into an improvement in lengthenings.
In canter, she showed great balance in collection today, too. We rode some very tiny voltés, bordering on working pirouettes, to work on sit, and also did some simple changes--even though neither is needed at First Level. She will need the simple changes at Second Level, and the bending helps us in our work all around.
Then we did a few leg yields. She's starting to do better to the right. I'm realizing that I need to help her by keeping greater contact on the inside rein in both leg yield to the right and shoulder-in yield left (both of which require moving into the right rein)... although she needs to move into the right rein, she still needs an even contact with the left rein in order to maintain roundness and avoid falling onto the forehand. My instinct is to try to ride the movements into the right rein alone--and perhaps that's the ideal--but it doesn't work with her. She needs contact to be perhaps 60:40 right rein to left rein, or maybe even 55:45.
It's not that I'm using the inside rein to flex or overflex her--I'm not. I need her to keep exactly the correct bend in the neck. It's more that I need the rein to help her balance. Perhaps the real problem is just that she hasn't developed the natural balance, and needs more help at this point. I don't know.
Once we were done with our warm-up, though, I rode the test and it was even better today. She stayed at my pace throughout, and today, I tried to concentrate really hard on keeping her round (very round) and on using my corners. Except for one spook in the corner by M, she was very good--well behaved, on the aids and listening. Such a nice change to be the one calling the shots and not having her question my leadership! I felt really good about how it went. It should be a great show.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Sunday, February 25, 2007
February 25, 2007: UP TO DATE!
I just migrated this blog from my iWeb-managed site http://web.mac.com/gmwalkersd/iWeb/RidingHorsesLife/Welcome.html because it was getting too unwieldy to publish the site there every time I wanted to make changes--the software insisted on re-creating ALL of the individual blog pages, and just couldn't leave well enough alone with the archived pages. Whew! What a task. This will be much easier, though, now that the job is done.
One of the benefits of having gone to the trouble, though, is that it forced me to at least skim through my old posts... and to realize how far Quila and I have come. There are times, when I look at how far there is yet to go, that I feel like I've been spinning my wheels and that we haven't accomplished anything at all, especially since we're starting the year out showing First Level. Again. But that isn't true at all.
I rode through First Level Test 4 with Quila at home today. It was the first time we've ridden a test since September. And while our ride was not perfect (she could have been a bit rounder in the frame, and her leg yield to the right could have been a bit more prompt), I was still VERY pleased. Why? Because we went MY pace for the entire ride, and she was listening to me. Not once did she start to think, jump ahead, anticipate or second guess. She stayed on the aids, waited, and agreed that I could be the boss. Now, I know that was NOT because she's forgotten the test. I saw her ears flicker when I didn't do a stretch circle between the trot and the walk, I felt the surge of energy, ready for my command... but she waited, ready, UNTIL I asked for what I wanted. That has NEVER happened before. Not once. Ever. At home or at a show. We've had shows where she has been relaxed, quiet and well-behaved, but she's always had those wheels spinning--they were just spinning at a speed that was somewhere close to the one I wanted.
I think a large reason for this is that I've finally LEARNED and TRULY UNDERSTAND what it means to ride her. I know how to demand that she pay attention if she tries to work off her own agenda, so I no longer have the sense that things could spiral out of control. There will be no more prayers as we go down center line of "Please, God, let me ride the same horse I had in the warm-up." Other prayers, perhaps... because prayer isn't a bad thing, but I can at least dispense with the need to say that particular prayer of desperation. In fact, I've come to enjoy the extra energy that I use to despise, because I know how to channel it into improved, more expressive performance.
A few weeks ago, Quila was reacting to a pocket of spectators watching one of our boarders try saddles. The extra saddles perched on the rail, combined with the railbirds had her upset (though I can't exactly say why), and she was all huffed up and blowing steam out her ears. I had one of the best rides of the week, once I got her through--and getting her through took no longer than it normally would. And I was able to ride her from my seat and legs, without using an inordinate amount of hand. BIG change in my skill set. BIGGER change in our partnership and performance.
This will, I think, be an entirely different year. And we're signed up to show Second Level on March 17. BIG GRIN.
One of the benefits of having gone to the trouble, though, is that it forced me to at least skim through my old posts... and to realize how far Quila and I have come. There are times, when I look at how far there is yet to go, that I feel like I've been spinning my wheels and that we haven't accomplished anything at all, especially since we're starting the year out showing First Level. Again. But that isn't true at all.
I rode through First Level Test 4 with Quila at home today. It was the first time we've ridden a test since September. And while our ride was not perfect (she could have been a bit rounder in the frame, and her leg yield to the right could have been a bit more prompt), I was still VERY pleased. Why? Because we went MY pace for the entire ride, and she was listening to me. Not once did she start to think, jump ahead, anticipate or second guess. She stayed on the aids, waited, and agreed that I could be the boss. Now, I know that was NOT because she's forgotten the test. I saw her ears flicker when I didn't do a stretch circle between the trot and the walk, I felt the surge of energy, ready for my command... but she waited, ready, UNTIL I asked for what I wanted. That has NEVER happened before. Not once. Ever. At home or at a show. We've had shows where she has been relaxed, quiet and well-behaved, but she's always had those wheels spinning--they were just spinning at a speed that was somewhere close to the one I wanted.
I think a large reason for this is that I've finally LEARNED and TRULY UNDERSTAND what it means to ride her. I know how to demand that she pay attention if she tries to work off her own agenda, so I no longer have the sense that things could spiral out of control. There will be no more prayers as we go down center line of "Please, God, let me ride the same horse I had in the warm-up." Other prayers, perhaps... because prayer isn't a bad thing, but I can at least dispense with the need to say that particular prayer of desperation. In fact, I've come to enjoy the extra energy that I use to despise, because I know how to channel it into improved, more expressive performance.
A few weeks ago, Quila was reacting to a pocket of spectators watching one of our boarders try saddles. The extra saddles perched on the rail, combined with the railbirds had her upset (though I can't exactly say why), and she was all huffed up and blowing steam out her ears. I had one of the best rides of the week, once I got her through--and getting her through took no longer than it normally would. And I was able to ride her from my seat and legs, without using an inordinate amount of hand. BIG change in my skill set. BIGGER change in our partnership and performance.
This will, I think, be an entirely different year. And we're signed up to show Second Level on March 17. BIG GRIN.
January 28, 2007: They WEREN'T Hallucinating...
There was a story on the CNN newswire today about a “Guide Horse for the Blind” with the photo above. Actually, I’m surprised that it’s just now getting picked up, because we met one of these horses in Los Angeles last year--it was staying at the Courtyard Embassy Suites with us.
But we (Susan and I) didn’t believe it at first, because the only ones who had seen it were Bill, Jürgen and Dirk, who had stayed up late drinking in the bar. We’d gone to bed--we had to compete in the morning. So, the next day at breakfast, when the guys tried to tell us that they’d shared the elevator with a horse on their way up to bed, we’d nodded our heads knowingly and said, “Yeah, sure. Sure you did, boys. And just how many drinks did you have after we left? And, by any chance, were there pink elephants, too?”
We teased them for days, right up until we saw the blind woman and her horse checking out in the hotel lobby. Can’t say much for eating crow. Kinda rubbery.
But we (Susan and I) didn’t believe it at first, because the only ones who had seen it were Bill, Jürgen and Dirk, who had stayed up late drinking in the bar. We’d gone to bed--we had to compete in the morning. So, the next day at breakfast, when the guys tried to tell us that they’d shared the elevator with a horse on their way up to bed, we’d nodded our heads knowingly and said, “Yeah, sure. Sure you did, boys. And just how many drinks did you have after we left? And, by any chance, were there pink elephants, too?”
We teased them for days, right up until we saw the blind woman and her horse checking out in the hotel lobby. Can’t say much for eating crow. Kinda rubbery.
January 10, 2007: Please Deposit Another 25¢
Quila’s work ethic has been superb lately, and the quality of her work is the best it has ever been--but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t get tired and have an opinion as to when it is time to quit!
The smart mare (and she is a smart and thinking mare), dropped a not-so-subtle hint on me yesterday. We were doing a nice working trot across the diagonal (it was late in the lesson, so it would have been cruel for me to ask for a medium), and as we approached X, she suddenly veered, faced C squarely, and gave me a perfect halt. It happened so suddenly that it was done before my synapses registered it--I mean, who expects a horse to halt in the middle of a medium trot??? We NEVER approach a halt at X from the diagonal. She’d clearly planned it, though, and she snuck it in there very carefully, without any slowing until the last second (which is the way she usually does her halt/salute).
I have to say that she was VERY good natured when I laughed and said, “Nice try, but we’re not done working yet.” She was quick to my aids, no argument, and did all that I asked for the remainder of the ride. She apparently just felt the need to express an opinion, and having done so, was content to follow to my lead.
The smart mare (and she is a smart and thinking mare), dropped a not-so-subtle hint on me yesterday. We were doing a nice working trot across the diagonal (it was late in the lesson, so it would have been cruel for me to ask for a medium), and as we approached X, she suddenly veered, faced C squarely, and gave me a perfect halt. It happened so suddenly that it was done before my synapses registered it--I mean, who expects a horse to halt in the middle of a medium trot??? We NEVER approach a halt at X from the diagonal. She’d clearly planned it, though, and she snuck it in there very carefully, without any slowing until the last second (which is the way she usually does her halt/salute).
I have to say that she was VERY good natured when I laughed and said, “Nice try, but we’re not done working yet.” She was quick to my aids, no argument, and did all that I asked for the remainder of the ride. She apparently just felt the need to express an opinion, and having done so, was content to follow to my lead.
January 5, 2007: Basics Succeed Again
I have had two of the best rides I’ve ever had on Tequila over the last two days, despite having had very few lessons in the last two months due to Jürgen’s travels in Europe. (He was gone most of November and December, and Quila was laid up with an arthritis flare a good part of while he was home in November, and I was laid up with the “bug from hell,” a souvenir from Kansas City, while he was home in December).
Jürgen has taught me well, however, regarding The Training Scale, so in his absence, I focussed on the scale and on the areas where Quila tends to block: locking in the poll, so that her contact isn’t correct and she’s leaning on the bit, and avoiding taking weight as evenly as she should by assuming the correct bend on circles or traveling straight on a straight line. Her impulsion is generally good (she LIKES forward), so all I really worked on was that she stay loose in the poll with the correct contact, and that she accept weight evenly in the hindquarters IN ALL GAITS, and not evade by popping a shoulder or leaning against my leg. We did lots and lots of transitions, changes of bend, and changes of rein. We did spiralling in and spiralling out. We did endless circles, first one way and then the other. We did figure eights, sometimes in one gait for half, and another gait for the other half. We would intersperse extended gaits. All I truly cared about was that she was a) maintaining appropriate contact with the bit, b) listening to my aids, and c) straight.
The end result has been that it is now quite easy to get her through, and the quality of her canter has improved to a degree we never thought possible for her. She is sitting beautifully and now possesses a lovely jump and collection. Simple changes are effortless for her, even though I didn’t school a single one the entire time Jürgen was gone! And the quality of her trot has improved dramatically, too. It has some swing to it now, particularly BEFORE we canter, and I have the feeling that she is actually lengthening her stride rather than running when I ask for her to extend, which is a change... After I canter, she still wants to run, and it is difficult to get her to return to the same degree of roundness and collection, but she is getting better. I thought it was because she was excited, but Jürgen says no. He says that after sitting for the canter, it is difficult for her to sit in the trot to that degree, and that she is still building up muscle. He is right, I think, because I cantered for shorter periods today, with breaks, and she was able to return to the “good” trot for brief periods of time without a struggle. We just need to build her up for that, too. She is trying SO hard, and I can tell that she is feeling quite pleased with herself. Pleased is hardly the word for how I’m feeling about her!
I just wish that we’d come to this point several years ago, and not as we’re embarking on what I expect to be my last competition season with her. I wish I hadn’t promised myself (and her) that I would retire her after this year. I’m having more fun with her now than every before, but I don’t think it would be fair to try to stretch her career out any longer. She’s a trooper, and she gives herself heart and soul to the work, but I know there are days when it can’t be easy for her.
P.S. I do also owe a debt of gratitude to Facet, Birthe and Susan, who taught me a lot about my body position and the effective use of my legs. Without their lessons, I would neither have realized that I wasn’t doing all that I could to insist that Tequila was travelling correctly nor have had the tools to accomplish my goals.
Jürgen has taught me well, however, regarding The Training Scale, so in his absence, I focussed on the scale and on the areas where Quila tends to block: locking in the poll, so that her contact isn’t correct and she’s leaning on the bit, and avoiding taking weight as evenly as she should by assuming the correct bend on circles or traveling straight on a straight line. Her impulsion is generally good (she LIKES forward), so all I really worked on was that she stay loose in the poll with the correct contact, and that she accept weight evenly in the hindquarters IN ALL GAITS, and not evade by popping a shoulder or leaning against my leg. We did lots and lots of transitions, changes of bend, and changes of rein. We did spiralling in and spiralling out. We did endless circles, first one way and then the other. We did figure eights, sometimes in one gait for half, and another gait for the other half. We would intersperse extended gaits. All I truly cared about was that she was a) maintaining appropriate contact with the bit, b) listening to my aids, and c) straight.
The end result has been that it is now quite easy to get her through, and the quality of her canter has improved to a degree we never thought possible for her. She is sitting beautifully and now possesses a lovely jump and collection. Simple changes are effortless for her, even though I didn’t school a single one the entire time Jürgen was gone! And the quality of her trot has improved dramatically, too. It has some swing to it now, particularly BEFORE we canter, and I have the feeling that she is actually lengthening her stride rather than running when I ask for her to extend, which is a change... After I canter, she still wants to run, and it is difficult to get her to return to the same degree of roundness and collection, but she is getting better. I thought it was because she was excited, but Jürgen says no. He says that after sitting for the canter, it is difficult for her to sit in the trot to that degree, and that she is still building up muscle. He is right, I think, because I cantered for shorter periods today, with breaks, and she was able to return to the “good” trot for brief periods of time without a struggle. We just need to build her up for that, too. She is trying SO hard, and I can tell that she is feeling quite pleased with herself. Pleased is hardly the word for how I’m feeling about her!
I just wish that we’d come to this point several years ago, and not as we’re embarking on what I expect to be my last competition season with her. I wish I hadn’t promised myself (and her) that I would retire her after this year. I’m having more fun with her now than every before, but I don’t think it would be fair to try to stretch her career out any longer. She’s a trooper, and she gives herself heart and soul to the work, but I know there are days when it can’t be easy for her.
P.S. I do also owe a debt of gratitude to Facet, Birthe and Susan, who taught me a lot about my body position and the effective use of my legs. Without their lessons, I would neither have realized that I wasn’t doing all that I could to insist that Tequila was travelling correctly nor have had the tools to accomplish my goals.
January 3, 2007: Update on THE BOOK
OK, I admit it....
I’m terrible about blogging.
But I’ve been working really hard on my book, and I’ve got a lot of work done in the last few weeks. A LOT!
After some excellent and painfully honest critique from my P&P group, I’ve reworked my “blurb” about the book (the official word for it in the lingo is “logline”), and I’m now back revising, from the beginning, with a change in focus. I realized I had too many story lines going... or rather, that the focus wasn’t clear on just whose story it was. It’s not that there can’t be subplots--there can and must--but there can only be one main plot, and I was fuzzy on that point. So, I’m fine-tuning in that regard.
I don’t mind. I actually feel really good because I feel like I have a clear view now of where I’m going, what I have left to do, and so forth. No more muddy water. And the only real casualty was Elizabeth’s husband. Poor Ed had to die (not in the book, but before it started) of a heart attack while jogging--exchanged business in Japan for “The Big One,” he did, but it had to be. The rest of the scenes just needed rearranging, perhaps a change of emphasis, but otherwise they survived.
You can find the new logline (blurb) here.
I’m terrible about blogging.
But I’ve been working really hard on my book, and I’ve got a lot of work done in the last few weeks. A LOT!
After some excellent and painfully honest critique from my P&P group, I’ve reworked my “blurb” about the book (the official word for it in the lingo is “logline”), and I’m now back revising, from the beginning, with a change in focus. I realized I had too many story lines going... or rather, that the focus wasn’t clear on just whose story it was. It’s not that there can’t be subplots--there can and must--but there can only be one main plot, and I was fuzzy on that point. So, I’m fine-tuning in that regard.
I don’t mind. I actually feel really good because I feel like I have a clear view now of where I’m going, what I have left to do, and so forth. No more muddy water. And the only real casualty was Elizabeth’s husband. Poor Ed had to die (not in the book, but before it started) of a heart attack while jogging--exchanged business in Japan for “The Big One,” he did, but it had to be. The rest of the scenes just needed rearranging, perhaps a change of emphasis, but otherwise they survived.
You can find the new logline (blurb) here.
December 17, 2006: Bridle Woes Redux
The bridle issue continues...
The crescent dropped noseband bridle worked, but the Kavalkade quality was horrid--the metal started flaking after the third day of use, even though I had only cleaned it with clear water after each use. It was obvious that it would soon start wearing against Quila’s cheeks, causing irritation and/or injury, and that it was not going to hold-up. I returned it.
I was using it with a Passier Gemini bridle (sans the crank noseband and flash), so I simply put the missing pieces back together in the bridle. That’s working now, and actually, she behaves so well and is so comfortable with them, that they are both quite loose with a good bit of daylight visible around each. No tongue. I did find that the Myler bit didn’t work well with this set-up, though, so we’re back to her old Dewsbury double-broken snaffle. She’s got a nasty rub on her cheek right now that worries me a bit--but I’m not sure whether it’s from the Myler and if it heals, she’ll be good with her old Dewsbury again, or whether I’ll have to figure out something different bit-wise (maybe an Eggbutt?) She has chubby cheeks, and it looks like perhaps she’s getting pinched by the bit ring.
The mouth problems do appear to be solved, however, and that is a good thing. NOW, if only I can remember that I have legs and a seat and use them 100% of the time when I ride. Yesterday, she was a bit stiff and cranky--it was cold and windy--and I was so focussed on working on that that I forgot to to push her through to the bridle, so when she decided she could be the boss, she was having a great time for a good long while until I realized what the problem was and actually closed my legs. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
It was an epiphany of sorts, though, because I realized that it is also what I do sometimes while riding a test. I get so involved in the test that I give her the aids, but I don’t use the same “you-will-do-this” power that I used in the warm-up or while riding at home. If she’s good, that’s fine. If not, well, she wins and we ride her test. I asked Jürgen to remind me to flip the power switch to the “ON” position before every test--I think it will help.
The crescent dropped noseband bridle worked, but the Kavalkade quality was horrid--the metal started flaking after the third day of use, even though I had only cleaned it with clear water after each use. It was obvious that it would soon start wearing against Quila’s cheeks, causing irritation and/or injury, and that it was not going to hold-up. I returned it.
I was using it with a Passier Gemini bridle (sans the crank noseband and flash), so I simply put the missing pieces back together in the bridle. That’s working now, and actually, she behaves so well and is so comfortable with them, that they are both quite loose with a good bit of daylight visible around each. No tongue. I did find that the Myler bit didn’t work well with this set-up, though, so we’re back to her old Dewsbury double-broken snaffle. She’s got a nasty rub on her cheek right now that worries me a bit--but I’m not sure whether it’s from the Myler and if it heals, she’ll be good with her old Dewsbury again, or whether I’ll have to figure out something different bit-wise (maybe an Eggbutt?) She has chubby cheeks, and it looks like perhaps she’s getting pinched by the bit ring.
The mouth problems do appear to be solved, however, and that is a good thing. NOW, if only I can remember that I have legs and a seat and use them 100% of the time when I ride. Yesterday, she was a bit stiff and cranky--it was cold and windy--and I was so focussed on working on that that I forgot to to push her through to the bridle, so when she decided she could be the boss, she was having a great time for a good long while until I realized what the problem was and actually closed my legs. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
It was an epiphany of sorts, though, because I realized that it is also what I do sometimes while riding a test. I get so involved in the test that I give her the aids, but I don’t use the same “you-will-do-this” power that I used in the warm-up or while riding at home. If she’s good, that’s fine. If not, well, she wins and we ride her test. I asked Jürgen to remind me to flip the power switch to the “ON” position before every test--I think it will help.
December 11, 2006: New Website
Well, I’ve done it...
I’ve put up a web site entirely devoted to my writing. No blog there, yet (and maybe never--I have enough trouble adding to this one on a regular basis). But it’s up...
To visit it, go to: http://www.authorgaymwalker.com/Welcome.html or visit my writing blog here.
I’ve put up a web site entirely devoted to my writing. No blog there, yet (and maybe never--I have enough trouble adding to this one on a regular basis). But it’s up...
To visit it, go to: http://www.authorgaymwalker.com/Welcome.html or visit my writing blog here.
November 21, 2006: The Business of Writing
I went to the movies last Friday night with the family and friends--we saw, as you might have guessed, Stranger than Fiction. It was one of the best movies that I’ve seen in quite some time... and a not entirely inaccurate portrayal of the struggle that an author goes through with her characters. Now, I’m not suffering from Writer’s Block like Emma Thompson’s character, nor do I intend to kill my characters off (though I have one that I’d like to throttle a great deal of the time), but I do find that they often have minds of their own and that they don’t want to behave as I’ve suggested...
Let me explain the process of writing, as I see it:
I created a group of characters, and before I even began work on the book, I gave them histories--full biographies even. I imagined who they were, what their lives were like, how they spoke and dressed, their personality quirks, things like that. They became real to me. Then I set the plot in motion, introducing the characters to each other at the appropriate times, and watch the story unfold. I can control the circumstances and surroundings, by adding/subtracting people, objects or conveniences, but that’s about it. My characters must otherwise sort things out for themselves. My question, as a writer, is how (for example) will Elizabeth (my main character) react when she is confronted with a given situation given the life experiences she’s had thus far? And given those reactions, how will those around her respond?
My challenge is to share the answer with the reader in a manner that makes the reader care--care enough about Elizabeth, her friends, and about what will happen next to turn page after page until they reach the end of the book. That’s no small feat, especially since we’re following Elizabeth now as an adult interacting with her own teenaged daughter, while reliving those painful teenaged years herself. We want to know (or at least this is the idea): will Jenna stay out of trouble? will she end up with the right boy? and will Elizabeth finally give her high school boyfriend the what for, and in a way that is satisfying? and what about Elizabeth’s friends? what happens to them? I’ve worked hard to put humor, irony and suspense into the story so that it’s not just a story of teenage angst. I think I’ve succeeded, but I’m ready for some honest critique... I’ve signed up for a writer’s group where I hope I’ll get that and more, in addition to what I’m getting in class. Things are moving right along--now 2/3 of the way through the 2nd draft. My next class assignment: writing a summary of the book that makes the reader want to pick it up in the first place. Not easy. How do you distill 100,000 words with multiple plot/subplot lines into 1 or 2 paragraphs?
I’m finding that I can’t stop thinking about my characters and the plot lines while I’m awake, and that they sometimes intrude into my dreams, as well. Stephen King and a few other authors say that I’m not crazy... that they go to live in their characters’ world at this stage in the game, too. But perhaps they’re in denial, and I’m just in good company.
Let me explain the process of writing, as I see it:
I created a group of characters, and before I even began work on the book, I gave them histories--full biographies even. I imagined who they were, what their lives were like, how they spoke and dressed, their personality quirks, things like that. They became real to me. Then I set the plot in motion, introducing the characters to each other at the appropriate times, and watch the story unfold. I can control the circumstances and surroundings, by adding/subtracting people, objects or conveniences, but that’s about it. My characters must otherwise sort things out for themselves. My question, as a writer, is how (for example) will Elizabeth (my main character) react when she is confronted with a given situation given the life experiences she’s had thus far? And given those reactions, how will those around her respond?
My challenge is to share the answer with the reader in a manner that makes the reader care--care enough about Elizabeth, her friends, and about what will happen next to turn page after page until they reach the end of the book. That’s no small feat, especially since we’re following Elizabeth now as an adult interacting with her own teenaged daughter, while reliving those painful teenaged years herself. We want to know (or at least this is the idea): will Jenna stay out of trouble? will she end up with the right boy? and will Elizabeth finally give her high school boyfriend the what for, and in a way that is satisfying? and what about Elizabeth’s friends? what happens to them? I’ve worked hard to put humor, irony and suspense into the story so that it’s not just a story of teenage angst. I think I’ve succeeded, but I’m ready for some honest critique... I’ve signed up for a writer’s group where I hope I’ll get that and more, in addition to what I’m getting in class. Things are moving right along--now 2/3 of the way through the 2nd draft. My next class assignment: writing a summary of the book that makes the reader want to pick it up in the first place. Not easy. How do you distill 100,000 words with multiple plot/subplot lines into 1 or 2 paragraphs?
I’m finding that I can’t stop thinking about my characters and the plot lines while I’m awake, and that they sometimes intrude into my dreams, as well. Stephen King and a few other authors say that I’m not crazy... that they go to live in their characters’ world at this stage in the game, too. But perhaps they’re in denial, and I’m just in good company.
November 12, 2006: Back to School
I’m getting serious about my writing (not riding) now... I’m about halfway through the second draft of my novel, and I’m proud of myself for what I’ve accomplished, but I realize that I need help if I’m going to get the job finished. My friend Aimee has been invaluable at providing both critical feedback and encouragement, but I need more... Writing a novel is one field where being self-taught isn’t enough.
Don’t get me wrong: the nearly two-dozen books I’ve read on the craft (within easy reach and close enough to read their titles right now, I can see First Draft in 30 Days (which should really be called “Outline in 30 Days”, since what they call a draft really isn’t), Character Naming Sourcebook, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, Plot and Structure, Creating Character Emotions, Breathing Life into Your Characters, A Dash of Style, Writing a Breakout Novel, The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing and Roget’s Thesaurus) have been very helpful. I learned how to plan my book from start to finish, weaving the plots and subplots together into a whole, creating multi-dimensional characters, and hopefully adding enough excitement to keep those pages turning and to keep the story from becoming “predictable,” which is the last adjective any author wants to hear in a description of their book.
The problem is that I’ve grown enamored with my characters and plot, so much so that I’m oblivious to certain faults even when they are staring me in the face. Oh, that? Why, now that you mention it, it’s really quite obvious, but I really hadn’t noticed it despite reading that section twenty times. I’m appalled. And there are aspects of craft that you are certain you understand, but you don’t, not really. That’s what a class is for... You see, I WANT the criticism because it will help me grow (and only by seeing the weaknesses, can I make the story better). I think, perhaps, I am better prepared for it that many who subject themselves to these writers’ groups, coming from dressage. Every lesson, and certainly every show, we expect to be told everything we are doing wrong, and we’re happy with a 65%, thrilled with a 70%, and over-the-top with joy with a 75%. We know that we’re imperfect beings, and that learning is a process, and we’re prepared to enjoy the journey (and we admit that no matter how well we do something, it is nearly always possible to do it just a little bit better, which is why we so rarely see the 10’s on even a single movement).
So, this past week, I went back to school. I’d been toying with “real school” and applying somewhere for graduate school to get an MFA in Creative Writing (Masters of Fine Arts), but that is a super big deal major commitment. Very few programs are correspondence only--most require at least 10 days intensive in residency two to four times a year--and the ones that aren’t quite costly are difficult to get into. I would have to take the GRE’s (and believe it or not, despite my MD, I’ve never taken those), and it’s questionable whether or not, with all my college education, I even have the undergraduate credits to get in. (I’m sure I could at National University, where the program is strictly online, but at others? I’m not so certain).
Enter my good friend, Sheila Ransom. She is a writer with a degree in journalism. I confided in her what I’d been thinking about, and she suggested I try a few workshop first since I don’t need a degree to publish. It seemed to her that what I was really looking for was knowledge, and I could get that more easily (and flexibly) with less damage to my pocketbook from a workshop experience. She had a point. I have enough letters after my name, so there really isn’t any reason to add any more. Anyway, the very same day, a longterm workshop opportunity presented itself, with Gloria Kempton, the author of one of my favorite “how to” books, as the instructor. It’s a moderately advanced 6 month online experience that assumes you’ve already taken the basic workshops on craft (I decided my reading was enough to opt out of those) with readings, written lectures, discussions (which are like message boards), writing assignments, which give us the opportunity to use our works in progress, and group critique. My class of 11 students is a group with backgrounds diverse enough to make things interesting but similar enough that we should work well together.
I think this will turn out to be just what I was looking for...
Don’t get me wrong: the nearly two-dozen books I’ve read on the craft (within easy reach and close enough to read their titles right now, I can see First Draft in 30 Days (which should really be called “Outline in 30 Days”, since what they call a draft really isn’t), Character Naming Sourcebook, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, Plot and Structure, Creating Character Emotions, Breathing Life into Your Characters, A Dash of Style, Writing a Breakout Novel, The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing and Roget’s Thesaurus) have been very helpful. I learned how to plan my book from start to finish, weaving the plots and subplots together into a whole, creating multi-dimensional characters, and hopefully adding enough excitement to keep those pages turning and to keep the story from becoming “predictable,” which is the last adjective any author wants to hear in a description of their book.
The problem is that I’ve grown enamored with my characters and plot, so much so that I’m oblivious to certain faults even when they are staring me in the face. Oh, that? Why, now that you mention it, it’s really quite obvious, but I really hadn’t noticed it despite reading that section twenty times. I’m appalled. And there are aspects of craft that you are certain you understand, but you don’t, not really. That’s what a class is for... You see, I WANT the criticism because it will help me grow (and only by seeing the weaknesses, can I make the story better). I think, perhaps, I am better prepared for it that many who subject themselves to these writers’ groups, coming from dressage. Every lesson, and certainly every show, we expect to be told everything we are doing wrong, and we’re happy with a 65%, thrilled with a 70%, and over-the-top with joy with a 75%. We know that we’re imperfect beings, and that learning is a process, and we’re prepared to enjoy the journey (and we admit that no matter how well we do something, it is nearly always possible to do it just a little bit better, which is why we so rarely see the 10’s on even a single movement).
So, this past week, I went back to school. I’d been toying with “real school” and applying somewhere for graduate school to get an MFA in Creative Writing (Masters of Fine Arts), but that is a super big deal major commitment. Very few programs are correspondence only--most require at least 10 days intensive in residency two to four times a year--and the ones that aren’t quite costly are difficult to get into. I would have to take the GRE’s (and believe it or not, despite my MD, I’ve never taken those), and it’s questionable whether or not, with all my college education, I even have the undergraduate credits to get in. (I’m sure I could at National University, where the program is strictly online, but at others? I’m not so certain).
Enter my good friend, Sheila Ransom. She is a writer with a degree in journalism. I confided in her what I’d been thinking about, and she suggested I try a few workshop first since I don’t need a degree to publish. It seemed to her that what I was really looking for was knowledge, and I could get that more easily (and flexibly) with less damage to my pocketbook from a workshop experience. She had a point. I have enough letters after my name, so there really isn’t any reason to add any more. Anyway, the very same day, a longterm workshop opportunity presented itself, with Gloria Kempton, the author of one of my favorite “how to” books, as the instructor. It’s a moderately advanced 6 month online experience that assumes you’ve already taken the basic workshops on craft (I decided my reading was enough to opt out of those) with readings, written lectures, discussions (which are like message boards), writing assignments, which give us the opportunity to use our works in progress, and group critique. My class of 11 students is a group with backgrounds diverse enough to make things interesting but similar enough that we should work well together.
I think this will turn out to be just what I was looking for...
November 12, 2006: Back to School
I’m getting serious about my writing (not riding) now... I’m about halfway through the second draft of my novel, and I’m proud of myself for what I’ve accomplished, but I realize that I need help if I’m going to get the job finished. My friend Aimee has been invaluable at providing both critical feedback and encouragement, but I need more... Writing a novel is one field where being self-taught isn’t enough.
Don’t get me wrong: the nearly two-dozen books I’ve read on the craft (within easy reach and close enough to read their titles right now, I can see First Draft in 30 Days (which should really be called “Outline in 30 Days”, since what they call a draft really isn’t), Character Naming Sourcebook, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, Plot and Structure, Creating Character Emotions, Breathing Life into Your Characters, A Dash of Style, Writing a Breakout Novel, The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing and Roget’s Thesaurus) have been very helpful. I learned how to plan my book from start to finish, weaving the plots and subplots together into a whole, creating multi-dimensional characters, and hopefully adding enough excitement to keep those pages turning and to keep the story from becoming “predictable,” which is the last adjective any author wants to hear in a description of their book.
The problem is that I’ve grown enamored with my characters and plot, so much so that I’m oblivious to certain faults even when they are staring me in the face. Oh, that? Why, now that you mention it, it’s really quite obvious, but I really hadn’t noticed it despite reading that section twenty times. I’m appalled. And there are aspects of craft that you are certain you understand, but you don’t, not really. That’s what a class is for... You see, I WANT the criticism because it will help me grow (and only by seeing the weaknesses, can I make the story better). I think, perhaps, I am better prepared for it that many who subject themselves to these writers’ groups, coming from dressage. Every lesson, and certainly every show, we expect to be told everything we are doing wrong, and we’re happy with a 65%, thrilled with a 70%, and over-the-top with joy with a 75%. We know that we’re imperfect beings, and that learning is a process, and we’re prepared to enjoy the journey (and we admit that no matter how well we do something, it is nearly always possible to do it just a little bit better, which is why we so rarely see the 10’s on even a single movement).
So, this past week, I went back to school. I’d been toying with “real school” and applying somewhere for graduate school to get an MFA in Creative Writing (Masters of Fine Arts), but that is a super big deal major commitment. Very few programs are correspondence only--most require at least 10 days intensive in residency two to four times a year--and the ones that aren’t quite costly are difficult to get into. I would have to take the GRE’s (and believe it or not, despite my MD, I’ve never taken those), and it’s questionable whether or not, with all my college education, I even have the undergraduate credits to get in. (I’m sure I could at National University, where the program is strictly online, but at others? I’m not so certain).
Enter my good friend, Sheila Ransom. She is a writer with a degree in journalism. I confided in her what I’d been thinking about, and she suggested I try a few workshop first since I don’t need a degree to publish. It seemed to her that what I was really looking for was knowledge, and I could get that more easily (and flexibly) with less damage to my pocketbook from a workshop experience. She had a point. I have enough letters after my name, so there really isn’t any reason to add any more. Anyway, the very same day, a longterm workshop opportunity presented itself, with Gloria Kempton, the author of one of my favorite “how to” books, as the instructor. It’s a moderately advanced 6 month online experience that assumes you’ve already taken the basic workshops on craft (I decided my reading was enough to opt out of those) with readings, written lectures, discussions (which are like message boards), writing assignments, which give us the opportunity to use our works in progress, and group critique. My class of 11 students is a group with backgrounds diverse enough to make things interesting but similar enough that we should work well together.
I think this will turn out to be just what I was looking for...
Don’t get me wrong: the nearly two-dozen books I’ve read on the craft (within easy reach and close enough to read their titles right now, I can see First Draft in 30 Days (which should really be called “Outline in 30 Days”, since what they call a draft really isn’t), Character Naming Sourcebook, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, Plot and Structure, Creating Character Emotions, Breathing Life into Your Characters, A Dash of Style, Writing a Breakout Novel, The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing and Roget’s Thesaurus) have been very helpful. I learned how to plan my book from start to finish, weaving the plots and subplots together into a whole, creating multi-dimensional characters, and hopefully adding enough excitement to keep those pages turning and to keep the story from becoming “predictable,” which is the last adjective any author wants to hear in a description of their book.
The problem is that I’ve grown enamored with my characters and plot, so much so that I’m oblivious to certain faults even when they are staring me in the face. Oh, that? Why, now that you mention it, it’s really quite obvious, but I really hadn’t noticed it despite reading that section twenty times. I’m appalled. And there are aspects of craft that you are certain you understand, but you don’t, not really. That’s what a class is for... You see, I WANT the criticism because it will help me grow (and only by seeing the weaknesses, can I make the story better). I think, perhaps, I am better prepared for it that many who subject themselves to these writers’ groups, coming from dressage. Every lesson, and certainly every show, we expect to be told everything we are doing wrong, and we’re happy with a 65%, thrilled with a 70%, and over-the-top with joy with a 75%. We know that we’re imperfect beings, and that learning is a process, and we’re prepared to enjoy the journey (and we admit that no matter how well we do something, it is nearly always possible to do it just a little bit better, which is why we so rarely see the 10’s on even a single movement).
So, this past week, I went back to school. I’d been toying with “real school” and applying somewhere for graduate school to get an MFA in Creative Writing (Masters of Fine Arts), but that is a super big deal major commitment. Very few programs are correspondence only--most require at least 10 days intensive in residency two to four times a year--and the ones that aren’t quite costly are difficult to get into. I would have to take the GRE’s (and believe it or not, despite my MD, I’ve never taken those), and it’s questionable whether or not, with all my college education, I even have the undergraduate credits to get in. (I’m sure I could at National University, where the program is strictly online, but at others? I’m not so certain).
Enter my good friend, Sheila Ransom. She is a writer with a degree in journalism. I confided in her what I’d been thinking about, and she suggested I try a few workshop first since I don’t need a degree to publish. It seemed to her that what I was really looking for was knowledge, and I could get that more easily (and flexibly) with less damage to my pocketbook from a workshop experience. She had a point. I have enough letters after my name, so there really isn’t any reason to add any more. Anyway, the very same day, a longterm workshop opportunity presented itself, with Gloria Kempton, the author of one of my favorite “how to” books, as the instructor. It’s a moderately advanced 6 month online experience that assumes you’ve already taken the basic workshops on craft (I decided my reading was enough to opt out of those) with readings, written lectures, discussions (which are like message boards), writing assignments, which give us the opportunity to use our works in progress, and group critique. My class of 11 students is a group with backgrounds diverse enough to make things interesting but similar enough that we should work well together.
I think this will turn out to be just what I was looking for...
November 12, 2006: Bridle Woes, or Flash of Brilliance
Susan started in on me the minute Jürgen left for Europe on October 26... She and Birthe were convinced the reason I was having difficulty keeping Facet in the canter was that I was allowing my leg to come forward into a chair position, and that stemmed from the fact that a lack of flexibility in my hip flexors wasn’t allowing me to follow the horse’s motion. Like a mosquito buzzing in my ear, no matter which horse I rode (and due to a minor tweak that has had me off Facet for 2 weeks, it was mostly Quila) she was continually after me to put my leg back.
“But if doesn’t go back any further...”
“Sure it does. Put it back.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
Finally in frustration, I lengthened my stirrups. At first, I found I was struggling not to lose them, and when I posted, I would sometimes bump the pommel, but then I hit upon warming up with my stirrups dropped, and focussing on actively stretching my legs backward and down the entire time. That did the trick! I haven’t lost a stirrup since, and suddenly, my leg is staying down and long where they were nagging at me to keep it. And (face reddening here), they were right.
I won’t get to try the results out on Facet until this week, but on Quila, the change has been remarkable. In trot, I can control her so much better, most notably in the bend. Moving my outside leg back from the hip forms an ever so much more effective barrier, so that in corners and voltés, she has to take the bend I’ve asked for (and my seatbones are automagically weighted correctly). No more losing the haunches! And if I keep my inside leg down and long,too, it is effective so that she can’t fall to the inside, and I can demand perfect roundness every time.
The change at canter is even more amazing. We can do very small voltés in both directions now (imagine--us, doing something even resembling a working pirouette!) because I can make a barrier with that long inside leg that she needs to turn around (WOW!), and I can also make her sit and carry herself. While (or perhaps because) the improvement in our canter work has been the most dramatic, it also has caused the most difficulty. After a few rounds of the good canter, Quila decided it was far too much work and started grasping for new evasions--I had effectively shut the door on the tried and true ones.
THUS, WE COME TO THE TITLE OF TODAY’S POST...
In a single day, Quila, after 17 years, learned how to put her tongue over the bit! On Day One, she did it once or twice to try it on for size. Hmmmmm! A little painful, but it discombobulates Mom and I get to stop cantering. There could be something here. I will have to think about this.
On Day Two, she tried it a few more times, and found that if she did, she could also move her back up and down and get a few swear words out of me. By Day Three, she spent most of the ride with her tongue over the bit and added a new twist: flying her tongue in the breeze like a flag, and even experimenting with it to see if she could wipe the sweat from her eyes!
I now understand the German logic behind always using a flash (loosely) with our young horses. We generally avoid flashes with Quila because she has a particular difficulty that I won’t go into, but I had no choice... out came the crank noseband and flash, since my current noseband could not be adjusted tighter.
I ordered one of the crescent dropped nosebands (above), but the first one that arrived was a size up from what I’d ordered... still waiting for the correct one. I think it will be better since it should keep her mouth shut without running into the problems the regular flash will eventually cause. Had to do something, though, because the tongue was a problem.
I know, by the way, that she was not acting out of pain. Two days in the flash, and she’s my usual merry content horse, happy in her work, without a pinned ear, swished tail or any other behavior to suggest otherwise. And she’s doing quite well at carrying herself behind, thank you. Her pattern has always been, however, that whenever I’ve upset our way of doing things, she’s felt the need to try to convince me that the old way was best. She’s never been a fan of change.
“But if doesn’t go back any further...”
“Sure it does. Put it back.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
Finally in frustration, I lengthened my stirrups. At first, I found I was struggling not to lose them, and when I posted, I would sometimes bump the pommel, but then I hit upon warming up with my stirrups dropped, and focussing on actively stretching my legs backward and down the entire time. That did the trick! I haven’t lost a stirrup since, and suddenly, my leg is staying down and long where they were nagging at me to keep it. And (face reddening here), they were right.
I won’t get to try the results out on Facet until this week, but on Quila, the change has been remarkable. In trot, I can control her so much better, most notably in the bend. Moving my outside leg back from the hip forms an ever so much more effective barrier, so that in corners and voltés, she has to take the bend I’ve asked for (and my seatbones are automagically weighted correctly). No more losing the haunches! And if I keep my inside leg down and long,too, it is effective so that she can’t fall to the inside, and I can demand perfect roundness every time.
The change at canter is even more amazing. We can do very small voltés in both directions now (imagine--us, doing something even resembling a working pirouette!) because I can make a barrier with that long inside leg that she needs to turn around (WOW!), and I can also make her sit and carry herself. While (or perhaps because) the improvement in our canter work has been the most dramatic, it also has caused the most difficulty. After a few rounds of the good canter, Quila decided it was far too much work and started grasping for new evasions--I had effectively shut the door on the tried and true ones.
THUS, WE COME TO THE TITLE OF TODAY’S POST...
In a single day, Quila, after 17 years, learned how to put her tongue over the bit! On Day One, she did it once or twice to try it on for size. Hmmmmm! A little painful, but it discombobulates Mom and I get to stop cantering. There could be something here. I will have to think about this.
On Day Two, she tried it a few more times, and found that if she did, she could also move her back up and down and get a few swear words out of me. By Day Three, she spent most of the ride with her tongue over the bit and added a new twist: flying her tongue in the breeze like a flag, and even experimenting with it to see if she could wipe the sweat from her eyes!
I now understand the German logic behind always using a flash (loosely) with our young horses. We generally avoid flashes with Quila because she has a particular difficulty that I won’t go into, but I had no choice... out came the crank noseband and flash, since my current noseband could not be adjusted tighter.
I ordered one of the crescent dropped nosebands (above), but the first one that arrived was a size up from what I’d ordered... still waiting for the correct one. I think it will be better since it should keep her mouth shut without running into the problems the regular flash will eventually cause. Had to do something, though, because the tongue was a problem.
I know, by the way, that she was not acting out of pain. Two days in the flash, and she’s my usual merry content horse, happy in her work, without a pinned ear, swished tail or any other behavior to suggest otherwise. And she’s doing quite well at carrying herself behind, thank you. Her pattern has always been, however, that whenever I’ve upset our way of doing things, she’s felt the need to try to convince me that the old way was best. She’s never been a fan of change.
November 4, 2006: Fountain of Youth
I’ve been meaning to write about this all week, but life got away from me...
Last Saturday was Larry Campbell’s 65th birthday. We (and I mean this in the true collective sense, which includes all of us who ride at the barn) were STUNNED... because not one of us would have placed him anywhere beyond his early to mid-50’s. That got me thinking... and trainers aside, not one of the mostly women and handful of men that I ride with looks even close to their stated age. I think we’re on to something here: WE HAVE DISCOVERED THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH! If not the key to a long life, then at least the key to a happy, physically active life, complete with all the means necessary to deal with the stresses of everyday life.
I own my barn, so work and play have blurred edges (and the question is: do I ever really work? I’ll take the Fifth...), but I know that I provide a valuable service to my boarders beyond giving their four-legged friends a place to sleep. I provide a community where they can nurture their hopes and dreams, share their goals, and where they can go to escape from the unreal world (because please tell me: what’s so real about how non-horse people treat each other, anyway?) to be with like-minded others... and I find that most of my boarders don’t just dash in, get their horse-fix and dash out, but they dwell and linger, often for hours. I like that, encourage it even. It’s what makes the bad parts of owning a barn retreat into the distance, what makes it all worthwhile.
So, God Bless the Larry Campbells of the world, who look and feel young despite the calendar. I hope that 20 years from now (give or take), I shall be similarly blessed, and that there will always be people like him in my life to remind me exactly why I do what I do.
Last Saturday was Larry Campbell’s 65th birthday. We (and I mean this in the true collective sense, which includes all of us who ride at the barn) were STUNNED... because not one of us would have placed him anywhere beyond his early to mid-50’s. That got me thinking... and trainers aside, not one of the mostly women and handful of men that I ride with looks even close to their stated age. I think we’re on to something here: WE HAVE DISCOVERED THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH! If not the key to a long life, then at least the key to a happy, physically active life, complete with all the means necessary to deal with the stresses of everyday life.
I own my barn, so work and play have blurred edges (and the question is: do I ever really work? I’ll take the Fifth...), but I know that I provide a valuable service to my boarders beyond giving their four-legged friends a place to sleep. I provide a community where they can nurture their hopes and dreams, share their goals, and where they can go to escape from the unreal world (because please tell me: what’s so real about how non-horse people treat each other, anyway?) to be with like-minded others... and I find that most of my boarders don’t just dash in, get their horse-fix and dash out, but they dwell and linger, often for hours. I like that, encourage it even. It’s what makes the bad parts of owning a barn retreat into the distance, what makes it all worthwhile.
So, God Bless the Larry Campbells of the world, who look and feel young despite the calendar. I hope that 20 years from now (give or take), I shall be similarly blessed, and that there will always be people like him in my life to remind me exactly why I do what I do.
October 25, 2006: Lesson Learned, To My Chagrin
Several lessons, actually. One is that when Quila shows a sudden and/or unexpected change in behavior, rather than getting upset with her and/or our partnership, I really should know by now to give her the benefit of the doubt. Yes, she has been whacko in the past, and a year-and-a-half ago, behavior such as she’d exhibited at the show might have been par for the course, but we’d worked our way past that. She knows what’s expected of her now, trusts me, and tries hard--the rushing isn’t an attempt to get it over with quickly, before she gets into trouble (it used to feel like she went into a panic and just couldn’t think straight so was just trying to rush through it, throwing out whatever she could think of as quickly as she could without taking the time to listen to my aids). Since the show, after her masseuse returned, she got much better to ride though--really, quite a dramatic improvement--and her issues localized to her poll. I had the vet look at her last week, and we had what in medicine I would call a “positive chandelier sign”--she reared when she was touched there. Oh, my! Inflammation of the atlanto-occipital joint. She’s since been injected, and is better, but the surrounding soft-tissue soreness lingers (from holding/protecting herself). Yesterday’s ride was rough, buted her last night... today was better, but still not great. We’ll just have to work through this. She’s trying, though. And she had extra massages last week, and will again this week, and possibly next. They help A LOT... Barbara, her masseuse, has a wonderfully healing touch.
Professor Facet had more to teach me today, too. First, he said, “Thank you for riding Quila first...” since I wasn’t so stiff. It was FAR easier to ride him into the bridle and get his lovely, powerful trot, and to package that energy into something I could put to use... practicing transitions. And in working on the canter/trot/canter transitions, I discovered that my outside leg does matter to a classically trained horse. Once I ask for the canter (or even before, really), Quila doesn’t really care what the heck the outside leg is doing. I realized that she cues off the inside leg and the seatbone, and I could be an amputee, have two outside legs, or be dancing a jig with the outside leg for all it mattered to her... Facet cares, though, and he cares deeply. If the outside leg stays back, firmly back, he will canter (he doesn’t cue off it, but he needs it in addition to the cue). If I put it back to ask, but don’t hold it there (which I have a tendency to do when asking for the right lead canter), he decides that I must be a fickle female and have changed my mind about cantering, and the energy that was about to lift me into canter fizzles into nothingness. Jürgen yelled at me today for letting my outside leg come forward in the canter depart once, so I began to pay attention... and sure enough, now that I’ve fixed:
a) my errant right seat bone that sometimes floated in space
b) my errant left shoulder that wanted to lag behind, I now need to pay attention to
c) my errant left leg that wants to do its own thing in the right lead canter.
It would seem that if I can keep those body parts under control, however, I can get the right lead canter depart at will now, from either walk or trot, and that I can continue in canter for as long as I like. Yippee! Another lesson or two of packaging Facet’s powerful trot like I did today, and proving that I’ve managed his canter, and I’ll be on to working on things he WANTS to do... like shoulder-in, travers and the other stuff I’ve been itching to do. He’s been itching to do it, too... Today, I turned up center-line and angled back towards B to change rein, and he was SURE we were going to do half pass. He stayed bent for me, and was all set to do it, then I felt him sigh... “Oh, darn... those aren’t half pass aids are they? Fine. We’ll do more regular trot then.” The only reason I’d ridden that line is that all the other “change rein” patterns were getting old, and it seemed like a perfectly reasonable way to add a change in the routine. I hadn’t meant to get his hopes up.
Professor Facet had more to teach me today, too. First, he said, “Thank you for riding Quila first...” since I wasn’t so stiff. It was FAR easier to ride him into the bridle and get his lovely, powerful trot, and to package that energy into something I could put to use... practicing transitions. And in working on the canter/trot/canter transitions, I discovered that my outside leg does matter to a classically trained horse. Once I ask for the canter (or even before, really), Quila doesn’t really care what the heck the outside leg is doing. I realized that she cues off the inside leg and the seatbone, and I could be an amputee, have two outside legs, or be dancing a jig with the outside leg for all it mattered to her... Facet cares, though, and he cares deeply. If the outside leg stays back, firmly back, he will canter (he doesn’t cue off it, but he needs it in addition to the cue). If I put it back to ask, but don’t hold it there (which I have a tendency to do when asking for the right lead canter), he decides that I must be a fickle female and have changed my mind about cantering, and the energy that was about to lift me into canter fizzles into nothingness. Jürgen yelled at me today for letting my outside leg come forward in the canter depart once, so I began to pay attention... and sure enough, now that I’ve fixed:
a) my errant right seat bone that sometimes floated in space
b) my errant left shoulder that wanted to lag behind, I now need to pay attention to
c) my errant left leg that wants to do its own thing in the right lead canter.
It would seem that if I can keep those body parts under control, however, I can get the right lead canter depart at will now, from either walk or trot, and that I can continue in canter for as long as I like. Yippee! Another lesson or two of packaging Facet’s powerful trot like I did today, and proving that I’ve managed his canter, and I’ll be on to working on things he WANTS to do... like shoulder-in, travers and the other stuff I’ve been itching to do. He’s been itching to do it, too... Today, I turned up center-line and angled back towards B to change rein, and he was SURE we were going to do half pass. He stayed bent for me, and was all set to do it, then I felt him sigh... “Oh, darn... those aren’t half pass aids are they? Fine. We’ll do more regular trot then.” The only reason I’d ridden that line is that all the other “change rein” patterns were getting old, and it seemed like a perfectly reasonable way to add a change in the routine. I hadn’t meant to get his hopes up.
October 18, 2006: Losing my Surfboard
Tequila Sunrise, or Quila as I more often call her, has been an ever changing challenge and exercise in patience... Solve one problem, and a new one crops up to take its place. Having “refreshed her memory” on the meaning of half-halts, and gotten her so that’s she’s responding nicely (once again) to seat and leg (more Jürgen’s doing than mine), I returned from cheering Susan on at the USDF Regional Championships only to find that she’d decided to morph into a surboard in my absence.
I cannot blame our poor Bereiter who was left minding the farm in our absence, because she is both an extremely difficult horse to ride that doesn’t follow the usual rules (it’s taken Jürgen and me quite some time to learn how to ride her to keep her supple and responsive to the aids, and she takes a bag of tricks that are all her own), but there also seems to be a physical component--as if she’s slept wrong, or has an irritation in the atlanto-occiptal joint: her neck will be straight until you get right to the poll, and then there’s a subtle twist to the left. It’s a LOT of work to get to her to let you see that right eyeball, even when travelling on a straight line, and so she’s been holding herself, and achieving a correct bend (and subsequently getting her through), has been a major effort for the better part of the last week.
I am SO grateful that she’s at least not pulling on me and hanging on the bit. If she were, I’d be back at square one with my shoulder injury, since crooked/stiff with an inability to go to the right, while at the same time running through the bridle and leaning heavily on the forehand is how I injured the muscle in the first place. Without the heaviness in front, though, I seem to be able to cope.
I’ve spent my last 3 rides flexing her first to one side and then the other, for 5 or 6 strides at a time, but more to the right than the left, softly and gently, until she gives and will come round. It was a bear the first day, somewhat easier the second, and finally (thank goodness), by yesterday she was starting to get much softer for me and after the initial working in period, we had one of the nicest rides we’ve ever had...
When she is neither leaning on the bridle, nor stiff in the poll, she is a joy to ride again, and I can do pretty much whatever I want to do... We rode simple changes yesterday and nailed every one, and when we returned to the trot after canter, I had merely to apply my leg to lift her back underneath me and get a nice trot and have her carry me along. It’s far short of what I can accomplish with Facet, but it is something nonetheless.
If we can continue this progression, there may be hope for Second Level (in a limited fashion anyway--we’ll still have our difficulties with the lengthenings) and a chance to move up for next way, as long as I can steel myself for her unpredictability. If not, I can continue to learn from Facet and apply those lessons to Quila... and see where that takes us at home, at least. And I think I’ll probably breed her in the Spring. That will give me another good year and a half or more of riding her, and then she’ll be due for a vacation, if not retirement. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. (And I should be pretty solidly on her daughter Promise by then).
I cannot blame our poor Bereiter who was left minding the farm in our absence, because she is both an extremely difficult horse to ride that doesn’t follow the usual rules (it’s taken Jürgen and me quite some time to learn how to ride her to keep her supple and responsive to the aids, and she takes a bag of tricks that are all her own), but there also seems to be a physical component--as if she’s slept wrong, or has an irritation in the atlanto-occiptal joint: her neck will be straight until you get right to the poll, and then there’s a subtle twist to the left. It’s a LOT of work to get to her to let you see that right eyeball, even when travelling on a straight line, and so she’s been holding herself, and achieving a correct bend (and subsequently getting her through), has been a major effort for the better part of the last week.
I am SO grateful that she’s at least not pulling on me and hanging on the bit. If she were, I’d be back at square one with my shoulder injury, since crooked/stiff with an inability to go to the right, while at the same time running through the bridle and leaning heavily on the forehand is how I injured the muscle in the first place. Without the heaviness in front, though, I seem to be able to cope.
I’ve spent my last 3 rides flexing her first to one side and then the other, for 5 or 6 strides at a time, but more to the right than the left, softly and gently, until she gives and will come round. It was a bear the first day, somewhat easier the second, and finally (thank goodness), by yesterday she was starting to get much softer for me and after the initial working in period, we had one of the nicest rides we’ve ever had...
When she is neither leaning on the bridle, nor stiff in the poll, she is a joy to ride again, and I can do pretty much whatever I want to do... We rode simple changes yesterday and nailed every one, and when we returned to the trot after canter, I had merely to apply my leg to lift her back underneath me and get a nice trot and have her carry me along. It’s far short of what I can accomplish with Facet, but it is something nonetheless.
If we can continue this progression, there may be hope for Second Level (in a limited fashion anyway--we’ll still have our difficulties with the lengthenings) and a chance to move up for next way, as long as I can steel myself for her unpredictability. If not, I can continue to learn from Facet and apply those lessons to Quila... and see where that takes us at home, at least. And I think I’ll probably breed her in the Spring. That will give me another good year and a half or more of riding her, and then she’ll be due for a vacation, if not retirement. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. (And I should be pretty solidly on her daughter Promise by then).
October 13, 2006: Basketball & a True Gentleman
And what, you might ask, does today’s title have to do with Facet’s photo? I’ll explain.
I’ll start with basketball. The best analogy I can think of for describing sitting the trot is playing basketball: when you are first learning to dribble the ball and have difficulty finding the rhythm, you dampen its motion and it’s likely to bounce off in any direction, or bounce your hand away from it. That’s what it’s like when you are first learning the seated trot... the rider and horse are out of sync, bouncing against each other, nothing coordinated, and the rider diminishes the beauty of the horse’s natural gait. Next comes the ability to follow the motion of the ball: then the ball bounces back, but there’s no energy added, no crispness or sense that the player is in control. The player is able to maintain the status quo, but just that; it is a step in the right direction, but it isn’t true mastery. Finally, if you watch someone who is good at the game, you’ll see the ball spring back towards their hand as if there is a magnetic attraction and that they can bounce the ball quickly or slowly and change direction in a split-second in preparation for a lay-up--the ball almost becomes a living, breathing part of them, receiving energy from them with each bounce. And even if you (like me) were a lesser player, you still probably know the difference between bouncing the ball in rhythm with the movement and being able to add energy, and being slightly off in the rhythm so that you bounce against the ball, dampening it’s bounce.
Well, today, for the first time, when I was riding Facet, I had that last feeling: I was sitting deeply, and I was able to add energy to his trot, control his speed, and feel like it was entirely contained between my seat, legs and hands--I closed the circuit. And his trot was entirely different than what I’ve experienced from him before: no wonder Susan would look at me dumbfounded when I described his trot as “girly” with a lot of “swinging in the hips.” That’s only when he’s not connected... I just didn’t realize he wasn’t connected until I actually DID have him connected and had something to compare it to, and then OMIGOD, WOW, WHAT A DIFFERENCE! I didn’t know a feeling like that was possible! And suddenly riding him became effortless, too. Before, my neck was aching from the bounce, and I felt like I was working very hard to make him go, but all of a sudden, it just got so EASY, and I wanted to keep going like that all day long. Like going from a Volkswagen on a gravel road to a Maserati on a freshly paved strip of Autobahn. Mmmmmm.... I had the sense I could even have done piaffe or passage with little effort. Oh, I love this horse... he just wanted me to do it right, sitting tall and deep, leg on correctly and then I don’t even have to work to get it. He waited for me to find it, and when I did, he told me. :D
And gentleman? You betcha! A young horse got loose today in the ring and was bucking and broncing around, galloping like a maniac and came charging toward us at full tilt (another stallion, too!). Most horses, stallion or otherwise, would have been upset. Some would have run for the hills, others would have at least been shaking in their boots... and stallions? I think the usual behavior is supposed to be rear and strike. But not Facet. He raised his head in mild curiosity and just stood his ground with a look of, “What kind of an idiot are you?” on his face. I sat there on his back, whip in hand ready to use it on the offending horse if necessary, but it didn’t come to that. When the other horse saw that Facet wasn’t going to react to him, he kept running. I don’t think Facet’s heart rate even changed much.
For a stallion with such a strong interest in the girls (he’ll tell me about every one he sees, even while he’s working, but he keeps it mostly to a whisper), he is the best behaved boy I know. I never, even for a second, have to worry about him. He knows how a gentleman behaves and wouldn’t dream of taking liberties, or of putting his rider in danger. I am unbelievably fortunate to have him.
I’ll start with basketball. The best analogy I can think of for describing sitting the trot is playing basketball: when you are first learning to dribble the ball and have difficulty finding the rhythm, you dampen its motion and it’s likely to bounce off in any direction, or bounce your hand away from it. That’s what it’s like when you are first learning the seated trot... the rider and horse are out of sync, bouncing against each other, nothing coordinated, and the rider diminishes the beauty of the horse’s natural gait. Next comes the ability to follow the motion of the ball: then the ball bounces back, but there’s no energy added, no crispness or sense that the player is in control. The player is able to maintain the status quo, but just that; it is a step in the right direction, but it isn’t true mastery. Finally, if you watch someone who is good at the game, you’ll see the ball spring back towards their hand as if there is a magnetic attraction and that they can bounce the ball quickly or slowly and change direction in a split-second in preparation for a lay-up--the ball almost becomes a living, breathing part of them, receiving energy from them with each bounce. And even if you (like me) were a lesser player, you still probably know the difference between bouncing the ball in rhythm with the movement and being able to add energy, and being slightly off in the rhythm so that you bounce against the ball, dampening it’s bounce.
Well, today, for the first time, when I was riding Facet, I had that last feeling: I was sitting deeply, and I was able to add energy to his trot, control his speed, and feel like it was entirely contained between my seat, legs and hands--I closed the circuit. And his trot was entirely different than what I’ve experienced from him before: no wonder Susan would look at me dumbfounded when I described his trot as “girly” with a lot of “swinging in the hips.” That’s only when he’s not connected... I just didn’t realize he wasn’t connected until I actually DID have him connected and had something to compare it to, and then OMIGOD, WOW, WHAT A DIFFERENCE! I didn’t know a feeling like that was possible! And suddenly riding him became effortless, too. Before, my neck was aching from the bounce, and I felt like I was working very hard to make him go, but all of a sudden, it just got so EASY, and I wanted to keep going like that all day long. Like going from a Volkswagen on a gravel road to a Maserati on a freshly paved strip of Autobahn. Mmmmmm.... I had the sense I could even have done piaffe or passage with little effort. Oh, I love this horse... he just wanted me to do it right, sitting tall and deep, leg on correctly and then I don’t even have to work to get it. He waited for me to find it, and when I did, he told me. :D
And gentleman? You betcha! A young horse got loose today in the ring and was bucking and broncing around, galloping like a maniac and came charging toward us at full tilt (another stallion, too!). Most horses, stallion or otherwise, would have been upset. Some would have run for the hills, others would have at least been shaking in their boots... and stallions? I think the usual behavior is supposed to be rear and strike. But not Facet. He raised his head in mild curiosity and just stood his ground with a look of, “What kind of an idiot are you?” on his face. I sat there on his back, whip in hand ready to use it on the offending horse if necessary, but it didn’t come to that. When the other horse saw that Facet wasn’t going to react to him, he kept running. I don’t think Facet’s heart rate even changed much.
For a stallion with such a strong interest in the girls (he’ll tell me about every one he sees, even while he’s working, but he keeps it mostly to a whisper), he is the best behaved boy I know. I never, even for a second, have to worry about him. He knows how a gentleman behaves and wouldn’t dream of taking liberties, or of putting his rider in danger. I am unbelievably fortunate to have him.
September 30, 2006: The Beauty of a Schoolmaster
Alternatively, this could be titled “A lesson in humility...”
I know how to canter. Sure I do. I’ve been riding First Level for 2 1/2 years now, and getting decent scores at it a good deal of the time (and when I don’t, well, it’s because we do Tequila’s test and not mine... NOT because I don’t know how to ride the canter). So, when I wanted a canter depart today, why couldn’t I get one? Was the horse lazy? Sore? Was there something else?
I asked for the depart. I tapped him smartly with the whip to say, “Listen here, buster, I said CANTER.” I asked again. Still no canter. I asked, tapped with the whip and jabbed with the spur on the inside leg. Still no canter. I was still getting a trot--a faster trot, mind you--but a trot, nonetheless. From this schoolmaster, a former Grand Prix horse, well-trained by Ellen Bontje no less. Jürgen was smirking. I looked at him in helpless desperation.
“What gives?” I asked. “He knows damn well that I want the right lead canter. He cantered for me to the left... but he won’t give it to me, even when I use my whip and spur.”
“It’s your seatbone.” Jürgen answered. “Try turning your shoulder to the inside and not just your head. You have your shoulder back so you are inadvertently weighting your outside seatbone and not the inside one, and Facet is telling you that you have it all wrong.”
I did as I was told, and this time when I lightly touched Facet with my inside leg to ask for the canter depart, he lifted into it with ease... I hardly had to do more than think canter. So very simple, reminiscent of my mother waiting for the “magic word” when I was a child, and I only knew that I wanted my ice cream.
He will teach me my “manners” and fix my bad habits, enduring whatever it takes to do it... I can see that. And I will have to remember that he is smart enough to know what I want, and he is honest enough to give it to me (unlike Tequila), so that if I don’t get it, I need to be quick to ask what am I doing wrong?
It’s been nearly 3 years since I’ve ridden him--first Susan had her time on him, and then he was injured and took nearly a year and a half to rehab and recover--but he is back now, and such a treasure. Every ride I have is a blessing on this incredible horse. I’m so thankful for him, and for the legacy of his two daughters, Flashdance and Bella Vittoria... I just know they are going to follow in their father’s footsteps.
I know how to canter. Sure I do. I’ve been riding First Level for 2 1/2 years now, and getting decent scores at it a good deal of the time (and when I don’t, well, it’s because we do Tequila’s test and not mine... NOT because I don’t know how to ride the canter). So, when I wanted a canter depart today, why couldn’t I get one? Was the horse lazy? Sore? Was there something else?
I asked for the depart. I tapped him smartly with the whip to say, “Listen here, buster, I said CANTER.” I asked again. Still no canter. I asked, tapped with the whip and jabbed with the spur on the inside leg. Still no canter. I was still getting a trot--a faster trot, mind you--but a trot, nonetheless. From this schoolmaster, a former Grand Prix horse, well-trained by Ellen Bontje no less. Jürgen was smirking. I looked at him in helpless desperation.
“What gives?” I asked. “He knows damn well that I want the right lead canter. He cantered for me to the left... but he won’t give it to me, even when I use my whip and spur.”
“It’s your seatbone.” Jürgen answered. “Try turning your shoulder to the inside and not just your head. You have your shoulder back so you are inadvertently weighting your outside seatbone and not the inside one, and Facet is telling you that you have it all wrong.”
I did as I was told, and this time when I lightly touched Facet with my inside leg to ask for the canter depart, he lifted into it with ease... I hardly had to do more than think canter. So very simple, reminiscent of my mother waiting for the “magic word” when I was a child, and I only knew that I wanted my ice cream.
He will teach me my “manners” and fix my bad habits, enduring whatever it takes to do it... I can see that. And I will have to remember that he is smart enough to know what I want, and he is honest enough to give it to me (unlike Tequila), so that if I don’t get it, I need to be quick to ask what am I doing wrong?
It’s been nearly 3 years since I’ve ridden him--first Susan had her time on him, and then he was injured and took nearly a year and a half to rehab and recover--but he is back now, and such a treasure. Every ride I have is a blessing on this incredible horse. I’m so thankful for him, and for the legacy of his two daughters, Flashdance and Bella Vittoria... I just know they are going to follow in their father’s footsteps.
September 30, 2006: The Beauty of a Schoolmaster
Alternatively, this could be titled “A lesson in humility...”
I know how to canter. Sure I do. I’ve been riding First Level for 2 1/2 years now, and getting decent scores at it a good deal of the time (and when I don’t, well, it’s because we do Tequila’s test and not mine... NOT because I don’t know how to ride the canter). So, when I wanted a canter depart today, why couldn’t I get one? Was the horse lazy? Sore? Was there something else?
I asked for the depart. I tapped him smartly with the whip to say, “Listen here, buster, I said CANTER.” I asked again. Still no canter. I asked, tapped with the whip and jabbed with the spur on the inside leg. Still no canter. I was still getting a trot--a faster trot, mind you--but a trot, nonetheless. From this schoolmaster, a former Grand Prix horse, well-trained by Ellen Bontje no less. Jürgen was smirking. I looked at him in helpless desperation.
“What gives?” I asked. “He knows damn well that I want the right lead canter. He cantered for me to the left... but he won’t give it to me, even when I use my whip and spur.”
“It’s your seatbone.” Jürgen answered. “Try turning your shoulder to the inside and not just your head. You have your shoulder back so you are inadvertently weighting your outside seatbone and not the inside one, and Facet is telling you that you have it all wrong.”
I did as I was told, and this time when I lightly touched Facet with my inside leg to ask for the canter depart, he lifted into it with ease... I hardly had to do more than think canter. So very simple, reminiscent of my mother waiting for the “magic word” when I was a child, and I only knew that I wanted my ice cream.
He will teach me my “manners” and fix my bad habits, enduring whatever it takes to do it... I can see that. And I will have to remember that he is smart enough to know what I want, and he is honest enough to give it to me (unlike Tequila), so that if I don’t get it, I need to be quick to ask what am I doing wrong?
It’s been nearly 3 years since I’ve ridden him--first Susan had her time on him, and then he was injured and took nearly a year and a half to rehab and recover--but he is back now, and such a treasure. Every ride I have is a blessing on this incredible horse. I’m so thankful for him, and for the legacy of his two daughters, Flashdance and Bella Vittoria... I just know they are going to follow in their father’s footsteps.
I know how to canter. Sure I do. I’ve been riding First Level for 2 1/2 years now, and getting decent scores at it a good deal of the time (and when I don’t, well, it’s because we do Tequila’s test and not mine... NOT because I don’t know how to ride the canter). So, when I wanted a canter depart today, why couldn’t I get one? Was the horse lazy? Sore? Was there something else?
I asked for the depart. I tapped him smartly with the whip to say, “Listen here, buster, I said CANTER.” I asked again. Still no canter. I asked, tapped with the whip and jabbed with the spur on the inside leg. Still no canter. I was still getting a trot--a faster trot, mind you--but a trot, nonetheless. From this schoolmaster, a former Grand Prix horse, well-trained by Ellen Bontje no less. Jürgen was smirking. I looked at him in helpless desperation.
“What gives?” I asked. “He knows damn well that I want the right lead canter. He cantered for me to the left... but he won’t give it to me, even when I use my whip and spur.”
“It’s your seatbone.” Jürgen answered. “Try turning your shoulder to the inside and not just your head. You have your shoulder back so you are inadvertently weighting your outside seatbone and not the inside one, and Facet is telling you that you have it all wrong.”
I did as I was told, and this time when I lightly touched Facet with my inside leg to ask for the canter depart, he lifted into it with ease... I hardly had to do more than think canter. So very simple, reminiscent of my mother waiting for the “magic word” when I was a child, and I only knew that I wanted my ice cream.
He will teach me my “manners” and fix my bad habits, enduring whatever it takes to do it... I can see that. And I will have to remember that he is smart enough to know what I want, and he is honest enough to give it to me (unlike Tequila), so that if I don’t get it, I need to be quick to ask what am I doing wrong?
It’s been nearly 3 years since I’ve ridden him--first Susan had her time on him, and then he was injured and took nearly a year and a half to rehab and recover--but he is back now, and such a treasure. Every ride I have is a blessing on this incredible horse. I’m so thankful for him, and for the legacy of his two daughters, Flashdance and Bella Vittoria... I just know they are going to follow in their father’s footsteps.
September 25, 2006: At a Crossroads...
Yesterday was worse than the day before. Not all of it perhaps, but certainly the canter tour. The warm-up was falsely reassuring: Tequila remembered what half-halts were and agreed to bend correctly in response to my aids... but things changed when we entered the arena. I felt her pump up beneath me a bit, but stay “with me” at first, and the trot work went reasonably well... we even managed a ‘6’ on the second trot lengthening (a recent “high” for us), but then she became tense in the walk (only a “6” where we are capable of an “8”), and after an obedient canter depart, she crossed her jaw, took the bit in her teeth, and away we went...
We stayed on course. We completed the test. But I had no control. All I can say is that Tequila now knows the test, and didn’t need my help to finish (except to remind her where the canter-trot transitions went). To a casual observer, perhaps, the test looked better, since the pace was smoother--but that was only because there weren’t the moments when I had her come back to me to contrast with the moments where I lost her again.
I’m experiencing a whole mish-mash of emotions, from incompetence (WHY can’t I feel this coming before it’s too late and put a stop to it?), to anger (WHY does she do this to me?) to lack of motivation (WHY do I persist in trying at a sport that it seems I have no talent for--all this time, and still stuck at First Level and unable to do consistently acceptable work) to I-don’t-know-what, with a good dose of the poor-pitiful-me’s thrown in.
At home, if Tequila starts to take over, I KNOW what to do: I will give a half halt and if I don’t get a response, I will give her a full halt and a thwack-thwack with the whip +/- sharp spurs in her ribs (for Quila, these aren’t driving aids--she doesn’t need those--they are, “I’m not happy with you, because you aren’t listening. You are NOT the boss. Now, will you PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO ME?!?!?!” aids). It usually only takes once or twice a ride one or two rides a week to make my point, and the rest of the time, I can ride her from my seat and calves alone. The thing is, though, she’s a smart mare--a VERY smart mare--and she’s figured out that once we’ve gone down center-line, she can pretty much do whatever she wants... there isn’t going to be any punishment coming. The only tools I have left are those 1/4 voltés known as corners, and they can be as much as 60 meters away--she can have worked up quite a head of steam by the time we get there. Jürgen says, “Well, close your legs, sit in, and half halt her!” That’s easy for him to say--he outweighs me substantially, and probably has 3 times the muscle strength that I do in his upper back (and isn’t fighting a torn muscle there, either). I would LOVE to be able to do that, but I simply can’t... at least not effectively. Or, let’s just say that in my incompetence, I haven’t yet figured out how.
So, she wins if she times her “run” correctly (and she’s getting that down to a science), and the test falls to hell, and I’m not feeling good about her, about my riding, or about myself... What the heck am I doing? I think it is definitely time to give it up (showing, that is)... stop the agony until I have another horse to show. And a few days’ break from riding is sounding pretty good right now, too.
She’s old. She didn’t get a proper foundation, and the fact that she recovered from the start she DID have to bring me this far is nothing short of a miracle. She’s reached her ceiling ability-wise, too. Time we had fun at home, where I can continue to learn from her without the associated stress and misery for either of us (because I’ll bet she’s not much happier than I am right now), and I won’t end up angry at my horse, when the rational part of me knows that I really shouldn’t hold it against her. She doesn’t leave her stall saying, “I’m going to put the screws to my Mom today.” She only knows that for whatever reason, she wants to get through the test, and doing it the way she’s doing it seems like the best approach...
We stayed on course. We completed the test. But I had no control. All I can say is that Tequila now knows the test, and didn’t need my help to finish (except to remind her where the canter-trot transitions went). To a casual observer, perhaps, the test looked better, since the pace was smoother--but that was only because there weren’t the moments when I had her come back to me to contrast with the moments where I lost her again.
I’m experiencing a whole mish-mash of emotions, from incompetence (WHY can’t I feel this coming before it’s too late and put a stop to it?), to anger (WHY does she do this to me?) to lack of motivation (WHY do I persist in trying at a sport that it seems I have no talent for--all this time, and still stuck at First Level and unable to do consistently acceptable work) to I-don’t-know-what, with a good dose of the poor-pitiful-me’s thrown in.
At home, if Tequila starts to take over, I KNOW what to do: I will give a half halt and if I don’t get a response, I will give her a full halt and a thwack-thwack with the whip +/- sharp spurs in her ribs (for Quila, these aren’t driving aids--she doesn’t need those--they are, “I’m not happy with you, because you aren’t listening. You are NOT the boss. Now, will you PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO ME?!?!?!” aids). It usually only takes once or twice a ride one or two rides a week to make my point, and the rest of the time, I can ride her from my seat and calves alone. The thing is, though, she’s a smart mare--a VERY smart mare--and she’s figured out that once we’ve gone down center-line, she can pretty much do whatever she wants... there isn’t going to be any punishment coming. The only tools I have left are those 1/4 voltés known as corners, and they can be as much as 60 meters away--she can have worked up quite a head of steam by the time we get there. Jürgen says, “Well, close your legs, sit in, and half halt her!” That’s easy for him to say--he outweighs me substantially, and probably has 3 times the muscle strength that I do in his upper back (and isn’t fighting a torn muscle there, either). I would LOVE to be able to do that, but I simply can’t... at least not effectively. Or, let’s just say that in my incompetence, I haven’t yet figured out how.
So, she wins if she times her “run” correctly (and she’s getting that down to a science), and the test falls to hell, and I’m not feeling good about her, about my riding, or about myself... What the heck am I doing? I think it is definitely time to give it up (showing, that is)... stop the agony until I have another horse to show. And a few days’ break from riding is sounding pretty good right now, too.
She’s old. She didn’t get a proper foundation, and the fact that she recovered from the start she DID have to bring me this far is nothing short of a miracle. She’s reached her ceiling ability-wise, too. Time we had fun at home, where I can continue to learn from her without the associated stress and misery for either of us (because I’ll bet she’s not much happier than I am right now), and I won’t end up angry at my horse, when the rational part of me knows that I really shouldn’t hold it against her. She doesn’t leave her stall saying, “I’m going to put the screws to my Mom today.” She only knows that for whatever reason, she wants to get through the test, and doing it the way she’s doing it seems like the best approach...
September 24, 2006: You Didn't RIde Her
“You didn’t ride her...”
The words stung me to the core, and made it difficult to listen to anything that followed. I DID ride her. I DID. I put everything I had into that test--everything, heart and sou; the outcome may not have been what I’d hoped, what we were capable of, but it was not for lack of trying on my part. I hadn’t “checked out” or “let her take over.” Tequila’s “coup,” as I saw it, was the result of 1200 pounds of stubborn mare that had decided no amount of half halting was going to work... and at 140 pounds, riding with a snaffle, there was a limit to what I could do about it with my usual tools removed (like halts, voltés and the like)...
To our credit, we did get through our test, and we DID keep our score in the 60’s (and there were no 4’s). And the transitions were correctly placed. But my aids were large and obvious (was that a YANK for that downward transition?), and it was not what you would call a pretty test. The judge commented mostly on Tequila’s lack of swing through the back and the loss of effectiveness of my aids... both symptoms of the same thing: a mare that was angry that she’d been asked to work at dinnertime.
I knew from the warm-up that we were in trouble... she was angry and stiff, and the half-halts were begrudging, but she gave them to me. In the ring, however, she changed. She’s smart... she knows there’s a prescribed amount of work to be done between halts (which we got our usual 8’s for), and she wanted to get that done as quickly as possible so that she could get back to her dinner. She’s felt this way on several occasions before--the others being when we’ve competed in 100 degree plus heat, and she was similarly eager to return to her stall.
I’ll admit that I’m feeling somewhat discouraged. I can ride her, and ride her well, at home. Showing is quite another thing entirely, and I don’t know that we will ever do consistently well at it as a team. She does not have great gaits anymore, so we are already handicapped there, and depending on the judge, sometimes severely so. She is also unpredictable and temperamental, and can be very difficult to ride--presenting me with scenarios that I never face at home, and making me feel the fool. Not spooks (that would be easy), or a bolt here or there (I could handle that), but blowing through half halts, running through the bridle, weighing a ton in the hand, and taking over because she thinks “she’s smarter than I am.” At 17, I don’t think I will change the horse... and I think we’ve also reached our performance ceiling for the show ring. More than 50% of the time, showing is not fun... for either of us. The main reason to do it, in fact, is so that I don’t have to leave her home when I follow Susan. I have to rethink: is that really a valid reason to put us both through the torture? Hers perhaps physical, mine emotional.
The alternative would be to stay home and focus on progressing in my riding. If I weren’t trying to improve for the ring, I could be learning more with her... a little shoulder-in and travers, perhaps half-pass, and some tempi’s. (She knows her changes). She can’t move up the levels because there are holes in what she can do physically, and she doesn’t have the ability to collect fully for what is expected in the show ring, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t learn the aids, and that I can’t ride the movements at home with her... and the we wouldn’t both have fun doing it. (I can just imagine our scores going up the levels with inadequate collection, no lengthenings, etc, etc... and THEN have her pull a stunt like yesterday--don’t think I could face that!)
After all, my real goal with her all along has been to learn all I can in preparation for my next horse... and that doesn’t have to be in the show ring.
(As it turns out, what I learned much later--after some yelling with Susan--teenagers don’t “talk” much--is that it meant that I didn’t ride “effectively.” That I’ll buy--but I do wish they’d just say THAT, and then tell me how to do it differently. It’s not helpful to know what you’re doing wrong if you don’t know what you need to do in order to fix it... and honestly, I’d already TRIED many of the suggestions, and Tequila had completely ignored them. She’s the only horse in our barn that hasn’t been shown by one of the Bereiters... it might be an eye-opener if she was, but I don’t think I’d do that to her. She doesn’t deserve it... not at her age. I just wish they knew what it felt like from where I was sitting.)
The words stung me to the core, and made it difficult to listen to anything that followed. I DID ride her. I DID. I put everything I had into that test--everything, heart and sou; the outcome may not have been what I’d hoped, what we were capable of, but it was not for lack of trying on my part. I hadn’t “checked out” or “let her take over.” Tequila’s “coup,” as I saw it, was the result of 1200 pounds of stubborn mare that had decided no amount of half halting was going to work... and at 140 pounds, riding with a snaffle, there was a limit to what I could do about it with my usual tools removed (like halts, voltés and the like)...
To our credit, we did get through our test, and we DID keep our score in the 60’s (and there were no 4’s). And the transitions were correctly placed. But my aids were large and obvious (was that a YANK for that downward transition?), and it was not what you would call a pretty test. The judge commented mostly on Tequila’s lack of swing through the back and the loss of effectiveness of my aids... both symptoms of the same thing: a mare that was angry that she’d been asked to work at dinnertime.
I knew from the warm-up that we were in trouble... she was angry and stiff, and the half-halts were begrudging, but she gave them to me. In the ring, however, she changed. She’s smart... she knows there’s a prescribed amount of work to be done between halts (which we got our usual 8’s for), and she wanted to get that done as quickly as possible so that she could get back to her dinner. She’s felt this way on several occasions before--the others being when we’ve competed in 100 degree plus heat, and she was similarly eager to return to her stall.
I’ll admit that I’m feeling somewhat discouraged. I can ride her, and ride her well, at home. Showing is quite another thing entirely, and I don’t know that we will ever do consistently well at it as a team. She does not have great gaits anymore, so we are already handicapped there, and depending on the judge, sometimes severely so. She is also unpredictable and temperamental, and can be very difficult to ride--presenting me with scenarios that I never face at home, and making me feel the fool. Not spooks (that would be easy), or a bolt here or there (I could handle that), but blowing through half halts, running through the bridle, weighing a ton in the hand, and taking over because she thinks “she’s smarter than I am.” At 17, I don’t think I will change the horse... and I think we’ve also reached our performance ceiling for the show ring. More than 50% of the time, showing is not fun... for either of us. The main reason to do it, in fact, is so that I don’t have to leave her home when I follow Susan. I have to rethink: is that really a valid reason to put us both through the torture? Hers perhaps physical, mine emotional.
The alternative would be to stay home and focus on progressing in my riding. If I weren’t trying to improve for the ring, I could be learning more with her... a little shoulder-in and travers, perhaps half-pass, and some tempi’s. (She knows her changes). She can’t move up the levels because there are holes in what she can do physically, and she doesn’t have the ability to collect fully for what is expected in the show ring, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t learn the aids, and that I can’t ride the movements at home with her... and the we wouldn’t both have fun doing it. (I can just imagine our scores going up the levels with inadequate collection, no lengthenings, etc, etc... and THEN have her pull a stunt like yesterday--don’t think I could face that!)
After all, my real goal with her all along has been to learn all I can in preparation for my next horse... and that doesn’t have to be in the show ring.
(As it turns out, what I learned much later--after some yelling with Susan--teenagers don’t “talk” much--is that it meant that I didn’t ride “effectively.” That I’ll buy--but I do wish they’d just say THAT, and then tell me how to do it differently. It’s not helpful to know what you’re doing wrong if you don’t know what you need to do in order to fix it... and honestly, I’d already TRIED many of the suggestions, and Tequila had completely ignored them. She’s the only horse in our barn that hasn’t been shown by one of the Bereiters... it might be an eye-opener if she was, but I don’t think I’d do that to her. She doesn’t deserve it... not at her age. I just wish they knew what it felt like from where I was sitting.)
September 11, 2006: Scoring Tests--Why I Should Be a Judge
First, let me say that I’m not one of those that say, “But this is the best that my horse can do, so I should get an ‘8’ for effort, at least...” because I don’t agree with that. Some horses are more talented than others, just as some dancers are better--and those are the ones I pay my money to watch. What I do feel, though, is that sometimes judges are too quick to mark a horse down to a ‘5’ or ‘6’ based on a limitation (or not even that, but perhaps a lack of a ‘something’) when a movement was performed absolutely correctly, and that while very few horses have the potential to get, say, an 80%, most should be able to at least dream about scoring close to a 70% on a perfect day when all goes well, if they are competing at the appropriate level AND can perform all of the appropriate movements.
Let me make this personal (and please read to the end before you right this off as the grumblings of someone who is sour grapes): Tequila doesn’t have extensions. Certainly not at the trot. On a perfect day, we can get a 6, but we usually only get a 5. She can really really try hard, run, fall on the forehand, and get a 5 for the effort, or I can insist that she is correct, and get a 5 for ‘little difference.’ A stickler judge might give us a 4, though that is unusual (and unfair, if you ask me--it ain’t much, but there is effort there--just look at her determination, and you’ll see she’s working at it, and we DO come back to something). Tequila is 17 and conformationally limited, and it’s just not there. We understand the concept, but fail in the execution. We’re better at canter, and can get a 6... maybe a 7. We’ll NEVER get an 8 unless we’re riding for a judge that is feeling giddy and a bit over-the-top; haven’t met many of those. So... we know we’d better work hard on the rest of the test. And trot isn’t Tequila’s best gait. She doesn’t have ANY suspension, and let’s just say that getting something that looks forward and expressive doesn’t happen often. I can try, but usually it will only look like I’m chasing her: she will start wringing her tail, get a pinched look about her lips, and we’ll lose anything we’ve gained to “tension,” and “running.”
Now, some (even most) judges recognize this lack of apparent “impulsion” for what it is... the horse’s natural way of going... and accept it in an AA ride. I don’t get the “high” marks, but they will give me a ‘7’ mark for a movement properly executed. I thank them for that. If I can put together a test with 6’s and 7’s (and hopefully, Tequila and I will get predominantly 7’s), with an 8 for our halts, and perhaps for our walks, we can come away with a VERY respectable score. We won’t win our class, but for us, it isn’t about winning or losing... for my ego, though, it is about staying above a 60%. Others feel the need to punish us when she’s having one of her “feeling old” days, where she feels, I’m sure, every one of her 17 years--and when I ride for a “punishing judge” on one of her “feeling old” days I’m headed for a bruising no matter how nice the ride. I know “feeling old” days the minute we hit the warm-up: she shows no freshness; she is willing, but shows no eagerness; every transition is correct with no “how about we do it my way?” because she’s telling me, “if I do it your way, can we just get this over with and go home?” I know on those days that I will have a lovely ride, with regard to correctness of the work, because she’ll be responsive to the aids and easy to ride. What I don’t know is how the judge will score us (Stephen Clarke in ’05, and Linda Zang in ’06 gave us personal bests on “feeling old” days; yesterday we had a miserable score on one of them.)
Yesterday, I had a ride that felt about as good as First Level Test 4 has ever felt. We’d gotten a 68% the day before for a ride with moments of brilliance, but a few rocky points; yesterday’s ride, in contrast, was smooth and easy from start to finish with the exception of one leg yield I’d like to have done over and one transition I’d like to have done two strides earlier. I was certain we’d get a score of at least 65%, and perhaps even beat the previous day’s score. I couldn’t have been more incorrect! We received a 59%! I’ve never had to pass around my test sheet to so many people, either, because those watching (and we’d had quite a few fans), couldn’t believe it, either.
The judge nailed us for lack of energy/impulsion on every movement because Tequila hadn’t matched the brilliance and expression she’d had the previous day. AND the judge gave me a ‘5’ for rider with the only comment, “ENERGY!” I felt slapped. I’d received a ‘7’ the day before, and felt I’d ridden even better yesterday: more accurately, prepared the movements better. I watched my video, and it was obvious that the pace was not because I was holding the horse back and limiting her, nor was I not using leg--but I wasn’t chasing her or whipping her either. It was her natural rhythm and way-of-going. My feeling is that Tequila is 17, and if that was the energy/expression she felt she could give me without me whipping/chasing it out of her, then that is what we were going to show.
And here is where I think we have a problem: insisting on rides that are very forward all the time is only going to encourage riders to chase their horses out of their natural rhythm, just as you see horses presented at auction--and that isn’t correct. I think there is a distinction between a naturally forward horse possessing incredible gaits that should be rewarded with the 8’s and 9’s, or even 10’s. (and lucky them--still get the 7’s on the movements where they’ve made the mistakes!), and horses like mine that are performing movements correctly within their natural gaits (not held back) but who do not possess the lovely energy/expression, and that this latter group should still be ‘allowed’ a 7 as a start. Finally, horses that are held back/impeded by the rider but perform a movement correctly, are a third category, and should start from a base score of ‘6’. We’ve dropped the “set point” (or base score) of our scale too low, is what I’m saying...
I think judges need to ask themselves what it is they’re judging and what they’re trying to say to the horse and rider... Do we REALLY want to encourage artificial gaits? I think not. Punishing a rider for not riding the horse’s natural gaits is exactly going to do that, however... and failing to make a distinction between natural gaits and impeded gaits is also to the horse/rider’s detriment. (We also have to remember what level we’re discussing when we’re judging... and whether the judge’s expectations are level-appropriate).
That’s my opinion, anyway.
Let me make this personal (and please read to the end before you right this off as the grumblings of someone who is sour grapes): Tequila doesn’t have extensions. Certainly not at the trot. On a perfect day, we can get a 6, but we usually only get a 5. She can really really try hard, run, fall on the forehand, and get a 5 for the effort, or I can insist that she is correct, and get a 5 for ‘little difference.’ A stickler judge might give us a 4, though that is unusual (and unfair, if you ask me--it ain’t much, but there is effort there--just look at her determination, and you’ll see she’s working at it, and we DO come back to something). Tequila is 17 and conformationally limited, and it’s just not there. We understand the concept, but fail in the execution. We’re better at canter, and can get a 6... maybe a 7. We’ll NEVER get an 8 unless we’re riding for a judge that is feeling giddy and a bit over-the-top; haven’t met many of those. So... we know we’d better work hard on the rest of the test. And trot isn’t Tequila’s best gait. She doesn’t have ANY suspension, and let’s just say that getting something that looks forward and expressive doesn’t happen often. I can try, but usually it will only look like I’m chasing her: she will start wringing her tail, get a pinched look about her lips, and we’ll lose anything we’ve gained to “tension,” and “running.”
Now, some (even most) judges recognize this lack of apparent “impulsion” for what it is... the horse’s natural way of going... and accept it in an AA ride. I don’t get the “high” marks, but they will give me a ‘7’ mark for a movement properly executed. I thank them for that. If I can put together a test with 6’s and 7’s (and hopefully, Tequila and I will get predominantly 7’s), with an 8 for our halts, and perhaps for our walks, we can come away with a VERY respectable score. We won’t win our class, but for us, it isn’t about winning or losing... for my ego, though, it is about staying above a 60%. Others feel the need to punish us when she’s having one of her “feeling old” days, where she feels, I’m sure, every one of her 17 years--and when I ride for a “punishing judge” on one of her “feeling old” days I’m headed for a bruising no matter how nice the ride. I know “feeling old” days the minute we hit the warm-up: she shows no freshness; she is willing, but shows no eagerness; every transition is correct with no “how about we do it my way?” because she’s telling me, “if I do it your way, can we just get this over with and go home?” I know on those days that I will have a lovely ride, with regard to correctness of the work, because she’ll be responsive to the aids and easy to ride. What I don’t know is how the judge will score us (Stephen Clarke in ’05, and Linda Zang in ’06 gave us personal bests on “feeling old” days; yesterday we had a miserable score on one of them.)
Yesterday, I had a ride that felt about as good as First Level Test 4 has ever felt. We’d gotten a 68% the day before for a ride with moments of brilliance, but a few rocky points; yesterday’s ride, in contrast, was smooth and easy from start to finish with the exception of one leg yield I’d like to have done over and one transition I’d like to have done two strides earlier. I was certain we’d get a score of at least 65%, and perhaps even beat the previous day’s score. I couldn’t have been more incorrect! We received a 59%! I’ve never had to pass around my test sheet to so many people, either, because those watching (and we’d had quite a few fans), couldn’t believe it, either.
The judge nailed us for lack of energy/impulsion on every movement because Tequila hadn’t matched the brilliance and expression she’d had the previous day. AND the judge gave me a ‘5’ for rider with the only comment, “ENERGY!” I felt slapped. I’d received a ‘7’ the day before, and felt I’d ridden even better yesterday: more accurately, prepared the movements better. I watched my video, and it was obvious that the pace was not because I was holding the horse back and limiting her, nor was I not using leg--but I wasn’t chasing her or whipping her either. It was her natural rhythm and way-of-going. My feeling is that Tequila is 17, and if that was the energy/expression she felt she could give me without me whipping/chasing it out of her, then that is what we were going to show.
And here is where I think we have a problem: insisting on rides that are very forward all the time is only going to encourage riders to chase their horses out of their natural rhythm, just as you see horses presented at auction--and that isn’t correct. I think there is a distinction between a naturally forward horse possessing incredible gaits that should be rewarded with the 8’s and 9’s, or even 10’s. (and lucky them--still get the 7’s on the movements where they’ve made the mistakes!), and horses like mine that are performing movements correctly within their natural gaits (not held back) but who do not possess the lovely energy/expression, and that this latter group should still be ‘allowed’ a 7 as a start. Finally, horses that are held back/impeded by the rider but perform a movement correctly, are a third category, and should start from a base score of ‘6’. We’ve dropped the “set point” (or base score) of our scale too low, is what I’m saying...
I think judges need to ask themselves what it is they’re judging and what they’re trying to say to the horse and rider... Do we REALLY want to encourage artificial gaits? I think not. Punishing a rider for not riding the horse’s natural gaits is exactly going to do that, however... and failing to make a distinction between natural gaits and impeded gaits is also to the horse/rider’s detriment. (We also have to remember what level we’re discussing when we’re judging... and whether the judge’s expectations are level-appropriate).
That’s my opinion, anyway.
September 4, 2006: Peeping Toms
I just can’t NOT comment on the hotel we stayed in in Maastricht while we were at WEG... It was too, er, unusual. Yes, I think unusual would sum it up just about right.
I’ve tried to think how to describe it several times, and I must admit that on the first attempts, words failed me... but perhaps now I’ve got it. It can only have been decorated by an Interior Decorator that had visited a few too many of those other types of bars in Amsterdam and then returned home to dream about visits to the United States, New York in particular, with the Hard Rock Cafe, Harley Davidson Dealer, and the World Trade Center either newly demolished or under construction in mind... And then, to top it off, a freakish sort of sense of humor.
It was quite comfortable, mind you... a Four Star facility, with comfortable beds, quiet rooms, and windows that “capsized only,” which after some puzzlement, we figured out meant that they only leaned inward into the room to open, rather than sliding up/down or to the side. Rather interesting translation into English, we thought...
But the decor: murals of New York scenes complete with graffiti in the lobby and common areas, neon everywhere, in an orange/red/black color scheme (entire walls! in our room in orange, with black laminate furniture) and re-bar accents right down to the towel hangers and drawer pulls. Re-bar: must have spent an absolute FORTUNE on that touch!
And the pièce de resistance was in the bathroom: a vast expanse of clean, sparkling white until you sit on the toilet to do your business (being female), and then you look in front of you, and you see a pair of rather sexy eyes peering at you... eyes that have a rather uncanny resemblance to Tom Cruise’s in one bathroom, and the romance novel model’s Fabio’s in another! JUST the eyes, as if the rest of the gentleman (or not such a gentleman, given the leer) is on the other side of the wall, imagining what he’d like to do to you once you exit the stall. It’s rather unsettling, and if you didn’t have a case of BB (bashful bladder) before, you most certainly did AFTER you caught sight of the Peeping Tom!
The gentleman traveling with us told us that they had similar “company” in the men’s room...
I’ve tried to think how to describe it several times, and I must admit that on the first attempts, words failed me... but perhaps now I’ve got it. It can only have been decorated by an Interior Decorator that had visited a few too many of those other types of bars in Amsterdam and then returned home to dream about visits to the United States, New York in particular, with the Hard Rock Cafe, Harley Davidson Dealer, and the World Trade Center either newly demolished or under construction in mind... And then, to top it off, a freakish sort of sense of humor.
It was quite comfortable, mind you... a Four Star facility, with comfortable beds, quiet rooms, and windows that “capsized only,” which after some puzzlement, we figured out meant that they only leaned inward into the room to open, rather than sliding up/down or to the side. Rather interesting translation into English, we thought...
But the decor: murals of New York scenes complete with graffiti in the lobby and common areas, neon everywhere, in an orange/red/black color scheme (entire walls! in our room in orange, with black laminate furniture) and re-bar accents right down to the towel hangers and drawer pulls. Re-bar: must have spent an absolute FORTUNE on that touch!
And the pièce de resistance was in the bathroom: a vast expanse of clean, sparkling white until you sit on the toilet to do your business (being female), and then you look in front of you, and you see a pair of rather sexy eyes peering at you... eyes that have a rather uncanny resemblance to Tom Cruise’s in one bathroom, and the romance novel model’s Fabio’s in another! JUST the eyes, as if the rest of the gentleman (or not such a gentleman, given the leer) is on the other side of the wall, imagining what he’d like to do to you once you exit the stall. It’s rather unsettling, and if you didn’t have a case of BB (bashful bladder) before, you most certainly did AFTER you caught sight of the Peeping Tom!
The gentleman traveling with us told us that they had similar “company” in the men’s room...
September 1, 2006: WEG and Sardines
To say that the quality of the riding at the World Equestrian Games was phenomenal would be an understatement... Never before have I seen such brilliant performances, whether on video or in person, including previous Aachen-CHIO’s and the 2005 Las Vegas World Cup, nor from so many athletes. Nor have I ever experienced a crowd like that in ANY situation.
First, a few words about the performances. (I could go on and on for pages, but I won’t... at least not with today’s entry). I was incredibly proud of my countryman, Steffen Peter’s performance. He rode Floriano to his maximum capability, showing true harmony... it was something of beauty to behold. There were many (me included), that felt he deserved the individual Bronze for his performance in the Grand Prix Special, and that the grey mare ridden by Andreas Hegelstrand was riding the wave of her fabulous performance in the Grand Prix with regard to some of her marks, thus edging him out. His fourth place finish still gives Steffen plenty to be proud of... and the Team Bronze is certainly a matter of pride for the entire team.
Heike Kemmer’s Grand Prix performance with Bonaparte was my favorite ride of the show. Although the judges placed her second, I would have ranked her first: it was flawless. Jan (a boarder and friend) and I turned to each other after her ride, mouths agape and with tears in our eyes, and said in unison, “That was amazing.” We had neither one of us seen anything like it before. I doubt that I will see it again. WOW... The winning ride belonged to Blue Hors Matiné, ridden by Andreas Hegelstrand, whose performance was NOT flawless, but who at the tender age of 9 showed the most expressive piaffe/passage tour of the evening, and certainly among the best any of us had ever seen. The judges were throwing her 9’s right and left, and that made up for a number of mistakes earlier in her test, edging out Bonaparte for the lead.
The mare did not, however, have the strength and endurance to sustain that quality through all three tests; more errors followed in the Grand Prix Special and you began to see her use her head for balance in the piaffe/passage, and by the Freestyle, the use of her head was really quite in evidence, as was some irregularity in the passage that appeared to be due to loss of balance. This was not just my view, but also noticed by Christoph Hess, the International Judge that was providing the radio commentary in English. The judging panel, however, appeared not to notice significantly... while they didn’t place her first as they had in the Grand Prix, they still rewarded her with very high marks (even in the movements that contained significant faults--you could tell because there was live scoring), so that she finished with the bronze on both evenings. I disagreed with the scores and placement: once again, the dressage world really would be better off if they’d make ME a judge. :wink: (The mare is quality--don’t get me wrong--and if she holds up to the pressures, both mental and physical, she will undoubtedly show up in the top medals over and over again, deservedly so, but to my mind, she does not yet have the strength and endurance for the FULL Grand Prix tour required at a competition like WEG. That should not come as a surprise, nor require any apologies, given her tender age and the tremendous stamina that the Grand Prix test requires... nor should it detract from the stupendous performance she DID put in during the Grand Prix. It WAS super, and DID deserve the scores she received. I’m just making the point--entirely my own--that she was not able to sustain it through what amounts to marathon for these horses as rigorous as what the 3-Day Eventers go through.)
My favorite combination was a big surprise to everyone on the scene: Bernadette Pujals, a rider from MEXICO, of all places! Her horse was named Vincent, and she trained near Bremen--and her riding was absolutely lovely to behold... none of us had ever heard of her before this show. She placed consistently in the top 10, with rides that were correct, harmonious and elegant. I think she will be a force to be reckoned with...
And finally, Isabelle Werth on Satchmo: WOW again. That horse is a real firecracker. You can see it in how he moves, and with such power! Isabelle has to ride with incredible tact, and because she does, she gets amazing things from him, without tension or mistakes... but I have the sense that if she were to push her luck, things would fall to hell in the blink of an eye. That is the measure of greatness. I was thrilled for her when she won the Gold for her Grand Prix Special and Silver for her Freestyle, deposing Anky for the Grand Prix Special. (Anky was back in the pack for the Grand Prix (tying for 3rd), which was quite gratifying, since that was exactly where she deserved to be; her freestyle, however, was the best I’ve ever seen her go with Salinero and she was the clear winner. Fan or no fan--and I’m not a particular Anky fan--I think there is no argument that Anky, when Salinero is on her side, is the reigning Queen of the freestyle).
Now, let’s talk sardines... The crowds at WEG were unbelievable. We had it relatively easy on the days of the Grand Prix because the 70 riders were spread over 2 days, and the better riders went towards the end of the second day in most cases. (Each team could choose the order in which they placed their riders). By Friday, however, the stands (seating 44,000), were pretty full and it was getting pretty dicey trying to walk around outside the stadium and through the streets between the vendors. (There were so many vendors that they named the “streets” between them so that you could find the one you were looking for again). And Saturday, the day of the freestyles? You could bloody well forget moving from point A to point B if you hadn’t gotten there an hour before the freestyles started... I made the mistake of thinking I would get from one end of the stadium to the other going THROUGH the stadium rather than walking around the back side of it (it HAD been the quicker route earlier in the day) about an hour and a half before the freestyles were to start. It was a HUGE mistake. I found myself in a crush of people pushing and shoving to move in one direction against a crushing tide of people pushing and shoving to move in the other, and having to squeeze my body into spaces that were only one half a body wide in order to make any progress at all... but I would succeed because there were people behind me shoving me along, reminiscent of the Japanese subway conductors who shove folks into the cars so that the doors will shut. My arms were pinned at my side and I had to pray that there were no pick pockets in the crowd (though I, fortunately, did not have a wallet... instead I’d taken a purse that has the “wallet” built in so someone would have had to steal each bill and credit card individually if they’d tried, and probably would have found better pickings from one of my neighbors in the cr
owd). I did check to make sure none of the cards were missing when I came out the other end, though. There were essentially no mishaps, and I say essentially only because at one point a large lady who looked like the fat yodeling woman from a Swiss Miss commercial started kicking everyone around her in the shins. I told her to stop kicking me. She said she was being shoved. I said that may be, but I was not the one doing the shoving, so she should kindly leave my shins the you-know-what out of it! Other people were not quite so nice; I think that’s how riots start. I was never so relieved in my life as when I came out the other side.
That night, for the freestyles, there were 44,000 in reserved seats, 10,000+ in standing room, and another 5,000+ in an adjacent stadium watching on a big screen because they had been unable to push and shove their way into the standing room area. Can you imagine a crowd that large to watch freestyle dressage performances in this country??? They said they had 60,000 in ticket sales on the evening. Mind-boggling. Absolutely mind-boggling. Especially when you consider that those that didn’t make it to Aachen to see it in person were able to watch it LIVE on German television!
There’s a lot to love about Germany, and their dedication to horse sports is at the top of my list.
First, a few words about the performances. (I could go on and on for pages, but I won’t... at least not with today’s entry). I was incredibly proud of my countryman, Steffen Peter’s performance. He rode Floriano to his maximum capability, showing true harmony... it was something of beauty to behold. There were many (me included), that felt he deserved the individual Bronze for his performance in the Grand Prix Special, and that the grey mare ridden by Andreas Hegelstrand was riding the wave of her fabulous performance in the Grand Prix with regard to some of her marks, thus edging him out. His fourth place finish still gives Steffen plenty to be proud of... and the Team Bronze is certainly a matter of pride for the entire team.
Heike Kemmer’s Grand Prix performance with Bonaparte was my favorite ride of the show. Although the judges placed her second, I would have ranked her first: it was flawless. Jan (a boarder and friend) and I turned to each other after her ride, mouths agape and with tears in our eyes, and said in unison, “That was amazing.” We had neither one of us seen anything like it before. I doubt that I will see it again. WOW... The winning ride belonged to Blue Hors Matiné, ridden by Andreas Hegelstrand, whose performance was NOT flawless, but who at the tender age of 9 showed the most expressive piaffe/passage tour of the evening, and certainly among the best any of us had ever seen. The judges were throwing her 9’s right and left, and that made up for a number of mistakes earlier in her test, edging out Bonaparte for the lead.
The mare did not, however, have the strength and endurance to sustain that quality through all three tests; more errors followed in the Grand Prix Special and you began to see her use her head for balance in the piaffe/passage, and by the Freestyle, the use of her head was really quite in evidence, as was some irregularity in the passage that appeared to be due to loss of balance. This was not just my view, but also noticed by Christoph Hess, the International Judge that was providing the radio commentary in English. The judging panel, however, appeared not to notice significantly... while they didn’t place her first as they had in the Grand Prix, they still rewarded her with very high marks (even in the movements that contained significant faults--you could tell because there was live scoring), so that she finished with the bronze on both evenings. I disagreed with the scores and placement: once again, the dressage world really would be better off if they’d make ME a judge. :wink: (The mare is quality--don’t get me wrong--and if she holds up to the pressures, both mental and physical, she will undoubtedly show up in the top medals over and over again, deservedly so, but to my mind, she does not yet have the strength and endurance for the FULL Grand Prix tour required at a competition like WEG. That should not come as a surprise, nor require any apologies, given her tender age and the tremendous stamina that the Grand Prix test requires... nor should it detract from the stupendous performance she DID put in during the Grand Prix. It WAS super, and DID deserve the scores she received. I’m just making the point--entirely my own--that she was not able to sustain it through what amounts to marathon for these horses as rigorous as what the 3-Day Eventers go through.)
My favorite combination was a big surprise to everyone on the scene: Bernadette Pujals, a rider from MEXICO, of all places! Her horse was named Vincent, and she trained near Bremen--and her riding was absolutely lovely to behold... none of us had ever heard of her before this show. She placed consistently in the top 10, with rides that were correct, harmonious and elegant. I think she will be a force to be reckoned with...
And finally, Isabelle Werth on Satchmo: WOW again. That horse is a real firecracker. You can see it in how he moves, and with such power! Isabelle has to ride with incredible tact, and because she does, she gets amazing things from him, without tension or mistakes... but I have the sense that if she were to push her luck, things would fall to hell in the blink of an eye. That is the measure of greatness. I was thrilled for her when she won the Gold for her Grand Prix Special and Silver for her Freestyle, deposing Anky for the Grand Prix Special. (Anky was back in the pack for the Grand Prix (tying for 3rd), which was quite gratifying, since that was exactly where she deserved to be; her freestyle, however, was the best I’ve ever seen her go with Salinero and she was the clear winner. Fan or no fan--and I’m not a particular Anky fan--I think there is no argument that Anky, when Salinero is on her side, is the reigning Queen of the freestyle).
Now, let’s talk sardines... The crowds at WEG were unbelievable. We had it relatively easy on the days of the Grand Prix because the 70 riders were spread over 2 days, and the better riders went towards the end of the second day in most cases. (Each team could choose the order in which they placed their riders). By Friday, however, the stands (seating 44,000), were pretty full and it was getting pretty dicey trying to walk around outside the stadium and through the streets between the vendors. (There were so many vendors that they named the “streets” between them so that you could find the one you were looking for again). And Saturday, the day of the freestyles? You could bloody well forget moving from point A to point B if you hadn’t gotten there an hour before the freestyles started... I made the mistake of thinking I would get from one end of the stadium to the other going THROUGH the stadium rather than walking around the back side of it (it HAD been the quicker route earlier in the day) about an hour and a half before the freestyles were to start. It was a HUGE mistake. I found myself in a crush of people pushing and shoving to move in one direction against a crushing tide of people pushing and shoving to move in the other, and having to squeeze my body into spaces that were only one half a body wide in order to make any progress at all... but I would succeed because there were people behind me shoving me along, reminiscent of the Japanese subway conductors who shove folks into the cars so that the doors will shut. My arms were pinned at my side and I had to pray that there were no pick pockets in the crowd (though I, fortunately, did not have a wallet... instead I’d taken a purse that has the “wallet” built in so someone would have had to steal each bill and credit card individually if they’d tried, and probably would have found better pickings from one of my neighbors in the cr
owd). I did check to make sure none of the cards were missing when I came out the other end, though. There were essentially no mishaps, and I say essentially only because at one point a large lady who looked like the fat yodeling woman from a Swiss Miss commercial started kicking everyone around her in the shins. I told her to stop kicking me. She said she was being shoved. I said that may be, but I was not the one doing the shoving, so she should kindly leave my shins the you-know-what out of it! Other people were not quite so nice; I think that’s how riots start. I was never so relieved in my life as when I came out the other side.
That night, for the freestyles, there were 44,000 in reserved seats, 10,000+ in standing room, and another 5,000+ in an adjacent stadium watching on a big screen because they had been unable to push and shove their way into the standing room area. Can you imagine a crowd that large to watch freestyle dressage performances in this country??? They said they had 60,000 in ticket sales on the evening. Mind-boggling. Absolutely mind-boggling. Especially when you consider that those that didn’t make it to Aachen to see it in person were able to watch it LIVE on German television!
There’s a lot to love about Germany, and their dedication to horse sports is at the top of my list.
August 15, 2006: Race You
I had no idea that horses could grey so quickly, but then again, I had not counted on the precociousness of foals... or, more specifically, Bella Vittoria.
I wasn’t surprised that Bella Vittoria would be a grey. She descends from a long line of greys... Der Radetzky, Tequila Sunrise’s grandfather was a famous grey. Tequila Sunrise is a grey. Pik’s Promise is a grey. Statistics were 50/50 that Vittoria would be a grey, and when I saw the hairs around her eyes and the roaning in her coat, well... I knew. But I thought I also knew what to expect. I thought she would go grey like her mother did, slowly, in stages, with the change of each season.
Miss Vittoria had something else in mind. It began with white rings around her eyes. Then her ears changed color... and then she began to look like she had some sort of disease on her face. Now she just looks ridiculous in a rather cute, endearing sort of way, as if she’s said to her Mum, “Beat you to the finish line...” and at the rate she’s going, my money is on Vittoria. Vittoria means “victory,” you know....
I wasn’t surprised that Bella Vittoria would be a grey. She descends from a long line of greys... Der Radetzky, Tequila Sunrise’s grandfather was a famous grey. Tequila Sunrise is a grey. Pik’s Promise is a grey. Statistics were 50/50 that Vittoria would be a grey, and when I saw the hairs around her eyes and the roaning in her coat, well... I knew. But I thought I also knew what to expect. I thought she would go grey like her mother did, slowly, in stages, with the change of each season.
Miss Vittoria had something else in mind. It began with white rings around her eyes. Then her ears changed color... and then she began to look like she had some sort of disease on her face. Now she just looks ridiculous in a rather cute, endearing sort of way, as if she’s said to her Mum, “Beat you to the finish line...” and at the rate she’s going, my money is on Vittoria. Vittoria means “victory,” you know....
August 14, 2006: Acting Like 4 Year-Olds
There was another part of the NAJYRC experience that I wanted to share, wholly apart from the competition... and that was watching our (usually) mature young ladies behaving like 4 year-olds and not minding one bit.
You see, they’d never seen fireflies before. Never.
We went out to dinner at Applebees (I can hear you oohing and aahing over that one, but in a town like Lexington, that is BIG—we even stayed out so late as to shut down their bar, all the way to 11 PM (!)). The girls decided that with competition scheduled in the heat of the following day, they would all be taking advantage of the schooling arena opening at 6 AM, and so headed across the street to our hotel for bed. (NAJYRC isn’t like a regular show: you can’t school any old time you please. They had schedules that said things like, “Juniors can school on Thursday in the schooling arena between 6 AM and 7:30 AM, and again between 2 PM and 4:30 PM, and there will be no riding of any kind between 6 PM and 6 AM; horses are not to be removed from their stalls during this period.” They meant it, except that a trip down the barn aisle to the washrack at the end would be tolerated... but that was as far as you would dare venture.)
Anyway, the girls became distracted on the way by the fireflies, and I’m told were running through the hedges chasing after them. They returned roughly 10 minutes later, breathless and full of giggles, with their cheeks flushed and eyes open wide in amazement to show us the “prisoners” they had stashed in their purses—prisoners that they proceeded to let loose at the table for our benefit. Now, I’ve seen fireflies before. Not many times, but a few. And I have to admit they are amazing creatures, but this was a sight new even to me: fireflies flashing and flying right over my dinner table. That doesn’t even happen at Disneyland!
We scolded the girls (doing our best, all the while, to keep “serious” looks on our faces and not to laugh at them), and kept our eyes lowered, avoiding the stares of the other patrons, who could only have been thinking, “Damn Californians...” The waitresses seemed to get a kick out of the whole thing, though. Virginia’s Health Code must not take issue with fireflies.
You see, they’d never seen fireflies before. Never.
We went out to dinner at Applebees (I can hear you oohing and aahing over that one, but in a town like Lexington, that is BIG—we even stayed out so late as to shut down their bar, all the way to 11 PM (!)). The girls decided that with competition scheduled in the heat of the following day, they would all be taking advantage of the schooling arena opening at 6 AM, and so headed across the street to our hotel for bed. (NAJYRC isn’t like a regular show: you can’t school any old time you please. They had schedules that said things like, “Juniors can school on Thursday in the schooling arena between 6 AM and 7:30 AM, and again between 2 PM and 4:30 PM, and there will be no riding of any kind between 6 PM and 6 AM; horses are not to be removed from their stalls during this period.” They meant it, except that a trip down the barn aisle to the washrack at the end would be tolerated... but that was as far as you would dare venture.)
Anyway, the girls became distracted on the way by the fireflies, and I’m told were running through the hedges chasing after them. They returned roughly 10 minutes later, breathless and full of giggles, with their cheeks flushed and eyes open wide in amazement to show us the “prisoners” they had stashed in their purses—prisoners that they proceeded to let loose at the table for our benefit. Now, I’ve seen fireflies before. Not many times, but a few. And I have to admit they are amazing creatures, but this was a sight new even to me: fireflies flashing and flying right over my dinner table. That doesn’t even happen at Disneyland!
We scolded the girls (doing our best, all the while, to keep “serious” looks on our faces and not to laugh at them), and kept our eyes lowered, avoiding the stares of the other patrons, who could only have been thinking, “Damn Californians...” The waitresses seemed to get a kick out of the whole thing, though. Virginia’s Health Code must not take issue with fireflies.
August 13, 2006: Broken Dreams
Well, Quila and I won’t be going to Championships... but it certainly isn’t for lack of preparation.
I returned from Virginia to find a horse that felt WONDERFULLY tuned and sensitive to the aids, very light in the half halts, and a joy to ride. She has never felt better. Then Jürgen rode her on Friday, and made her even softer and improved her lateral flexibility. When I got on her yesterday, I had a huge smile on my face: we were communicating beautifully, and things felt fabulous.
We were showing in San Juan Capistrano, in search of that last qualifying score, but it wasn’t to be. We had a good warm-up, perhaps 10 minutes too long (my miscalculation), in footing that was too hard (I do mean HARD), and Quila became uncomfortable and anxious. It wasn’t a long warm-up, mind you—only 25 minutes after walking—but she only needed 15 minutes of transitions and she felt like butter. I wished I could have gone in then. We stopped to take her boots off and let me put my jacket on, and I could tell she wasn’t happy at all with the delay. I got her “through” again with a few more transitions, and all seemed right with the world when it was my turn. At this show, you weren’t allowed to ride around outside the ring, so the announcer instructed me to ride inside until the whistle blew, then exit and enter again. So, I did. In retrospect, I realize the error of my ways. Quila doesn’t spook. She doesn’t need to “see” a ring. We should have stayed in the warm-up until they were ready, and then trotted on in. When I exited, she thought we were done, so when I turned her back towards “A”, she halted and planted her feet squarely, refusing to budge. “No, Ma’am,” she said. “I ain’t gonna. We warmed up, TWICE, in that damn warm-up with the awful footing. And we went in that ring ONCE. I am done. If you want to ride in the ring, YOU may. By yourself. I ain’t going!” “Quite the contrary, Quila my dear,” says I, giving her a VERY sharp jab with my spurs. “You will go in, and you will go in NOW!” “Oooph. Well, OK. But I won’t like it, and I don’t think YOU will, either,” Quila promised.
She went in, and we received a 7 on our entry, but she didn’t like it, and she grumbled her way through the first movement or two (for which she received a spur in the side), and she fussed a bit in the bridle off and on in the trot. But much of the trot work was nice... and I was pleased with it as I rode it. Particularly the voltés, and the leg yield left. And our geometry was on the letter, as were our transitions. Our extended walk was free/loose, and she was good when I took up the reins, and I was pleased with trot/canter transition, because she was quiet and obedient. And the more we cantered, the better we got. For the first time, both canter circles were 15 meters, all of our canter corners had proper flexion, and I felt really good about our canter single loop serpentines. I rode MY test. Her grumbling had gradually petered out in the trot, disappeared in the walk, and she was being very good in the canter. We finished with a very nice centerline. I felt particularly victorious because in the past, what started out poorly has always finished worse. I have never, ever—not once—managed to make her BETTER over the course of a test, but this time, I did. I half-halted, correctly from my seat, and really rode. I remembered. :D
But then I got my score: 57%. The judge HATED us. Our only 7’s were on the halts at each end. Basically, she wasn’t willing to give us higher than a 6 on anything, and she punished us like crazy for anything that was less than perfect. From the score sheet, it was apparent that even with a perfect (for us) ride, we couldn’t beat a 60 with her, since we don’t have trot lengthenings for better than a 5. We just don’t. (If we don’t do much, we get “5—little difference” and if we give them our best shot, we get “5—running and on forehand”, and we pretty much get a 5 for everything in between...). The comments weren’t helpful, didn’t hold out any hope. She just didn’t see gaits in Quila that she could reward, and there’s not much I can do about that with a 17 year-old horse... So, there you have it. It was to be the same judge today. Given the footing (which had me in fear for Quila’s soundness--she was limping after the ride and a bit tender-footed), and no hope at all for a score (and I can’t say that I would have risked her even if I thought I could have gotten one—she’s too precious to me for that), there was just no point to going back.
I don’t think I’m sour grapes. I’ve shown Quila a lot. We’ve certainly gotten our share of low scores. But we’ve also gotten plenty of high ones, too, and I know at this point when we deserve what... That was NOT a 57% ride. I’ve looked at my video, looked at my score sheet, and I just can’t see it. Susan can’t either, nor can one of the Young Riders who was watching. (I don’t know about the Young Rider, but Susan has never been one to mince words—she’ll be brutally honest with me if she thinks there’s criticism that I need to hear). Not every judge likes every horse... as simple as that... and this particular one HATES mine. It’s just unfortunate for me that it happened to be the one judge I needed a qualifying score from, my very last chance of the season.
So, my hopes are dashed, and my dreams crushed. Pom pom girl again. I am so tired of pom poms. And we came so close. We had one score, and we had another ride where we missed the score by a single point (a 61.944%). And now this. Sigh...
I returned from Virginia to find a horse that felt WONDERFULLY tuned and sensitive to the aids, very light in the half halts, and a joy to ride. She has never felt better. Then Jürgen rode her on Friday, and made her even softer and improved her lateral flexibility. When I got on her yesterday, I had a huge smile on my face: we were communicating beautifully, and things felt fabulous.
We were showing in San Juan Capistrano, in search of that last qualifying score, but it wasn’t to be. We had a good warm-up, perhaps 10 minutes too long (my miscalculation), in footing that was too hard (I do mean HARD), and Quila became uncomfortable and anxious. It wasn’t a long warm-up, mind you—only 25 minutes after walking—but she only needed 15 minutes of transitions and she felt like butter. I wished I could have gone in then. We stopped to take her boots off and let me put my jacket on, and I could tell she wasn’t happy at all with the delay. I got her “through” again with a few more transitions, and all seemed right with the world when it was my turn. At this show, you weren’t allowed to ride around outside the ring, so the announcer instructed me to ride inside until the whistle blew, then exit and enter again. So, I did. In retrospect, I realize the error of my ways. Quila doesn’t spook. She doesn’t need to “see” a ring. We should have stayed in the warm-up until they were ready, and then trotted on in. When I exited, she thought we were done, so when I turned her back towards “A”, she halted and planted her feet squarely, refusing to budge. “No, Ma’am,” she said. “I ain’t gonna. We warmed up, TWICE, in that damn warm-up with the awful footing. And we went in that ring ONCE. I am done. If you want to ride in the ring, YOU may. By yourself. I ain’t going!” “Quite the contrary, Quila my dear,” says I, giving her a VERY sharp jab with my spurs. “You will go in, and you will go in NOW!” “Oooph. Well, OK. But I won’t like it, and I don’t think YOU will, either,” Quila promised.
She went in, and we received a 7 on our entry, but she didn’t like it, and she grumbled her way through the first movement or two (for which she received a spur in the side), and she fussed a bit in the bridle off and on in the trot. But much of the trot work was nice... and I was pleased with it as I rode it. Particularly the voltés, and the leg yield left. And our geometry was on the letter, as were our transitions. Our extended walk was free/loose, and she was good when I took up the reins, and I was pleased with trot/canter transition, because she was quiet and obedient. And the more we cantered, the better we got. For the first time, both canter circles were 15 meters, all of our canter corners had proper flexion, and I felt really good about our canter single loop serpentines. I rode MY test. Her grumbling had gradually petered out in the trot, disappeared in the walk, and she was being very good in the canter. We finished with a very nice centerline. I felt particularly victorious because in the past, what started out poorly has always finished worse. I have never, ever—not once—managed to make her BETTER over the course of a test, but this time, I did. I half-halted, correctly from my seat, and really rode. I remembered. :D
But then I got my score: 57%. The judge HATED us. Our only 7’s were on the halts at each end. Basically, she wasn’t willing to give us higher than a 6 on anything, and she punished us like crazy for anything that was less than perfect. From the score sheet, it was apparent that even with a perfect (for us) ride, we couldn’t beat a 60 with her, since we don’t have trot lengthenings for better than a 5. We just don’t. (If we don’t do much, we get “5—little difference” and if we give them our best shot, we get “5—running and on forehand”, and we pretty much get a 5 for everything in between...). The comments weren’t helpful, didn’t hold out any hope. She just didn’t see gaits in Quila that she could reward, and there’s not much I can do about that with a 17 year-old horse... So, there you have it. It was to be the same judge today. Given the footing (which had me in fear for Quila’s soundness--she was limping after the ride and a bit tender-footed), and no hope at all for a score (and I can’t say that I would have risked her even if I thought I could have gotten one—she’s too precious to me for that), there was just no point to going back.
I don’t think I’m sour grapes. I’ve shown Quila a lot. We’ve certainly gotten our share of low scores. But we’ve also gotten plenty of high ones, too, and I know at this point when we deserve what... That was NOT a 57% ride. I’ve looked at my video, looked at my score sheet, and I just can’t see it. Susan can’t either, nor can one of the Young Riders who was watching. (I don’t know about the Young Rider, but Susan has never been one to mince words—she’ll be brutally honest with me if she thinks there’s criticism that I need to hear). Not every judge likes every horse... as simple as that... and this particular one HATES mine. It’s just unfortunate for me that it happened to be the one judge I needed a qualifying score from, my very last chance of the season.
So, my hopes are dashed, and my dreams crushed. Pom pom girl again. I am so tired of pom poms. And we came so close. We had one score, and we had another ride where we missed the score by a single point (a 61.944%). And now this. Sigh...
August 13, 2006: No Flashbulb Needed
Boy, am I behind on my blogs...
First, I guess, a brief update on Quila and me: our first day at the July 29 show was not what it should have been. Quila was an angel through the trot work, and into the walk, and so I became complacent. Then something spooked her in the canter, I took too long to react, and she decided that she’d better take matters into her own hands... What was heading for a pretty nice score rapidly fell apart. I should know better than that. I really should. The canter tour was ugly. No, make that U-G-L-Y. I hung my head in shame when we exited the ring.
On Sunday, we had another shot. This time, Quila was blowing steam out her nostrils in the warm-up—a good thing, actually, because I had to RIDE from the second my foot hit the irons. And I DID ride. We had a good test, with some really nice moments. She tried to get away from me in the canter, particularly after the lengthenings, but I didn’t let her. I got her back with me, and rode the test MY way. The result: the first of our qualifying scores. I was pleased, particularly since it demonstrated that maybe I finally HAVE learned not to be a passenger.
OK, next... NAJYRC. I barely had time to unwind from MY show, because I was packing my bags and off to Lexington, VA to cheer for Susan and Kalibre at the NAJYRC. They’re calling it the North American CONTINENT Junior/Young Rider Championships now, making a big deal of the fact that it is an INTERNATIONAL show. The weather was absolutely MISERABLE there: 100º+ heat, with high humidity—we were drenched in sweat just sitting in the shade—and the kids had to compete in it.
Susan did well, though, thanks to carefully thought out preparation there and at home. I can’t say enough wonderful things about Jürgen as a coach (or Chef d’Equipe—the brave man took on responsibility for the entire Region 7 team!). They had trained in the heat at home, knew exactly how to warm-up, and how much warm-up they needed so that Kalibre would be at his best in the show ring, and at his best he was: after a solid performance in the Team Test (nothing at stake, so they didn’t put in extra effort), Susan and Kalibre scored personal bests in the Individual Test and FEI Junior Freestyles, for 4th and 5th, respectively, out of the 30 top Juniors from Canada and the United States. Susan narrowly missed a medal on the Individual Test: if two judges had given her one more point on one movement, she’d have had a bronze, and if four of the five judges had given her one more point on one movement, she’d have had the silver. I was so proud of her that I was beaming: flash bulbs could be dispensed with for the remainder of the week!
Her freestyle was also extra special, particularly since she hadn’t had the chance to practice more than once at home. She’d qualified on a borrowed freestyle, and then had a freestyle made by Karen Robinson of Applause Dressage in Canada. While Kalibre liked the snippets we’d “auditioned” well enough, when the whole thing came together, there were parts that must have been like fingernails on a chalkboard to him: he would pin his ears, get a pinched look on his face, and try to exit the arena in a hurry—behavior that simply was NOT like him. We ride with music at home all the time, and he has never made a complaint, but he clearly had strong feelings about spanish guitar music, flamenco style. Of course, all this had to happen when Susan was making last minute preparations for the Pebble Beach Juniors, and there was little time for testing music and working out a new freestyle, and then she was on the road to the Woodside CDI***, so by the time she and Karen could get things straightened out and get the new freestyle squared away, it was only a few days before Virginia. Bless Karen for doing it from the road, using a laptop at times and drafting her husband to search for music while she was en route to the airport on one occasion! The judges (and even more importantly, Kalibre) loved the new music, which has a Native American flair. I envy Susan’s poise, that she can ride a freestyle so beautifully when she’d only done it once at home: she nailed every transition right on the money, and looked like a seasoned pro.
NAJYRC was an expense for us—Kalibre’s airfare alone ran $10,800—and we received no travel grants or support, but I think it was one of those life-changing experiences that will have been well worth it for what Susan got out of it. We’ve also (thankfully) been invited to participate in the fundraising (and the funds raised) for the Young Riders for the remainder of the year, and may get some retroactive grants... which would most definitely be welcome. I can already see the difference in Susan’s riding... from her posture, to her focus, to even her presence. I don’t know what her future will hold, or where she’ll want to go with this (I suspect she will not be a professional), but it’s clear to me that she is making the most of every opportunity in the here and now, and not letting success go to her head.
Did I say I was proud?
First, I guess, a brief update on Quila and me: our first day at the July 29 show was not what it should have been. Quila was an angel through the trot work, and into the walk, and so I became complacent. Then something spooked her in the canter, I took too long to react, and she decided that she’d better take matters into her own hands... What was heading for a pretty nice score rapidly fell apart. I should know better than that. I really should. The canter tour was ugly. No, make that U-G-L-Y. I hung my head in shame when we exited the ring.
On Sunday, we had another shot. This time, Quila was blowing steam out her nostrils in the warm-up—a good thing, actually, because I had to RIDE from the second my foot hit the irons. And I DID ride. We had a good test, with some really nice moments. She tried to get away from me in the canter, particularly after the lengthenings, but I didn’t let her. I got her back with me, and rode the test MY way. The result: the first of our qualifying scores. I was pleased, particularly since it demonstrated that maybe I finally HAVE learned not to be a passenger.
OK, next... NAJYRC. I barely had time to unwind from MY show, because I was packing my bags and off to Lexington, VA to cheer for Susan and Kalibre at the NAJYRC. They’re calling it the North American CONTINENT Junior/Young Rider Championships now, making a big deal of the fact that it is an INTERNATIONAL show. The weather was absolutely MISERABLE there: 100º+ heat, with high humidity—we were drenched in sweat just sitting in the shade—and the kids had to compete in it.
Susan did well, though, thanks to carefully thought out preparation there and at home. I can’t say enough wonderful things about Jürgen as a coach (or Chef d’Equipe—the brave man took on responsibility for the entire Region 7 team!). They had trained in the heat at home, knew exactly how to warm-up, and how much warm-up they needed so that Kalibre would be at his best in the show ring, and at his best he was: after a solid performance in the Team Test (nothing at stake, so they didn’t put in extra effort), Susan and Kalibre scored personal bests in the Individual Test and FEI Junior Freestyles, for 4th and 5th, respectively, out of the 30 top Juniors from Canada and the United States. Susan narrowly missed a medal on the Individual Test: if two judges had given her one more point on one movement, she’d have had a bronze, and if four of the five judges had given her one more point on one movement, she’d have had the silver. I was so proud of her that I was beaming: flash bulbs could be dispensed with for the remainder of the week!
Her freestyle was also extra special, particularly since she hadn’t had the chance to practice more than once at home. She’d qualified on a borrowed freestyle, and then had a freestyle made by Karen Robinson of Applause Dressage in Canada. While Kalibre liked the snippets we’d “auditioned” well enough, when the whole thing came together, there were parts that must have been like fingernails on a chalkboard to him: he would pin his ears, get a pinched look on his face, and try to exit the arena in a hurry—behavior that simply was NOT like him. We ride with music at home all the time, and he has never made a complaint, but he clearly had strong feelings about spanish guitar music, flamenco style. Of course, all this had to happen when Susan was making last minute preparations for the Pebble Beach Juniors, and there was little time for testing music and working out a new freestyle, and then she was on the road to the Woodside CDI***, so by the time she and Karen could get things straightened out and get the new freestyle squared away, it was only a few days before Virginia. Bless Karen for doing it from the road, using a laptop at times and drafting her husband to search for music while she was en route to the airport on one occasion! The judges (and even more importantly, Kalibre) loved the new music, which has a Native American flair. I envy Susan’s poise, that she can ride a freestyle so beautifully when she’d only done it once at home: she nailed every transition right on the money, and looked like a seasoned pro.
NAJYRC was an expense for us—Kalibre’s airfare alone ran $10,800—and we received no travel grants or support, but I think it was one of those life-changing experiences that will have been well worth it for what Susan got out of it. We’ve also (thankfully) been invited to participate in the fundraising (and the funds raised) for the Young Riders for the remainder of the year, and may get some retroactive grants... which would most definitely be welcome. I can already see the difference in Susan’s riding... from her posture, to her focus, to even her presence. I don’t know what her future will hold, or where she’ll want to go with this (I suspect she will not be a professional), but it’s clear to me that she is making the most of every opportunity in the here and now, and not letting success go to her head.
Did I say I was proud?
July 28, 2006: Blueprint for Success
Quila was a new horse today when I rode her with Jürgen (thank goodness), and it gave me the confidence I needed going into the show tomorrow. A large part of it was that he rode her yesterday, so she was much more “through” and the residual stiffness from her lay-up was gone, but he also helped me understand the secret to collecting her (and keeping the collection) in the canter, particularly after lengthenings: I need to make sure I get the lateral flexion I need (particularly at the jaw), and I need to sit back and not let her pull me forward. If I keep my focus on keeping her supple in the jaw (which is much easier to do after his ride on her yesterday), and keep my weight properly distributed in the saddle, then I have her--she can’t take the bit and run through my half halts. That’s all it takes.
I rode transitions forward and back within the canter today that were lovely--exuberant forward, but nicely back--WITHOUT her pulling against me or getting heavy in the hand, and her gaits were expressive. I was also quite pleased with the trot work, and my ability to keep her sitting behind, and paying attention enough that I could (from leg/seat alone) collect her over X if I wanted to without losing suppleness through the back or roundness in her topline. Of course, she was very relaxed and working at home today. I think, however, I’ll be able to keep that going tomorrow.
Because of the heat, we’ve decided on no more than 20 minutes of warm-up, focussed on transitions alone: no movements. I’m also going to ride the lengthenings vigorously, but allow myself an extra stride or two for bringing her back. I don’t think the judge will notice, and since collecting her after will be key to all the work that follows, I want to be sure that I have the time I need to do it correctly. We decided that this would be the wisest approach--just a single stride (or at most 2) early.
I am actually hopeful that we could get BOTH qualifying scores this weekend. I am certainly going to ride heart and soul towards that goal!
I rode transitions forward and back within the canter today that were lovely--exuberant forward, but nicely back--WITHOUT her pulling against me or getting heavy in the hand, and her gaits were expressive. I was also quite pleased with the trot work, and my ability to keep her sitting behind, and paying attention enough that I could (from leg/seat alone) collect her over X if I wanted to without losing suppleness through the back or roundness in her topline. Of course, she was very relaxed and working at home today. I think, however, I’ll be able to keep that going tomorrow.
Because of the heat, we’ve decided on no more than 20 minutes of warm-up, focussed on transitions alone: no movements. I’m also going to ride the lengthenings vigorously, but allow myself an extra stride or two for bringing her back. I don’t think the judge will notice, and since collecting her after will be key to all the work that follows, I want to be sure that I have the time I need to do it correctly. We decided that this would be the wisest approach--just a single stride (or at most 2) early.
I am actually hopeful that we could get BOTH qualifying scores this weekend. I am certainly going to ride heart and soul towards that goal!
July 25, 2006: Filling it to the Brim
Quila and I have worked every day now since last Wednesday, and things are better. Not perfect, but better. We have halts again, and even half halts—most of the time, anyway. There are those times when Quila wants to help me, perhaps even do the work for me, and forgets that I might have changed the pattern of what we were doing, so I’ll ask for a zig and she’ll zag... perhaps giving me a canter-walk when I asked for a canter-trot, or even going entirely the wrong direction by giving me a trot-walk when I ask for a trot-canter (though on the later, she usually catches herself mid-stride, gives a bit of a start, shakes her head, and then overdoes it in the opposite direction). I really try not to drill her or do too many repetitions of anything, but do anything more than once, and she’ll sometimes try to find a pattern, even when none exists; she wants to be the good girl so badly. I think at one point in her life, she must have had to figure out what was wanted in advance in order to come through, because sometimes she has trouble remembering that now all that is expected of her is to pay attention—I’ll tell her what I need as we go along.
I don’t feel ready to show, yet, but we have 3 more days to prepare. I’ll make my decision about whether or not we go on Friday after our ride: if it feels like we can ride for a 62% or better (the score we need to qualify), then we’ll go. Otherwise, we’ll stay home, and continue working, since our motivation for showing this weekend is to get the qualifying score. Without one, our season is over (except for the practice, and there isn’t much sense in going out when neither of us is feeling fully prepared). But we are down to crunch time: have to get one qualifying score this weekend, or there will be no Regional Championships for 2006 in our future.
I’m encouraged by the progress we’ve made in the last 2 or 3 days, however. Showing felt like a total impossibility a week ago, and now, well, I see light at the end of the tunnel. I still don’t feel like we have half halts back enough that I could ride a test in anything besides lengthened trot and medium canter once we did those extensions (or else, I could ride the whole thing in collection, and the extensions be damned)... and there’s the rub. But otherwise, things are coming together. She’s great now when she’s not excited, but she just L.O.V.E.S those extended gaits, and while she knows HOW to come back, and that she’s SUPPOSED to come back, I don’t quite have the faith yet that she’ll REMEMBER to come back or WANT to come back, and that she’ll remember what those half halts are for in the heat of the moment... Hard to want to show if you’re not sure the brakes will work when you get to the end of the straight away. Know what I mean??? She wouldn’t run away with me, per se, but we wouldn’t exactly be going my pace (or the judge’s ideal pace) either. She’d be what you might call... er... exuberant, for lack of a better word.
I don’t feel ready to show, yet, but we have 3 more days to prepare. I’ll make my decision about whether or not we go on Friday after our ride: if it feels like we can ride for a 62% or better (the score we need to qualify), then we’ll go. Otherwise, we’ll stay home, and continue working, since our motivation for showing this weekend is to get the qualifying score. Without one, our season is over (except for the practice, and there isn’t much sense in going out when neither of us is feeling fully prepared). But we are down to crunch time: have to get one qualifying score this weekend, or there will be no Regional Championships for 2006 in our future.
I’m encouraged by the progress we’ve made in the last 2 or 3 days, however. Showing felt like a total impossibility a week ago, and now, well, I see light at the end of the tunnel. I still don’t feel like we have half halts back enough that I could ride a test in anything besides lengthened trot and medium canter once we did those extensions (or else, I could ride the whole thing in collection, and the extensions be damned)... and there’s the rub. But otherwise, things are coming together. She’s great now when she’s not excited, but she just L.O.V.E.S those extended gaits, and while she knows HOW to come back, and that she’s SUPPOSED to come back, I don’t quite have the faith yet that she’ll REMEMBER to come back or WANT to come back, and that she’ll remember what those half halts are for in the heat of the moment... Hard to want to show if you’re not sure the brakes will work when you get to the end of the straight away. Know what I mean??? She wouldn’t run away with me, per se, but we wouldn’t exactly be going my pace (or the judge’s ideal pace) either. She’d be what you might call... er... exuberant, for lack of a better word.
July 21, 2006: Half Full and Trying Not to Spill
After a week off, we were given permission to go back to work on Wednesday. It turned out that Quila DID injure herself, but not in an “important” way. She apparently damaged her “curb” ligament, which isn’t important to locomotion, and since she’s not lame, there’s no reason not to return to work... so continue the Bute for a few days for any muscles soreness that will result from having laid off for the week, and continue icing to treat the residual heat and swelling, but otherwise life as usual.
Great, right?
Not exactly. Quila’s memory is not the greatest, you see, and she apparently forgot the meaning of half halt during her “vacation,” or, at the very least, how to pay attention to me while I’m riding, so that she will notice when I am giving one. She also became incredibly stiff, and was having trouble bending to the right the first few days, though that was MUCH better today (the third day back). On Wednesday, we had a miserable ride. “Half halt?” she said. “What's a half halt? In fact, what's a halt? Or a down transition?” She wasn't being naughty. She was just daydreaming, and couldn't keep her concentration on me to save her life. We were walking. I asked for a halt. We were still walking. I asked again, louder (but NO PULLING--I could not, would not pull--yank, yes--but pull, no). Still no response. Whack, whack, whack with the whip. Quila startles a bit. “What? Oh. Were you talking to me? Could you repeat? Oh. Halt? Um, yes. Let me see. How does that go? Oh. Yeah. Right. Here you go.” Very frustrating ride.
Today was a little better, in that she was paying attention to me most of the time, but we’ve lost a lot of ground. We just aren’t working together as a team, and performing as we were before she got hurt, and I don’t feel the confidence I had in our ability to compete that I did earlier. We were not so confirmed at Test 4 that we could afford the time off, I’m afraid (or at least I wasn’t, and for me it was more than 2 weeks out of the saddle, because you can hardly count the single ride I had between Pebble Beach and her injury). It looks like a huge hole that we need to dig ourselves out of in order to be ready to show next weekend...
I talked to Jürgen, and we agreed to wait until the very last minute to decide whether or not to scratch for the show. I want to qualify for the USDF Region 7 Championships more than anything else--it was my one big goal for this season (actually, it was my goal last season, but Quila’s lameness kept us from achieving it. I really thought we’d have a chance at it this year, though). If we’re going to do it, we MUST show next weekend, and score 62% or better on one of the two days (ideally on both of them). But I don’t want to go out and show if we’re not ready... we’ve had enough tests with scores in the 50’s, and they aren’t confidence building for either one of us. We don’t need to go out and have a bad experience. So, unless we have improved to the point where we are communicating and functioning as a team, I will stay home and say goodbye to my dream for this season. It’s the only reasonable thing to do. I’m trying to remain upbeat for now... but boy, it looks a long way from where we are and where we need to be.
Great, right?
Not exactly. Quila’s memory is not the greatest, you see, and she apparently forgot the meaning of half halt during her “vacation,” or, at the very least, how to pay attention to me while I’m riding, so that she will notice when I am giving one. She also became incredibly stiff, and was having trouble bending to the right the first few days, though that was MUCH better today (the third day back). On Wednesday, we had a miserable ride. “Half halt?” she said. “What's a half halt? In fact, what's a halt? Or a down transition?” She wasn't being naughty. She was just daydreaming, and couldn't keep her concentration on me to save her life. We were walking. I asked for a halt. We were still walking. I asked again, louder (but NO PULLING--I could not, would not pull--yank, yes--but pull, no). Still no response. Whack, whack, whack with the whip. Quila startles a bit. “What? Oh. Were you talking to me? Could you repeat? Oh. Halt? Um, yes. Let me see. How does that go? Oh. Yeah. Right. Here you go.” Very frustrating ride.
Today was a little better, in that she was paying attention to me most of the time, but we’ve lost a lot of ground. We just aren’t working together as a team, and performing as we were before she got hurt, and I don’t feel the confidence I had in our ability to compete that I did earlier. We were not so confirmed at Test 4 that we could afford the time off, I’m afraid (or at least I wasn’t, and for me it was more than 2 weeks out of the saddle, because you can hardly count the single ride I had between Pebble Beach and her injury). It looks like a huge hole that we need to dig ourselves out of in order to be ready to show next weekend...
I talked to Jürgen, and we agreed to wait until the very last minute to decide whether or not to scratch for the show. I want to qualify for the USDF Region 7 Championships more than anything else--it was my one big goal for this season (actually, it was my goal last season, but Quila’s lameness kept us from achieving it. I really thought we’d have a chance at it this year, though). If we’re going to do it, we MUST show next weekend, and score 62% or better on one of the two days (ideally on both of them). But I don’t want to go out and show if we’re not ready... we’ve had enough tests with scores in the 50’s, and they aren’t confidence building for either one of us. We don’t need to go out and have a bad experience. So, unless we have improved to the point where we are communicating and functioning as a team, I will stay home and say goodbye to my dream for this season. It’s the only reasonable thing to do. I’m trying to remain upbeat for now... but boy, it looks a long way from where we are and where we need to be.
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