I’ve been bringing Roz back into work after she had approximately 6 weeks off. It doesn’t sound like she should need that much work to get back to where she was, but it’s deceiving.
Roz is a particular horse, that when she does not feel good she lets you know. She will still work as best she can…until she can’t. As I mentioned in a previous post, her ‘No’ or ‘I can’t’ is unmistakable.
I didn’t think there was much reason to ride her before the osteopath could see her, as it would make anything I was trying to ask her, and her trying to do it, confusing. Why make it more complicated than it needed to be? So, she earned time off any way. Between the heat of summer and Texas drought, it worked out.
So, O came and went and I’ve gradually been working Roz more. The first was just walking, reaffirming all connections were good and she wasn’t uncomfortable. We trotted and it was ok. Ok… I didn’t like it.
Back to the walk we went to establish flexing, connecting, and forward. It didn’t take that much longer, but I’m glad I did it because when I felt better about the quality of walk I was getting, the trot felt better.
And so too has the canter gone. She stepped up into it a little rusty, and simply felt unbalanced. Not dangerous, but not the jumper Mare I had a few months ago. So I knew I needed to go back to trot.
By building a better trot, she will be better prepared to canter and jump. Nothing is terrible, but I know she can do better. Roz is a funny horse that doesn’t really want anyone else’s opinions on how she should w/t/c. She thinks she knows it all. But once she figures out what is being asked off her, she nails it and it becomes her new second nature. Teaching her to be through, and direct the energy over her back is not easy when she’s athletic and has other ideas. Meaning, yes she can probably jump 3’ easily as a giraffe, but I’d rather her be able to move up to more by going correctly.
Sometimes, I don’t try my best. I want to, but going hard every time in every way is the formula for burnout. I think the idea of grind culture and side hustles can be toxic. Ok, I even hate calling it toxic, because even that has grown out of proportion. Grinding can be unhealthy.
For the longest time, I truly believed if I worked hard that it would pay off. Motivational posters, stories galore. Hard work would pay off. Right? That is what we all believe and reinforce to each other. My “best” often lands me in the middle, I slip through unknown. The real secret is that I hold back, so afraid to go fully me or be as good as I think I could because I see that my 75-80% effort is met with lukewarm receival, 100% seems unwise. I suppose it is self-preservation. 100% has always led me to disappointment.
But I was only looking for one outcome. I missed the fact that sometimes what you think you want might not actually be what you want. More is happening than what we perceive—good, bad, neutral. What we offer to the world is never the entire story, whether we know it or not.
We are naturally inclined to look up the ladder, at everything we want to accomplish, to goals and success in a hopefully not too distant future. We might even look to the side to see where we are in terms of progress. Again, it is natural for people to use other people in ostensibly similar circumstances as comparable markers. Usually, this brings heartache, but it is known how commonly people evaluate or assess their journey with others.
We rarely look down the ladder. And I don’t mean to from where we came. Clearly, it gets mentioned in every underdog story. I mean that rarely do we extend the ladder down to help those that have less or struggling more and look up to our position as their goal. We are too busy looking up to our next desired spot.
I, for one, can think of times when I lamented what I didn’t have or crow about how I succeeded despite it. However, it negates another’s feelings, experiences, struggles to suggest that they can overcome their conflicts simply because “I did”.
Maybe I didn’t have trouble learning to drive a stick shift. Another might. Maybe socializing is easy for Jane, but it is hard for me. Life is a beautifully ugly conglomeration of opposing, contradictory, interesting, frustrating juxtapositions. We are so much alike, and yet all so different. It can be both, we can be both, we can be neither.
I often feel like no one understands me, that I fall through the cracks of life. The more I try to shout, reach out, take up space, the more I am diminished, the more I sink into the quicksand. I relate to being a highly sensitive person (HSP) much to my chagrin. I think too much, feel too much, hear too much, observe too much; it is exhausting.
I conclude that I am my own problem.
I am not sure anyone can really convince me otherwise. People both understand and don’t, as is the complexity of life. Most people go through life, waiting for their turn to talk, not listening, and living through the filter of the self. It is natural. I am unconvinced that we can ever remove ourselves from this perspective.
Clearly, I spend too much energy on contemplating ideas that have little to do with me actually accomplishing my goals. I suspect it could easily be viewed as whinging, excuse-making, sour grapes, et cetera. So be it. We do the best we can.
I am learning to be happier expressing my 100. Accepted or rejected. Me @ 100.
One of the hardest things we face as equestrians is when we discover that we might have travelled down the wrong path. The overly analytical might even wonder if perhaps they have not gone far enough and are stopping too soon. Or perhaps they are so far gone haven’t realized the predicament until now.
Nonetheless, a problem has arisen. Sometimes, the feeling is off. Or perhaps the goal is too much of a leap and requires smaller steps. Or, possibly, we’ve just screwed up. That one is the hardest blow.
Consistency is key with horses. It is essentially what training really is—consistency. Doing the same thing over and over, in the same way, at the same time, as similarly as possible. Consistency is hard. We strive for the best consistency we can muster. Five minutes a day is better than 35 minutes on Sunday. That phrase alone gets me training when I feel low. Whether the gym or the barn, I find it discouraging to only do 1x a week.
[This is where I should insert my confession about not riding for a month and a half from an unpleasant concoction of heat and sadness. But that is another story for another time.]
But.
Sometimes.
Consistency is the not the road on which we belong.
“Consistency requires you to be as ignorant today as you were a year ago.” -Bernard Berenson
On the learning journey, sometimes improvement can only come from change. We develop bad habits that must be corrected. We hold fast to incorrect foundational knowledge. We find new partners who require different or new skills from us. Everything cannot always stay as it is.
To effect change, a change must be embraced. Consistency must be broken. The inherent nature of change requires that we leave what we know, where we are comfortable, and do something different. Usually, this is accomplished by little steps in which growth occurs rather than straight discomfort. But they can be similar.
In terms of riding, this feels contrary. We want our horses to go consistently. But we change ourselves, and strive not to change ourselves, all at the same time. Our horses become accustomed to how we ride. Comfort and ease exist in knowing what will happen, both rider and horse appreciate this.
However, when we start changing ourselves, either finding a flaw in ourselves, or discontent with something in our horses, we upset the delicate balance we have hitherto accepted. Intentional change is hard. The body memorized the old patterns; the horse asks ‘why can’t we do it the old, easy way?’
Change is not for the feint of heart.
Change takes courage. Change requires a brave heart. To learn you are on the wrong path, and to take step off the road in search of a better way, which you know must exist? Straight pluck. Perhaps some might think it foolish, but it is true integrity and fealty to the self to know where you do and do not belong.
The new path usually isn’t as easy. At first. Change is hard; it makes you second-guess every piece of yourself. But, sometimes the risk of change is less than the risk of staying in the old way. No one likes to go back to the beginning or lose all that was gained. But it’s the sunk cost fallacy: once a cost has been incurred, it is no longer recoverable. The money is gone. The cost is sunk. There is no getting it back. The point is not to let that loss determine the next decision. But too often this is the case. The emotional investment in the old, wrong choice affects the next decision, or else it is considered a “waste”. However, it was already a waste.
Though, as every exception has its rule, those inclined to change might need to embrace that their hard change is consistency. When every other option appears bigger, brighter, better, sometimes the change to embrace is not chasing the change.
One of the hardest things we equestrian face is not having all the correct answers. Bad answers are plentiful. But the answers are not the path of the equestrian, questions are. Questions and curiosity can lead to insight, which will likely yield more questions. No one horse, one rider, one discipline holds the answers because there are none. What works for one, might not work for another.
It is hard to know if we are on the right path. It is hard to know what the future holds. It is hard to know if we have made the right choices. It is hard to consider change. It is hard to change. It is all hard.
When I was a junior, I rode a horse that reared up and flipped over on me.
I understand this is a fear of most riders. I don’t share it to brag, indeed, it is not something I find brag-worthy. More, it demonstrates my ridiculous notion of what I do and do not consider a risk. Horses to me, despite being one of the more dangerous sports, are home. I calculate my risks. And rearing can enter my equation. Many won’t take on a rearer, I am open to it.
This horse, incidentally named Easy, was one I had ridden many times before with no issues. As we were approaching a jump, he stood up before I even knew what happened. One second we were approaching the jump, the next he was at the apex and it occurred to me he had reared, and then we were over and the cantle was in my chest. That is all I know.
We were both “fine”.
Many say horses only rear for two reasons: they won’t go forward or pain. I’m pretty sure if they won’t go forward, or can’t, it still falls into the pain category. I saw it with my own horse.
Roz developed a rearing problem that was not overt, but was not fixed by making her go forward. It was clear that she literally could not and all that energy had only once place to go: up.
It was not something that came out every ride. But the it first occurred at a clinic with someone who is an excellent instructor. But Roz could not be settled.
When I mention my horse rears/reared I usually get very little response. Indulgent nods and half-hearted smiles, maybe some ohs, or people want to share their stories, which is fine. But when I say my horse rears and you cannot ride her, run her, push her out of it, I mean it. She will simply go higher. I remember her standing up so high, all I could do was push into her neck as we tilted back off balance, hoping she would get the only message I was capable of sending her. There was no chance of swinging off. I hung from her neck and at times my legs dangled directly under me.
Again, this is not to brag. It’s to make the point that rearing is serious. I do not see the value in teaching a horse to rear as a trick. It is a complete disservice to the animal. We should do our best to make their futures bright and successful. Who knows what will happen to us and what may happen to them because of that. Best to have safe, happy horses.
I tried many different avenues to address Roz’s rearing. I had a body worker out. I took her to get a neurological exam to check for EPM. I scheduled vet visits. I looked into supplements. I changed training tactics. I used another saddle. I found works arounds but nothing quiet allayed the “quirk”
I have nothing wrong with quirky. One of my horses I received for free because she was quirky to the point of unsellable, yet talented. I have another horse, quirky and sensitive in her own right, who I adopted from a TB rehomimg group. Roz, my third, was also free.
She was the tiniest, petite filly who looked like she’d never reach 15 hands. She was neglected, especially if you ask her, and was picked up for free by my sister. Maybe she’ll make a small Junior one day, she thought. But no one told Roz. Who ate. Who drank. Who lived out with 3 TB geldings and was the only mare.
All Roz has ever wanted is attention. She took to jumping. In fact, she quite liked it. She jumped and enjoyed DOING things. So I kept trying to figure out the source of her rearing. The first bodyworker was one that makes you second guess the whole industry. But, I’ve seen success with others in the past, so I tried again. Another osteopath.
Before
Simply put, she fixed my broken horse like one might flip a switch entering a dark room. She explained that Roz’s cranial nerves were blocked, and her sacrum too. But noticeably, the inflammation under the ear was telltale. Roz couldn’t turn or look left without compensating somehow. It was like she was trying to work, learn, and play, in the midst of a giant migraine. All. The. Time.
It would be easy to say, “and just like that she was fixed”, and in some ways it feels like that. But that is misleading.
Roz was able to recover and make giant progress in her training after that. I still must accommodate her by attending her ears correctly, and making sure she is turning her head properly. It is part of the grooming ritual now. Even nonriding days, I still make sure she gets her attention.
After
Then. We had a set back. Through no fault of her own, Roz started rearing again. But I knew exactly what accident had caused her impingement. I know the signs. I know who can help get Roz back on track. Rearing didn’t return out of nowhere, à la inverted ex deus machine.
Unfortunately, my osteo is so good and in high demand I have to wait 2 more months for an appointment. It’s blistering hot so I think it’s a good time for a break. What’s the point of trying to teach Roz anything new or expect her to function when I know she might be suffering her migraines? It’s unconscionable to expect her to perform when I know she’s not even capable of being herself.
I’m not super into alt medicines and therapies. I don’t own crystals or squat over mirrors. But, sometimes, the answer is a supplement, or a body worker, or a change in training, people, environment, etc. Sometimes the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad horse has a reason for their behavior. In fact, they always do. Whether one wants to spend the time, energy, money to explore is a different matter. But horses are not robots, or spiteful, or whatever anthropomorphism we attribute to them. They’re horses. They’re simple. We’re the complicated ones.
I usually end up so far up my own ass I can’t breathe. Not on purpose, simply by trying express myself, desperate to connect, and ultimately disappointed in my mercurial nature. But this time is different—isn’t it always?
I just want to write about horses.
Why “Off Course”? My life has never gone according to plan. I like to think that perhaps it is a good thing, but in reality, it is the versatility of a scrappy stray critter who doesn’t won’t can’t give up. Well, I do, but I always return. I really am not sure what else I would do with myself. I don’t know if there is anything more to me than horses. I am fine with this.
I ride. I write.
I have been riding for 30 years. Hunter, jumpers, equitation, dressage, and eventing. I like big sticks and I cannot lie… I love tight turns and am a stickler for being correct. Like many, I didn’t grow up with tons of money, but looking back I am grateful for what I did have. It was more than many, but never felt like enough at the same time. I am not charming or magnetic. I am sarcastic, cynical, and droll. So, I always thought I better learn everything and be the best because that’s my only chance to be successful.
I train young horses. I sometimes help people be better riders. But people are hard, horses are easy. To be honest, they aren’t hard…just complicated. Horses are straightforward. Even when we think a problem exists, it is usually in us, not our horses. Unless it is. But seeking help can be difficult. Learning to see the frauds in the world is often a perilous task. Our scars tell the story.
The weather is impossibly hot at the moment. My day job keeps me busy. My young horse needs the osteopath. So I write.
I worry about the price of feed, the scarcity of hay, the lack of rain. I bury my growing apprehension at the loss of land. I pretend that maybe one day I will be able to show again, without betraying my credit too harshly. I am learning to clap for everyone. And, finally, I am fighting the urge to hide, to play small, to not take my place in the world.
Off Course 