One week, one month, and three month goals

I’m trying to follow advice I read somewhere – I think maybe from Dodon Farm? Maybe the rider fitness book? – and set some goals for my riding.  I know goals aren’t always achieved, but I know this will help structure my rides and my next few months, and keep things in perspective for me.

I read that one week, one month, and three month goals are a good way to approach riding.  By setting a “long” term goal like three months, you can look for a real improvement arc and serious changes in your riding, especially if you ride frequently.  One month is long enough to see some changes, especially in smaller areas, but not so long that it’s out of reach.  A one week goal gives you something to really focus on in every ride, and can help you structure your rides.

So here goes!

Three Month

Coursing 2’9” confidently – I would not normally set a height goal, but Murray and I are really ready to move up.  2’6” courses used to give me a bit of the willies and encourage me to chase Murray to every fence.  We are finally at a point where we can have power without flat-out-speed, and are making a more controlled approach to every fence.  Whereas before I almost felt like we could hardly jump 2’6” (because if you hurl your body at a 2’6” obstacle as fast as you can you don’t actually feel very powerful), I’m suddenly starting to feel like we can pop over them without a problem.

How will we get there?  Slowly increasing jump size while continuing to maintain our current relaxation with the bigger courses.

Hmmm long term dressage goals will require consulting the book. Stay tuned!

One Month

Adjustability – Murray’s stride is on the short end of things, both at the trot and canter.  He also tends to get caught up in his little box of space and doesn’t move out easily.  For both flat and fence work we need to become more adjustable, so I’m going to work on getting Murray to stretch out at all three gaits.  Trot poles, canter poles, pushing him out on the long side of the arena – all while maintaining some contact and thoroughness.  What!  Such goal. Much wow.

Trotting jumps – easily Murray’s WORST THING.  He hates a trot jump.  He wants to rush, he wants to get behind my leg, he wants to canter.  We clearly need practice, and I hear it will improve our jumping form in general!

Quiet my legs – Since pony is a fairly sensitive beast, I’ve found that my legs can “yell” at him unintentionally, especially when he is feeling a little fussy.  Murray also responds much more to my right leg than my left, probably because of natural weaknesses in both of our bodies. I need to quiet my legs at the walk and trot especially, and hope that will make him more responsive to my left leg as well.

One Week

I have a schooling show on Sunday, so this week I’m focusing on cleaning up little things for the show.

Geometry – our circles tend to be a little fall-y – we fall in or out with the shoulders or haunches. So it’s time to bust out the cones and makes some perfect circles!

Transitions – Murray has really stepped up his transitions lately, and they are getting better and better.  I want to work on cleaning them up even more so they are test-worthy.

Free walk – our free walk is easily the weakest part of any dressage test.  I’m going to try to encourage Murray to stretch down and out more during all our walk breaks, and reward him heartily for doing so.  Food will probably be involved.

Relaxation – this is important in both our dressage test and jumping.  We have recently achieved a truly astonishing level of zen in our jumping rounds, and all I want to do is keep that zen.  No rushing, no panicking, just zen.

If you can't be kind, be quiet

This plaque of this hangs in my barn manager’s house.  We've all heard it before.  It’s something I generally try to keep in mind in regular life, and now I’m adapting it to my riding life as well.

Today I joined a jump lesson that isn’t my regular one.  I felt like jumping, and our assistant trainer was kind enough to let me join her group lesson.  The lesson was fantastic; our assistant trainer is one of the most positive people I know, and we really worked productively on Murray’s tendency to rush between the jumps.  At the end of the lesson, we tacked on the quarter round to our course.  My barn’s quarter round is about 2’6” by 2’6” and we’ve jumped it before, just not in a few weeks.  I had reason to be a little intimidated: it’s big, solid, and someone had added an extra pole behind it (oooooh, scary).

See?! Jumped it already! Without standards even!

So of course, Murray ran out.

But let’s be brutally honest about the ride: as we approached the quarter round, my nerves got the better of me.  I sat, and when I felt Murray hesitate and drift left I threw my left leg on and he ran out to the right.

I apologized to Murray for my ham-handedness, circled, took a shitty route back to the quarter round, and we jumped it right off.  He rushed in, and I let him, as long as he was going to be honest and take it.  We jumped it twice more for good measure, ending on a nice, clean jump with a calm approach.

So what is going on here?

That “left leg on” was, it seems, the equivalent of flooring the port thrusters with a simultaneous direct injection of uncertainty.  When Murray checked in with me to see if we were really jumping that thing, I responded with my body as I so often have in the past: “HELL YES WE ARE.”

It turns out that Murray doesn’t need me to yell at him (with my body or otherwise) about jumping.  He knows what his job is, how to do it, and he actually likes it.  If he could speak, I’m sure he would tell me he’s da boss, gosh darn it.  But every once in a while, just occasionally, he’s not totally sure he can do something.  In those moments, in that split second of hesitation, he needs me to back him up (“yeah man, we’re jumping that!”) without treating him like an imbecile (“JUMP IT YOU MORON!”).  For Murray, this means stay the course: not too much leg, don’t pick with my hands, and eyes focused beyond the jump.

This is the blessing and the curse of a egomaniacal sensitive horse.  Support me, but don’t smother me.  Ask me, don’t tell me.  I know what get off your leg means – I’ll get off it right past the jump!

This is a new place for us, and let me tell you, it feels fantastic.  For a long time, Murray needed some pretty firm aids, closed legs, and a driving seat to most jumps, especially ones he was a little noodly about.  So when I’m not sure we’re on the straight and narrow for a jump, my first instinct isn’t to trust the kid – it’s to remind him that “HELL YEAH WE ARE JUMPING THAT.”  But apparently, not trusting my pony, and the subsequent body-language-yelling isn’t very kind.  So if I can’t be kind, I’ll just be quiet.  And if I’m quiet, Murray has shown me that he will rise to the challenges I set in front of him, and even get me out of a tough spot if I need.

A tiny pony adventure

Yesterday I was the first person to arrive at our barn, right after our barn manager ran out to drop her kids off at school.  I was a bit earlier than I needed, so I decided to walk my Jellington before my lesson.

Two of Ellie's favourite barntime activities

As we exited the hay barn, I noticed something amiss.

We are NOT inside a pasture...

Patti, our barn manager's retired mini/shetland had escaped the confines of her pasture and was freeeeee!!  It seems that in the night the latch on the gate had come undone. Fortunately, all of our gates are all secured with a chain in addition to the latches, so only tiny creature managed to slip under and escape.

Unfortunately, Patti has decided that she is a Wild Creature since her tiny rider outgrew her, and shuns the love of most humans.  When I approached her with a carrot and her halter, she fled the scene, running into the corridor between the main pastures.  Our barn was set up by someone very clever, and all I had to do to keep Patti confined was shut the gates to the corridor.  Hooray, problem semi-solved!

Patti has a siren-like allure to most full size horses (those that aren't terrified of minis, that is) and as soon as the horses in turnout saw her they came GALLOPING to her aid. Patti greeted them, squealed her challenge, and went joyfully off down the corridor -- full size horses following, rearing, and handstanding behind her.

Fortunately, when Patti returned just a moment later she accepted my carrot peace offering and let me put on her halter and lead her back to her pasture.  Much to the annoyance of the rest of the ponies, who thought this whole thing was So Unfair.

The language of dressage

When I first started riding dressage, about four years ago now, I was certain that I knew what dressage was all about: The Headset. I had seen it in the videos. I knew The Headset wasn’t easily achieved, and that it took a Good Rider to get The Headset. When I watched Grand Prix freestyles, I was perplexed as to the differences in scores from one ride to the next: they all had it, The Headset, so what were those judges seeing that I wasn’t? Every horse was beautiful, but why were some more beautiful than others?

[read more at Horse Junkies United]

One of those days

I just love starting a day off crying in frustration with my big toe throbbing thanks to a well-placed hoof to the boot.  Don't we all?

 =

courtesy of horse nation

No, nobody?

Yeah, me neither.  Though I can probably count the number of days in the last year that I've cried in frustration and anger, they were basically non-existent before Murray came into my life.

Today's incident was over nothing, as it always is.  I just got a new saddle, and the billets are a bit shorter than on my old saddle.  I don't need to buy a new girth, but Murray thinks that it's just a bit toooooooo much of a squeeze to get my girth buckled at all on the new saddle, and he ought to be able to run away instead of accepting it.  I thought that I had trained Murray to accept girthing, but clearly not; I've just covered up his discomfort with distraction. So great, back to the drawing board on that one.

As I was trying to get the girth buckled, Murray, misbehaving out of both discomfort and rudeness, took a wry step and stood on my big toe. When I pushed him, he didn't move, and continued to stand on my foot until I screamed at him and threw the lead rope into his face.  Really, standing on someone's feet is not acceptable.  Murray flew backwards, then skulked back up to me guiltily.  I did get his girth on, after calling him several rude names and reminding him that he doesn't decide what size girth he wears.  (Especially when one matches my new saddle so perfectly.)

Don't get me wrong, while I do cry easily I'm not known to cry over just getting stepped on.  But a morning of fighting with my horse about something as simple as tacking up -- we've only done it 200 times since I met him! -- followed by a stomped toe pushed me over the edge. I know that it only upsets me because I care -- if any other horse stepped on my foot and stood there, I would have unleashed a holy war upon them and they would have been the ones crying in the middle of the barn aisle.  But Murray.... Murray is the only horse who has regularly reduced me to tears.  I try to be the stone in the stream, the leaf in the wind: I let myself have a cry, then get over it.  The younger girls I ride with have even realised that it's not a big deal when I cry any more, they check in to see if I'm really hurt ("do you need ice? are these tears of frustration?") and then let me get on with things.

Zen, my friends. This is why we need so well to find our zen when dealing with baby horses.

And wine. Wine helps later.

Camelot Horse Trials -- but mostly tribulations!

This weekend I attended the first of the Summer Horse Trials series at Camelot Equestrian Park.

If you live in Northern California and haven't heard about Camelot, you should get on that link!  Camelot is an amazing facility for all riders!  With multiple dressage courts, two stadium arenas, a cross country course catering to riders from intro to intermediate (with more jumps being built every day!!!), miles of trails and hills, there is something there for every rider.  They take meticulous care of their footing and provide plentiful, safe housing for horses staying overnight at a great price.  And they have events for all -- two-day horse trials (and their first rated event next Summer!), hunter/jumper shows, dressage shows, hit the trail for life, ride and dine.  Did I mention their super, super, super reasonable pricing?  XC schooling for the day is $15.  FIFTEEN DOLLARS GUYS.  In short: GET THERE AND CHECK IT OUT!

Their footing is so good Murray couldn't help but roll in it!

Murray and I entered at intro. Though we have schooled up to 2'9" at home (ok, one jump) I wanted our first horse trials to be a relaxed event for both of us, with an all-positive cross-country filled with running, jumping, and no baby horse/Bad Eventer antics.  Recently Murray and I have had some problems that I haven't been able to get to the root of.  At our most recent XC school at a nearby facility, Murray kinda.... melted down.  He couldn't figure out how to go forwards, and spent most of the second half of our time out there going sideways and backwards unless directly pointed at a jump from a few feet away.  M has melted down a few times at home too, and has been really strong and opinionated in our jumping lessons (bucking before and after jumps, through the changes, and grabbing the bit and running away, to mention a few of his opinions).  I wanted to enter at a level where I was beyond confident we could do the jumps, so I could just concentrate on getting the job done, instead of that job we had to get done.

Our cross country school the night before the event went really, really well.  Murray acted up in every way I thought he would: he panicked at a cloud of dust brought up by the wind, couldn't stand still, and refused the tiniest jumps; only singing "Yellow Submarine" kept me from tears (a coping strategy provided by DStew, more details on this later).  My trainer (Alana) and our assistant trainer (Tatiana) worked me through it though, and we ended on a really strong note after jumping all over the course.  (Another benefit of Camelot as a show location for inexperienced horses and riders: they let you school the course before you do it!)

Thankfully, ponyface loves the water

The morning of dressage was a little more eventful than I had wanted.  I was running a little short on time after braiding and Tati offered to bridle Murray while I changed into my show clothes.  As I closed the tack room door, I heard that all-too-familiar cry: LOOSE HORSE*.  My last show at Camelot, one unfortunate soul's horse got loose four times, and I had just been reflecting on how lucky we had been that there were no loose horses so far.  After a second, I snapped to: that's probably MY HORSE that's loose.  Sure enough, as I opened the tack room door, I saw Murray bucking his way across our line of stalls, dressage saddle slipping precariously back and pad nearly completely shed.

Like this but without the rider. He has a great buck.

Thankfully, Murray stopped for a chat with his friends and we managed to get things righted.  It only took four of us!  In warm up, Murray got out a few more of his baby nerves bucking at the canter and giraffing around the arena.  Thankful for shows that run late, we got a bit more time to warm up and relax before entering the ring.  We put in a solid dressage test, an improvement from a schooling combined test back in April, with some really lovely moments.  Murray couldn't relax enough to really show off his beautiful neck and back, but there were times when he shined.  We even got an 8 on the right canter circle!

Sleepy sleepy pony after dressage

Cross country warm up was an utter disaster.  They were running an hour late as the YEH judge was nowhere to be found, and the warm up arena was packed with galloping ponies.  Murray immediately reverted to panic mode: sideways, backwards, half-pass, turn and spin were the order of the day.  Instead of panicking, I employed some of Alana and Tati's tactics from the day before and took Murray to a quiet part of the warm up to do some polite canter transitions and quiet canter circles.  This worked beautifully, and when things calmed down a bit in the warm up we did our warm up jumps.  That was a bit challenging, as Murray was still pretty distracted, but after six pretty spastic solid jumps Alana and I thought we were warmed up enough for intro.

When we got to the start box, Murray was still a little confused about what the plan was.  We did get into the start box though, and out of it.  Once we got about six strides out to the first jump, Murray locked on and broke into a canter, which is honestly the best feeling in the world.  We ran a fast intro round (30 seconds under optimum, oops) without any run outs or refusals, and Murray locked onto every single jump.  There were a couple of moments when he wasn't sure exactly where we were going, but steering isn't his job, it's mine!

Stadium on Sunday morning was also fantastic.  Warm up was much of the same: too many ponies + too much action = distracted baby horse.  We leapt over the X and vertical a few times and called it good.  Waiting for stadium was honestly the worst: Murray couldn't stand with any of the other horses, but he couldn't stand to be away from them.  He couldn't watch the stadium rounds because it made him nervous, but he couldn't look away.  Some cleverly timed and over-bent figure-eights (thanks Tati!) helped him get his brain back together, and I was extremely proud when the gate opened for our round and Murray marched right towards it.  Wait until the other horse gets out maybe?  Nope, Murray is going, and I'm not stopping him.

... our first jump could have been more graceful.

Once in Stadium, Murray was confused again. Where is jump one? What is this sea of crazy? Where do I go? Oh god, what is that whistle?!  My plan of cantering him around a bit to settle went out the window, and we rather uncoordinatedly trotted towards jump one.  Fortunately for us, Murray's instincts kicked in: once pointed towards jump one, a little kiss got him moving and he became very rideable for the entire course.  I am super lucky to have a horse that is just spooky enough to be careful over everything and weirdly braver away from home, but who is also willing to listen to me when I say "no for real, we're jumping this jump."  We didn't even have any of the over-tired pulling problems from our recent lessons, and Murray still jumped things that I aimed him to poorly.

Murray flexing his sweet abs during our mini victory gallop

Over all, a super, super successful weekend where I accomplished all of my goals and more.  We lived and made it through all three phases without getting eliminated.  Even better, we finished on our dressage score!  I worked out some of the kinks in our riding, and figured out how to warm up without killing my horse or crying in frustration.  Murray proved to me that he does like eventing and is capable of everything I ask and more!  A shiny red ribbon was just icing on the cake.

* My trainer heard this in the warm up as well, as Murray galloped toured the stabling area.  As people around spread the word and half-heartedly attempted to catch my bucking steed with nothing to grab on to, Alana recognized Murray and said "Oh, it's just Murray."  Evidently, the other trainers found this quite amusing.

Stop yelling at me!

Murray and I had a great dressage lesson Friday, which is encouraging because our first horse trials are in a little less than two weeks now.  This close to a show (and definitely not the week of a show) I don't like to tackle big new concepts that we're going to be tested on at the show.  There's no "let's see if we can really do a 2'7" course!" (I would hope if I had entered beginner novice I would be confident at my horse's ability to jump a 2'7" course) or "I want to nail the flying changes!" or even, "I need to get him to keep moving over his back through the transitions".  These things take time and practice, and I don't personally feel that worrying over them or stressing your horse out with a new thing right before a show is good for either partner.*

But this is a good time to tune up the things I know we probably have in there, but just aren't quite up to snuff.  Chief among these are our transitions.  Murray is a "go, go, go" kinda guy, so down transitions were pretty easy for him to get the hang of.  Up transitions are another matter entirely.  I often feel like Murray isn't listening to me when I ask for an up transition ("la la la la la oh you were saying something?") and when he is listening, he's a bit sluggish to hop to.

Dem Dressage Skyllz

This has resulted in a horse who reacts to the aids instead of responding to the aids.  This is a contrast I got from Emily Beshear when she was on the USEA podcast (check it out here: http://usea.podbean.com/e/meghan-odonoghue-emily-beshear/).  Emily pretty much perfectly describes our progression: you put your leg on, so your horse's head comes up. Then you add more rein, to help control your horse's head, and in return you have to add a bit more leg... and so on and so forth.  Not only that, but he often doesn't respond to me the first time I ask for a transition, which is sloppiness I'm not willing to have.  Since I'm quite sure dressage judges are not looking for a carousel horse or horse-going-to-war during the transitions, I knew we had to fix this.

Now cannnnnterrrr....

When it came time to canter, the transition was late and filled with resentment -- hollowed back, head shaking, pony resentment.  Alana's philosophy on transitions is that rude ones mean you go right back to the previous gait and ask again, aiming for sass-less transition.  So down to trot we went, and again I asked Murray to canter.  More of the same.

"I just feel like he's not LISTENING to me!" I complained to Alana. "I ask him to canter and he's too busy thinking about something else to canter when I ask to."

Alana disagreed.  "He's cantering, and his face is saying 'what is your problem? I'm cantering aren't I?'" She thought his confusion was more to do with my contact.  Racers, she reminded me, are trained to lean into the contact, and nobody cares if they use their back or not when cantering (not that they really canter much).  So instead of fussing with the contact, Alana told me to just keep my inside leg to my outside rein while I asked, and not worry about where Murray put his head.

So we tried again, inside leg to outside rein, with less worrying over the contact.  We were even going left, his better direction, and every transition was a disaster.  At one point, Murray surged forward for 10 trot steps, straight towards a jump in the arena, before throwing himself into right lead canter and somehow barreling around the corner.

"How are you asking him to canter?" Alana asked me.

"Well, he's been getting the wrong lead a lot lately, so I make sure he's bent around my inside leg, ask him to leg yield out a tiny bit, then put my outside leg on to ask him to step into the canter."

Alana's response: maybe, ask with less.

So I asked with less. I didn't leg yield, I didn't inside bend, I just asked with my outside leg.  And of course my trainer was right. Of course.  It didn't happen instantly.  At first, Murray was inclined to respond just like he did before -- inverted pretzel tranter -- but after a couple of trot-canter transitions and walk-trot-canter transitions, he was stepping into the canter with minimal fuss.  This isn't to say his form is perfect, by any means.  He still loses connection through transitions, and clearly that's something to work on, but this will suit us just fine for our intro horse trials next weekend.

Clearly, I was asking way too much of the monster. How could he leg yield, stay connected, bend, and canter all close together like that?!  And his response was just that: HOW CAN I DO THIS?!  And instead of explaining it, I was yelling at him to do more.

Murray is the one crying, this time.

By asking with less, instead of louder, I gave Murray the chance to actually do what I was asking.  And he stepped up and did it.



* Exceptions to this exist, of course.