C is for balance

Last year, I had a strange dream. I don't normally remember my dreams but this one was quite visual. I was standing on a cliff looking across a ravine to another cliff, with a rope bridge connecting the two sides. On the other side of the ravine, looking back at me was me. For many reasons, I was afraid to cross the bridge. I stood frozen still until I woke.

***

Sunday afternoon, I wanted out of Old Lyme, but had committed to volunteering a few hours at a hunter pace, where I saw, wait for it, a few western saddles.

This wasn't one of them.

As a "western" rider rode past, it was hard to ignore seasawing hands direct-reining a shanked mouthpiece in an attempt to obtain the almighty headset from her horse.

Sigh.

"Someday I want to learn to ride western." Someone commented, admiring the horse's overo markings.

I bit my cheek. People's riding reveals where they're at in life. I've been there. It's hard to watch, but I've been there and no one judged me. They just showed me a different path.

***

By the time we were done with our duties, we only had the afternoon to explore, so we decided on the nearby town of Mystic, CT, the home of Mystic Pizza...

Movie tourist Pizza Heaven

and a drawbridge (bascule bridge) that spans the Mystic River.

Marveled by "simple" engineering. 

Enormous concrete filled counterweights intimidate the roadbed of the southwest side of U.S. Route 1 (Main Street). Nearly 600 tons of road is counterbalanced when the bridge is raised.

***

I had my first lesson on Monday, and was evaluated while teaching. Oh boy, was it hard to walk into the arena and look past the obstacles (staff, clipboards, riders, horses, handlers, sidewalkers) in order to focus on teaching a measurable skill to riders who might rather be taught by their regular instructor.

It wasn't a complete disaster, but it wasn't a cake walk either. The mounts were all full-assist, including one—we'll call him JD—who needed to use a lift. Three instructors and a sidewalker all had input on whether or not JD was aligned properly above the saddle, as he hung suspended over his horse's back. I had the controls of the lift and, with input coming from all directions, I lost concentration of the location of the lift as I lowered JD onto the horse, knocking him in the helmet with the top of the rigging. Ooops. Thankfully, he was forgiving about it. My lesson in the arena had varying results (owning one moment, sinking the next) before we headed out on the sensory trail to make turn after turn through the trees. I fumbled a few times, but tried to roll with the punches.

At the end of the lesson, as I was lifting JD from the saddle, his mother asked him how I did for my first lesson.

"Ehhh." He commented.

"Oh, great." I said.

"I give you a C."

That's about what I'd give me, I thought.

"If I gave you an A, you wouldn't have anything to shoot for."

Touché.

***

There was something about the Mystic River Bascule Bridge that reminds me to balance and quit trying to be perfect on the first try. It's one of those things I do but don't realize I'm doing it. When it's brought to my attention, I get defensive.

But just because you are offended doesn't mean you are right.

My fear vs. my ability ended up perfectly balanced in the lesson and—according to JD—was measurable in the middle of the grading scale at C.

I've been seeking more balance. Tonight, a C feels just right.

Phase 1 Done

I am hoping to become a more well-rounded rider.

Since 2006, when I started attending clinics with my mentor and his mentors, it has been my understanding that when you pick up on the reins and make contact with a horse, he should soften...to give to the bit.

This is where things get a bit confusing for a cowgirl in Connecticut. 

I drove in the morning rain last week to ride Sir Robin and wondered what kind of connection I might make with him. I only spent a few minutes on groundwork and got about as much from him as I was putting into it...which wasn't much. 

A short warm up at the walk and a few lateral flexions later, I was long trotting him and working up the energy to pick up the canter. While I normally work in a snaffle, this horse wears something that looks like a triple barrel mullen (anyone with experience with this bit is welcome to comment). I've done a little reading about this bit and it seems to be forgiving with relaxed reins, but a more rigid when the reins are engaged (the barrels actually lock in place) and is supposedly a good bit for horses that are behind the bit. Unfortunately, Sir is above the bit. And it could just be me, but I was trying to err on the side of lightness. As soon as I pick up the reins to make contact, he noses out and braces heavy. Holding and waiting for a tuneup-needing Shire/TB cross to give to the pressure is a good gym workout. I was having much better luck waiting laterally than I had when picking up the reins evenly.  

Initially, I had luck getting him to pick up his right lead with a fairly loose rein, but only got a few strides before he dropped out. He wouldn't pick it up again and I was working really hard with my legs, as I wanted to avoid using the whip that was given to me. It was suggested that I ride him on the bit a little more in order to "support" him. Conundrum. If a horse doesn't soften when rein pressure is applied, how does one get a horse to get on the bit...without force.

I managed to end the ride with the horse making contact through the bit and carrying his head in the desired "frame" that was clearly in spite of me. I was just a passenger who couldn't feel what I am supposed to be feeling for. I want to learn something from this experience but I am not understanding the lesson.

Our lectures have evolved into more practicum hours in the arena to observe lessons and go through files. We got a tiny taste of therapeutic vaulting on a Percheron cross, which is where one of the instructors-in-training (ITCs, they call us) felt right at home. However, a highlight of my trip was driving an off-track standardbred at a fully extended trot through a cone slalom course in a 6-man/wheelchair accessible carriage. He drives in a mild, bitless bridle and without blinders. My cheeks still hurt from smiling. He may not have earned much money on the track but he is priceless here. What a blessing he is for the school. 

Unfortunately I have no pictures from vaulting or driving.

Thursday night, under the glowing light of the full moon, I cat-cowed, downward-dogged, 5-pointed-starred my way to semi-zen oblivion in a late-night poolside yoga session. Holding doubt in cupped palms, I released it to the universe. But gravity pulled it right back down on top of me. Who did I think I was kidding? I knew it wasn't ready to leave.

Rockin' Kickers in Breeches Mecca

"You must be one of the western riders." A horse handler commented, raising her brows as she looked down at my boots.

I smiled.

It's been a long day. Sigh. We are now down to six, as one of the instructors-in-training decided to go back to her ESL studies. She still believes that therapeutic horsemanship is the best form of physical therapy—she's a PT in her country and is passionate about her belief that the horse is the therapy—but she just needed to follow her dreams in a different order.

Her hours will be divvied up between the remaining students, and I am feeling anxious about this tonight. I am having a difficult time trying to find my center in a place of learning, where I am going to be teaching. The few things I have taught to other students and instructors—how to properly use a bosal, how to raise stirrups on a western saddle, how to cinch a girthy horse in a western saddle—have gone over pretty well. But I don't feel like I fit in yet. It's been more than two decades since I owned a pair of breeches. They are the jeans of the Northeast.

This morning I was up before the sun to meet with one of the school's directors. She has an 8 year old TB/Shire cross that needs a tune up. He's pushy and she gave me the freedom to "use a little Buck on him". I told her I could use the equipment she uses, but asked if she, by chance, had a rope halter. I was pleasantly surprised when she retrieved one from the tack room and, although it was a little bit crusty from age and had some dust and cobwebs on it, it was serviceable for me to introduce myself to Sir Robin. I quickly established my boundaries with him, when he indicated that he wanted to tell me how things were going to be done. He ended up quiet enough so we saddled up and I put my Ariats into the stirrups of an all-purpose English saddle and we headed out to a meadow with stonewall boundaries and sheep in the neighboring pasture. I worked on some bending (which was lacking) and softening (where he rooted), but found that he had a lot of try and I wanted to reward his efforts on my first ride. He has a lumbering trot and wasn't too bad in his serpentines. We headed on a short trail ride down to a tidal creek that connected to the Connecticut River. I learned that most of the stone walls that are prevalent in this area were built in the 1700s when landowners were clearing their properties to farm or build. The dew was thick in the grass and the air was crisp with the promise of the coming autumn.

In class today, we covered several physical disabilities and ended up a little off topic a few times because, in learning that vibration is helpful when used properly to relax spastic muscles, we needed to go into a little more into detail for our foreign students who needed an explanation for the word "dildo". It was good comic relief for a day dedicated to learning about some very sad, debilitating disabilities.

I met a girl with Cerebral Palsy tonight as I observed a class I will soon be teaching. She seemed thrilled to meet me...she wears cowboy boots too. She asked me how long I had been riding western and what kind of shows I've done. I provided input on riding two handed in the snaffle bit, but she wants to ride one-handed. It's going to take a bit of convincing her that it's ok to ride two handed, even if you ride western.

All the students in the class seemed great. Most of them rode independently at least some of the time during the class. Despite the great impression they gave me, I am struggling with self-confidence. Some of these students are great riders, they just don't fit into a "traditional" lesson.

I am going to try to get some sleep, despite my scheduling anxieties. 6:15am will be here sooner than I want, but I am looking forward to another morning with Sir Robin, so sweet dreams....

Connecticut Centauro

The group...with Fanny and Buddy

Neko Case's new album plays on my computer and I keep jumping back and forth between it and some of my favorite tunes from Middle Cyclone. 

If I don't update this blog a few of you are going to come out here and write it for me. I need to sleep so I want to hurry, but I know that makes for a less than interesting blog entry.

I force myself to write a word. I keep thinking about what my new Brazilian friend called me last week.

Centauro.

It was on the evening of my birthday.

"Virgo, you mean?" I tried to correct her.

"Virgo, yes. But Centauro." She said as she described her perception of my assessment ride, interlinking her index finger and thumb from each hand, she spoke of a connection she observed that I had with Bella. It's been a dream of mine that my riding would generate inspiration without provocation. I don't feel like I am there yet — maybe I've experienced little pieces for myself — but she caught me off guard with her comments and I felt humbled, regardless.

Last night a few of us went out to the Rustic Cafe to regroup. It was good conversation and a good way to unwind. Quizzes and tests are due just about every week. With fall in the air, those of us closest to the fire-breathing dragon stayed the warmest.

The more I get to know the other instructors-in-training, I get a better idea of why they are are here with me. Each of them are inspiring and have their own struggles. These girls are all striving to make a difference. I am not alone.

Our first week has been chock full of various subjects: volunteer management, anatomy of horses and humans, lesson plan creation. I've had good and bad days. Yesterday and today were relatively good days for me. Tuesday was downright frustrating. I was reminded of the struggles I had in school with losing focus, my wandering mind leaving the present to explore a future that is possibly years away. Reining it back in was a constant battle.

Tonight, my head aches and slight nausea tickles my throat. I worry. A lot. But worry gets shoved away in a hoard under the bed. Monsters can't hide under there. There's no room; they can't fit.

Today and yesterday, hours of lecture was broken up by heading out to the barn to ride. Yesterday, I had the pleasure of riding both Taylor and Buddy.

A much bigger Buddy than one I've ever known...
with as gentle of a heart as the one I used to own

Today, we all got to ride seven different horses in the herd to feel their gaits and experience different types of tack. Geri was by far my favorite. She was sensitive to rein and leg cues and had a lovely gaits that rolled my hips in therapeutic figure-8s. Plus she was wearing a sheepskin fleece with an anticast surcingle. I could ride her all day on that. Some of the horses were difficult to handle, some had jarring gaits. They each have a story. But there is a purpose for each of them and getting to know them will help me when I start teaching here. Of course I want to flock to the sensitive ones, but we've been taught how to match horses to the riders...not only for the riders well-being, but also for the horses.

I still don't know what the outcome is going to be, but at this point I hope to find a way to help people of all abilities to find their inner Centauro.

If you can't be a unicorn, I guess this might be a close second...