Back in the Saddle -- so to speak ...

Yes,I know it's been quite a while since I last posted anything, but trust me, it's not because there hasn't been anything going on. Of the positive events that have transpired, you should know I've released a new book (see sidebar). It took some time to complete. And yes, yes, yes, there's lots more horse stuff in that one -- and I know for a fact that's what a bunch of you Thea Campbell fans want!

But, back to the blog ....

My friend Kate Wyland nudged me into action by asking me to contribute to her wonderful blog "Conversations with Horses and Others". And, of course, when a friend asks what can you say but "when do you want it?"

So, without further ado, please, click on the link below to Kate's place and read "The Art of Breathing for Two" -- it's about how sport transcends the technical and become an expression of the heart. And say "hi" while you're there!

Kate Wyland's

Conversations with Horses and Others

You're right. This is not a horse. It's a tiny, cute, kitten that will keep screaming until you click on the above link to Kate's blog!

It's Just Routine, Ma'am

I have a tendency to jump right into the middle of things with little preparation. My knee-jerk preference is to charge ahead and if I get stuck, stop and read the directions – if I can find them. I would do this when I ride, too, if it wasn’t so glaringly plain this is not a knee-jerk preference for the horses. They simply don’t operate that way, and they will not be persuaded otherwise. Therefore, if I want Eddie (for example) to do well, I have to make sure I spend time, each and every ride, devoted to obsessing over getting organized. I must allow him the time to go through the steps needed to warm up. He has not varied from this requirement in the entire eighteen-plus-years I’ve known him.

Yes, he’s a little one-way about the whole thing.

Eddie, doing his job without me interfering
... yay, for me!

He doesn’t like it if I try to do his job, or expect him to do mine. We have a very distinct division of labor in our relationship and if I forget what it is, he will remind me. He doesn’t do this in a mean way. He simply gives me what I’m “really” asking for, and the usual result is me feeling like an idiot.  

Here’s a relatively benign example: it’s not up to me to hold his posture together, despite the fact that I know what it should be. That’s his job, and he can’t do it if I skip steps getting there and try to put him in place before it’s time. He will lean on my hands and remind me how much more he weighs than what I’m capable of lifting. Sure, I can remind him if he quits doing his job, and I can show him how I want him to conduct himself, but I can’t do it for him. Simply stated: He will let me. Times ten.

Horses are creatures of habit and routine. They need the sameness of a familiar warm-up in order to be assured they are doing the right job, in order not to be over-faced with demands from the rider. Routine is knowledge and security. Routine keeps the stress at bay.

Come to think of it, we humans need routine, too. As much as I hate to admit it. A big job becomes manageable if I break it down into a progression of steps I’m familiar with. Even well-known tasks can be overwhelming, like writing a book. If I remember to take it a logical and progressive piece at a time I can conquer what had previously appeared daunting.

I should remember this, since my horse insists.

The Plan: Have A Plan

Late last month I had the opportunity to ride in a dressage clinic with Henrik Johansen. I love riding in clinics with him. He's a wonderful teacher. I always leave excited about riding and knowing where I need to improve. 

This time was no different. I rode my friend Fable because Eddie, although back to work again, is not far enough along in his rehab to endure the demands of a weekend clinic. I've ridden Fable in the past couple of clinics and it works well, since I bring the lessons I learn home to Eddie. I did this time too, of course.

As I was riding one of the exercises Henrik had coached me through at the clinic, I started thinking about something else he'd said. "Ride with a plan. Don't ride by reacting to the horse."

Was I doing that?

Well … sort of. I had a plan, but I was very intent on figuring out if Eddie was actually doing it. 

I changed my thinking. I took a deep breath, squared up my posture and let go of all that "gotta do it" tension.

"I am doing the exercise correctly myself," I said, not entirely believing it. "And when I do it right, it feels exactly like this." (insert active imagination here). 

Then the most amazing thing happened: Eddie improved in one step.

Go figure. Although I should have known. After all, it's not news to me -- I "talk" this stuff all the time.

Guess I don’t always "walk" it.

And that got me to thinking -- is that what I do in my daily life? Do I fret every minute to be sure everything is "just so," checking to see if all my ducks are lined up properly? Do I have a plan I focus on, or am I reacting to each moment, watching for things to go wrong?

Maybe I should just march forward and let all my ducks line up behind me while I lead the way. After all, not all of us can follow. Somebody has to get out in front. It's my life. It might as well be me.

The Importance of Nothing

Much of our attention when we ride is focused on What To Do to produce the desired result. It occurred to me the other day -- and it always seems like I get these revelations after riding in a clinic with Henrik Johansen -- that much of our time in the saddle should be spent doing nothing.

What? Slouch along like a sack of potatoes? Snooze in the saddle?

No, of course not. I don't mean you, the rider, shouldn't care about what the horse is or isn't doing. "Doing Nothing" means you let him do what he needs to do, give him the responsibility to carry out his part of the task without nagging -- or, as I sometimes think of it, "helping."

Henrik pointed out that when I used continual aids Fable (yes, that "Fable" -- Eddie isn't ready to go back to the work a clinic requires yet) became somewhat sullen and resistent. He also pointed out that when I simply rode in balance and with my plan in mind Fable relaxed and showed the true beauty of his gaits.

Now here's the important part.

At no time was I overtly, much less strongly, driving the horse forward. Of course I was trying to do the exercises Henrik was asking of us, and of course I wanted to be perfect. However, what I wasn't doing was the "Nothing" that not only gave Fable the opportunity to show me he could do his job, but also told him I approved of and trusted him.

I lacked the pure "Nothing" that allowed Fable to shine his brightest.

Think of it this way: Look at a painting of say, a horse. The horse is defined by the lines and brush strokes that depict its body, limbs, neck, etc. But it's also defined by the space around it -- the empty space. Empty space plays an important role, but it is space you don't notice because it doesn't intrude. If there's something wrong with the empty space, it muddies the painting.

Don't believe me? Take a look at some "camouflage" art. Bev Doolittle's paintings are a particular favorite of mine. She hides people and animals in the negative space of her paintings. I went to a talk she gave once, years and years ago, and remember clearly how impressed I was at the complex process, the layers and layers of planning she went through to create a single painting.

That "Empty Space" isn't ever as empty as it seems. It serves a purpose and takes training to get right.

I can't help but notice how much time I spend every day filling space with activity. Less frantic "doing" and more purposeful "quiet" to allow the important things to shine through might be a good life lesson. And likely as difficult to accomplish out of the saddle as in it.

It's The Little Things...

Training is often a process of breaking a goal down into its essential pieces. What is required of me, as the trainer, is that I understand the steps my horse needs in order to accomplish what I'm asking. The steps are basic, even simple. If they can be done correctly and in proper order then my horse can accomplish the goal I have set down for him. It also helps if my horse is rewarded for those steps. He stands a better chance of understanding them, and therefore repeating them, if there's something in it for him.

When Eddie was a youngster I learned very quickly the value of bribery. Punishment didn't work with him -- he'd just leave. In fact, it wasn't only punishment that would have him exiting stage right. He'd cooperate with me so long as it amused him, or interested him, but once something else seemed like more fun I'd be a bit hard pressed to change his mind.

What I learned from my intelligent, independent horse was to reward all the little steps toward the goal, and not wait until we had a difference of opinion about something. What happened wasn't a spoiled horse, it was a horse who gradually understood it was more fun to be with me than not. He learned to go where he was led, stand when being groomed and behave himself when being ridden. In short, he's become a pleasant, reliable companion -- a quality that can't be overemphasized in a 1300 pound animal.

Of course, not every horse needs Eddie's level of coercion. Most don't. But I was thinking along these lines the other day when I set myself up with the goal of cleaning my kitchen. If you've been following this blog at all, you have a good idea where I'm going with this: I can relate everything in life to training horses (it's a gift, I know). Even cleaning the kitchen. It had reached a state of disaster due to me being involved in too many other things and nobody else seeming to care. If it was going to be cleaned, I was going to have to do it, and quite frankly running away seemed like a good option. I was that overwhelmed. Until…yup, I broke it down into its basic, essential parts. Since I really didn't want to gain back the poundage I have managed to lose lately by eating cookies each time I accomplished one item, I wrote it down.

Wipe down the counters?

Check.

Clean under the burners?

Check.

Mop the floor?

Check.

And so it went. I wrote down every little, trivial thing. By the time I was done, not only was the kitchen clean, but the list I'd compiled gave me a very satisfactory feeling of accomplishment -- as I was doing it.

It's the little rewards that help along the way…for people as well as horses.

Pass me a mocha, I'm just getting started.

Most of the serious work-time we spend on our horses' backs is, or should be, devoted to warming up. Regardless of the goal-of-the-moment, we have to physically and mentally prepare for the day's new lesson. 

Yeah, it's tedious. 

And no, it can't be skipped. 

Not only does the horse need to be prepared before he's asked to exert himself just a little more, but the rider has to prepare, too. Nobody hits the saddle ready to rock and roll. Even when you ride one horse after another there is a certain amount of adjustment, both mental and physical, that needs to be done with each horse.

What happens when we skip the warm up and plunge into the daily lesson? The warm-up insists on being done anyway. It's like a persistent little terrier. It won't go away. And if you don't pay attention and do what needs to be done, it will get underfoot and trip you up. Count on it. You cannot bully this little dog into submission. It will bite your butt.

The plus side is that the better you prepare, the more conscientious you are about your warm-up, the better the performance of the lesson-of-the-day. The warm-up is where you catch the problems and put into effect the solutions. It's where the questions are cleared up and the groundwork laid for more advanced work.

Are you not accomplishing what you thought you should, despite working hard? Take a look at your warm-up. I'll bet you a double-tall mocha you're leaving something out.

Maybe, just maybe, the success we want to experience in other facets of our lives need the same attention paid to preparation. I'll wager another mocha on that one.

How can I work under all this pressure?

Horses move into pressure. It's instinct. Sure they shift their bodies away when the rider applies the leg aid, but we trainers teach that response. What you may not realize is the training still permits the instinctive reaction--we've just redirected it. The horse is now stepping toward the rider's leg with the hind leg on the same side--more acceptable than moving their barrel into leg pressure. Oh, and as for the line of travel—that has more to do with where your weight is directed than what you just did with your leg.

But what I really want to talk about is the absence of pressure.

Horses will, if you pay close attention, actually respond to an aid (pressure) when that aid is removed. One of the basic tenets of dressage is that relaxation is required for the horse to move with grace, beauty and optimal athletic results. That means all muscular tension not required for remaining upright and mobile must go. Mental tension produces physical tension, so that has to go too. An aid that doesn't let up—that sustains pressure—is going to make the horse wonder what the heck it is the rider wants. Wondering produces worry, which in turn produces frustration and will cause the trained horse to revert to his instinctive reaction and push back.

Wouldn't you?

Have you ever tried to produce good work while under pressure? It's exhausting, not invigorating. I produce enough of my own internal pressure so my tolerance threshold for external pressure is pretty low. It becomes counter productive. I may not push back in the obvious manner my horse would, but my quality of work suffers. And I get pretty crabby.

Like horses, people have their own optimal pressure tolerance levels. When working with someone (equine or human) it's essential to discover what that level is, and then only use it when necessary. Nobody can tolerate sustained pressure. We all do our best work when it's applied intermittently from the one directing our efforts.

It's a rare thing to have that gift of assessment—the ability to know how much and what kind of pressure is required and then have the guts to release it. Perhaps we can learn if we think, observe, and test our bravery.

Have you ever worked with someone who seems capable of helping you achieve your personal best? Maybe they had to learn how.

the Joy of Symmetry

At one point in my life I wanted to be an artist. I still dabble and enjoy it, but it’s not as high on my priority list as it used to be. One of the concepts I learned still sticks with me. It’s about the use of asymmetry. In order to evoke movement, and interest, one should avoid making one’s composition symmetrical. You can utilize this to great effect. It’s fun.

On the other hand, one of the “constant preoccupations” of the dressage rider is the creation of symmetry—straightness. Straightening the horse means they are equally adept, gymnastically, going to the right as they are to the left. Very much like being able to write in precisely the same way with your left hand as you do with your right (if you’re right handed to begin with). Straightness aids the balance of the horse and makes him easier to ride. To achieve it we employ a variety of exercises. Then, as the horse becomes more supple, he also becomes stronger and better able to achieve the high degree of collection we value so much.

No big deal. It’s a process, right?

Right.

Except it is a big deal. We must constantly attend to the little clues that tell us we are achieving our goals of straightness—or that we’re missing something. Does the horse feel level under our seats? Does he feel the same against each calf, or is he more present against one of our legs than the other? Does the horse hold the bit evenly in his mouth, or does the contact we feel through the reins seems heavy in one hand and light or absent in the other? Do we feel perfectly mobile, or do we feel a disinclination to go in a certain direction because it doesn’t feel as good? The checklist at times seems endless, and it always seems as though some crookedness or other is sneaking in under the radar.

Symmetry in our lives is important, too. And the balance isn’t any easier to achieve and maintain than it is in dressage. It’s a process that requires attention. Too much emphasis on one aspect and something else goes out of whack. Like riding dressage, I prefer to think of life-symmetry not as a juggling act, but as a state of being that requires exercise and participation to achieve the joy.

It’s a process. Notice, enjoy and celebrate the accomplishments.

The Supreme Importance of Balance

As appealing as a horse's back looks to sit on, it wasn't designed to carry people--or anything else for that matter. If somebody built a table the same way a horse is put together chances are you'd think they needed to go back to carpenters' school. As a piece of furniture, it'd be too tippy. Doubt me? Just give one of your Breyer horses a little nudge and see what happens (yes, I know you still have them).

On the other hand, when the real deal is moving he's a wonder of grace and power. Until a human climbs on.

Putting a rider on top alters the balance of the horse. If you've ever been the first one to ride a young horse, you know all about that wobbly, unsteady feel and how many months it takes a horse to adapt. The more skilled the rider is in maintaining her own independent balance, the easier it is for the horse and the faster he regains his natural elegance. A good deal of a horse's first training has to do with helping him rediscover his natural way of going while being ridden. This is why it's so important that a young horse is brought along by an experienced, skilled rider. Put a beginning rider on a green horse and they'll both be scared--and develop some really bad habits, all in the name of survival. In the same way a skilled rider helps a young horse, a well seasoned horse will help a beginning rider.

As we acquire more skills and confidence, we sometimes forget that balance is still an issue. Even at the highest levels, the basic lessons of maintaining accord between our own center of gravity and the horse's is vital if we are to achieve that effortless, relaxed performance we chase like the Holy Grail.

So what is the message I've taken away from this horse-taught lesson in kinesiology? The value of patiently maintaining one's equilibrium while someone else is trying to gain theirs. Sometimes the very best help you can offer is to pay close attention to your own balance while the one close to you regains theirs.

Eventually, you will dance together.