Learning to Fly

Lately, I’ve found that I haven’t been out to see Mr. Bones as often as I’d like. There are a few reasons for that. First is that when you have a ton to do, it’s really easy to point to a three hour chunk of your day labeled “Horse” and say, if I just eliminate that, I can fit everything else in. But more than that, is that lately I’ve been letting fear get the best of me, and turning riding into a chore in my head. I’ll explain.

Before I started grad school in 2014, I rode Bones almost every day. We rode bareback, we worked on some basic dressage principles, I had days scheduled to work bungees to improve his topline (back muscles), and we jumped. We jumped gymnastics (several jumps right in a row) to improve his “butt” muscles, we jumped scary stuff to help him get over his fear of, well, everything, and we jumped progressively higher. I fell off with some regularity because he is kind of a shit, but usually it was nothing serious.

When I started grad school in January of 2014, we were jumping 2’9 regularly, and I had jumped single jumps as high at 3’6 (yes, I was essentially insane). My first semester of grad school, I was often found sprinting into the elevator in my riding breeches with hay in my hair and dirt on my face, racing to get to class in the nick of time after a morning at the barn.

About six months later, I ordered a painfully expensive saddle to custom fit Bones to increase his comfort and mine (and it really is great). Around the end of my third semester of grad school, my new saddle showed up. I wasn’t riding daily due to the demands of school, but I was still out at least four days a week. One day in March of 2015, shortly after my new saddle’s arrival, Bones was having a moment over nothing that we could find, and he threw me right out of that new saddle and onto my face. I landed on my chin, and got up right away, but I was shaken. I was lucky to still have all of my teeth and to have my neck intact. The worst of it was a raspberry on my chin, a whole lot of dirt in my mouth and down my shirt, and some sore ribs the next day. I had fallen worse than that plenty of times, but for whatever reason, landing on my face really shook my subconscious in a way that I was unprepared for.

I got back on that day, and I continued to ride a few days a week, but as grad school continued to get more and more demanding, riding was often the first thing to fall by the wayside. Again, part of that is that it just takes such a large chunk of the day to get out to the barn, groom, tack, ride, untack and prep your horse for whatever the weather is that day, not to mention treats and hugs and scratches. But another big part was that I was suddenly uncomfortable being in the saddle. I climbed up into the saddle and my whole body immediately and unconsciously tensed up, remembering how unsettling it was to hurtle toward the ground, face first. And horses are sensitive creatures. Bones picked up on my fear immediately. Only he didn’t understand that he was at the root of that fear. So he would tense up too, on the lookout for whatever it was that was making us both afraid, prepared to react immediately. And anyone who has ridden an intelligent but slightly spooky horse will tell you that a horse that is looking for something to be afraid of is going to find it. Bones started spooking at corners full of jumping equipment, even if nothing had moved from the day before, at shadows, at noises, at anything he thought could possibly be the threatening thing we were both freaked out about. I tried everything to settle myself down before a ride. I tried deep breathing, meditation, yoga, visualization, acupressure. EVERYTHING. Nothing worked. We still had some good days, but we definitely had more bad than good, and my riding became less and less frequent as I got more and more fearful.

One day in November of 2015, I realized that I had not ridden at all in a month. A MONTH! Keeping a horse is not a cheap endeavor, and I knew keeping a perfectly healthy horse as a lawn ornament was not in the budget. Plus it wasn’t fair to my horse, who is a stinker, but is talented and enjoys his work when he works regularly. I practically had an existential crisis over the whole thing. I considered selling Bones. I know a guy in California who would pay a pretty penny for my boy, and that chunk of change plus the monthly board for my horse would go a long way toward paying off my student loans early. But the bottom line is that Bones is family. I promised him that I’d keep him til the day he dies or I do, and the thought of life without his antics was too sad to contemplate for long.

But I couldn’t continue as I had been either, riding almost never, and so freaked out I could barely canter a circle. I knew I was a better rider than that. I knew I was capable of riding this horse skillfully. I had already proven I could do that. Even Seth had ridden him successfully a few times. So what was my problem?

At that point, I got mad at myself for letting fear get the best of me. That might not be the most productive thing to do, but I am nothing if not stubborn, and that stubbornness began to get me through a lot of hard rides. I was lucky that two wonderful women and riders had been riding my horse regularly for me as I completed grad school (shout out to Lannis and Alaina!), so my horse was not a complete unruly beast as I set out to conquer my fear. I was finishing my thesis during this whole ordeal (because you can never have too much stress in your life, apparently), so I still made it out to the barn irregularly, but when I rode, I rode with purpose. The goals were and still are small. At first, I wasn’t allowed to get off of my horse until we cantered two full laps in each direction with no bad behavior. That may sound simple, but for someone who was afraid to canter at all, and whose horse was still picking up on her fear, it can be a lot to ask.

Some days, I managed to warm up and finish those laps in about 20 minutes and I even enjoyed it a little. Some days went less well. Sometimes other spooky horses were in the arena, and Bones would react to their fear as well. Sometimes loud noises from the neighbor’s yard or screeching from the younger girls joking around in the barn put him on edge. And of course, if he was on edge, I was even more unsettled up high in my saddle. But on those days I just worked longer at lower speed. I trotted circles and figure eights and tried to get Bones paying attention to me instead of outside distractions and tried to be calm so that when he was focused on me I was a help instead of a hindrance. It was a tall order for my frayed nerves, and I never would have made it through without that stubborn streak I mentioned. Even so, some days I went home and cried my frustration. Some days Bones was so distracted by noises and I was so upset in the saddle that I resorted to singing to him to calm us both down. I am a terrible singer and the only thing I have the presence of mind to sing to him while I ride is numbers to the tune of the ABC’s, but it helps.

After about half a year of making myself really work again, I did a 2’6 jump course for the first time in almost two years. It was a beautiful summer day outside, and Bones and I were both feeling good. Many of the younger girls who put my riding to shame were out riding with me and were wanting to do a taller course. I had done a 2’3 course after jumping almost never for two years and was more than happy to leave it at that. But they are wonderful and encouraging, and they all convinced me that I could take on another course that was a mere three inches taller. My trainer added her approval of the idea to the mix, so I decided to go for it. It wasn’t as pretty as the courses we had done before I started grad school, but we did it! There is a certain fluidity that comes with practice that was definitely lacking, but we pulled it off, and I was so proud. I was also so grateful for the encouragement, since I often ride alone and am my only cheerleader and critic.

Since then, I have certainly fallen off again (as evidenced by the above video taken by the lovely Linda Veragen), and I still haven’t been jumping regularly. Although I am more and more comfortable in the saddle, I want to feel very confident before I take jumping seriously again, and I’m not quite there yet. I realized a few weeks ago that I still let the barn be the thing that falls by the wayside when I’m tired or I have a lot to get done, and wondered why. It used to be something I looked forward to with excitement since the day I started at twelve years old. I realized just a few days ago that it was because I had turned going to the barn into a chore for myself. My stubbornness had gotten me through the worst of my fear, but my regimented rules for when I was “allowed” to be done and my disappointment in my riding had turned something that used to be an escape for me into one more item on my “To Do” list. I wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

But this past Monday, instead of steeling myself for my ride, I decided to go into it with the intention of having fun. I played myself music that I enjoy in the car on the way there and sang along. Bones greeted me at the gate and I fed him treats and gave him scratches. When I went to see how the riding arena was looking, I set up a lot of options, but decided that I’d only do what sounded like fun. I hopped on my horse and warmed up with lots of circles as usual, but I was smiling while I did it. We worked on trot poles, and I played around with lengthening and shortening his trot steps, which I haven’t had the confidence to ask for in a long time. I cantered and did circles and worked a little with stride lengths at that speed as well, although a little less confidently. At one point, a noise startled Bones, and he sped up and acted out a little. Rather than get upset, I just stopped him, backed him up, and asked him to begin again. He did and got the message. I didn’t do anything crazy, but I had fun up there and it went a long way toward keeping me relaxed, even when my horse wasn’t. And I realized that all this time, my attitude was all that had been missing. When I show up expecting to have fun, I don’t always have a good day. But in the grand scheme of things, I have more good days than bad, just like I used to.

TL;DR: If you are feeling miserable doing something that didn’t used to make you miserable before, chances are good that all you need is an attitude adjustment. If you expect to be miserable, you will be. If you expect to be happy, you will be. And even on hard days, a good attitude will leave you better equipped to deal with whatever comes your way. Don’t give up on something that once brought you joy just because it isn’t always easy. It can bring you joy again.