To help Sydney un-stick his front end at the canter, JL wanted me to do turns on the haunches at the walk and then the trot. We were pretty successful at the walk. We weren't as successful at the trot. She then asked to see the canter.
The next 30 - 45 minutes were spent wrapping my arms around Sydney's neck as he reared and repeatedly launched himself into the air. Think of rearing but with no feet on the ground. Scary.
But really? Not that scary. Not scary enough so that I should want to quit riding him, which I considered. My trainer didn't yell at me. I didn't come off. What the hell was so horrible?
How about the perfect storm of failure ...
My hands were restrictive: This is my fault? Crap. How lame do you feel when your horse is trying to get away from you? JL's observation was that Sydney reared/launched when he had nowhere else to go. I wasn't allowing him to move forward. My legs said canter, but my hands said, DON'T LET HIM GO ANYWHERE! When Sydney feels trapped or stuck, he feels anxious and explodes. Usually in an upward direction. If I give him some room, he'll explode sideways. So essentially, this is my fault.
Buyer's Remorse: I should have bought the small, 3 year old Hanoverian mare that had no go but plenty of whoa. That's one thought I had. When I bought Sydney, I really thought he had dressage potential and could teach me something. "This" wasn't quite what I was expecting.
But who knows? Had I bought that little mare, I might not have met JL, I certainly wouldn't have met RM and moved my horses to Boarding Heaven, and I probably wouldn't be having nearly the success with Speedy G that has come as a result (if 60% at T-1 is considered successful!). And the little mare might have been the worst dressage horse ever.
I am not moving up: Seriously?! Didn't I just blog about that very thing? Uh-huh. Happy to be a beginner, my ass. Who was I kidding? I want to "move up." It's embarrassing to be stuck at walk/trot. In that moment, as Sydney was flinging me into the air, I was very frustrated with what felt like a complete lack of forward progress. It felt like I had taken several giant steps backward. Can we say pride, anyone?
I was very recently reminded that Rome wasn't built in a day, and that it's always three steps forward and one step back. If I am honest, Sydney did plenty of bolting and other scary stuff at the trot way back when. I persevered, and we now work fairly well at the trot. It's not great, but he's getting there. We are moving forward. It's just not fast.
I was just sharing with Hubby how I remember dreading, absolutely dreading, riding Speedy G when he was a four and five and, okay, even a six year old. It was terrifying. And yet, now? He's my go-to horse. Yeah, he's a jerk sometimes. But he's a dependable jerk. He wasn't that way two years ago. He put me in the ER at one point.
JL said that no one would criticize me for selling Sydney: That just demoralized me. And please, don't think that I fault JL for making the suggestion. I think good trainers want to make sure their students are safe and paired with the right horse. It's just that the exact same thing was said about Speedy G, twice! By trainers ... All I heard, of course, is you are incompetent.
It's not true. I know that. Of course JL does not see me as incompetent, but I am worried that she sees me as over-horsed. I worry that she'll "fire" me and ask me to move along. Will she do that? I certainly hope not, but it is something I worry about. What she doesn't know is how dedicated I am to whatever cause I set my mind to.
I am ridiculously persistent. If something needs accomplishing, I'm your man. I get it done. And it doesn't matter what it is. I don't think I have ever truly failed at anything. I will occasionally allow things to fall by the wayside if they don't hold my interest (ballet class, an exercise machine, starting my quad with no help), but I don't give up if it's something real.
I finished my first 100 mile race simply because I couldn't face my kindergarten class with the news that I had quit. I dragged my barfing butt several hours through the Mojave Desert to the next vet check and then rode another 8 miles back to camp, still sick as a dog. After my mandatory hour hold, I then rode another 35 miles. Endurance teaches you not to quit.
And there you have it: the perfect storm of every "mistake" I've made with my horse: poor riding, wrong horse for me, and pride. I left the lesson demoralized and went home and cried. Sobbed. Bawled my eyes out.
Deep breath. A day off. Slow down and re-evaluate. Listen to your friends. Listen to those with experience. Maybe write a little.
JL's advice was that I needed to develop a better feel. Lay off the canter for a bit. Firm up the the walk and trot. Get better at the turn on the haunches. Move him off my leg without my hands. Go on a trail ride.
I am doing all of these things. I rode Sydney on Tuesday, at the walk, and had a lovely aha (lower case) moment. We did some very nice turns on the haunches with no rein pressure. Huh? How did that happen? While we were working, he started offering those sneezy, snorty, grunty sounds that JL says come when he's working over his back. Not sure about that, but he seemed very happy.
I took Speedy for a short trail ride on Wednesday and rode with a loose rein. Even jacked up, (dependably naughty) he listened to my tightened core and slowed down. Really!!!??? And even more fun was that he lowered his poll and rounded his back with some leg hugs (a la Memoirs of a Horse Girl) and a loose rein. There were more rides during the week on both horses, and each time I felt a small degree of success. Press on and all that.
So where am I now? Back to reality, I guess. I let "it" get to me. I'm over it. Three steps forward, two steps back, but one step ahead.