Except when we can’t. Occasionally, your mental computer gets gummed up with saddle soap. You lean at the jump. You twist for a lead change. You cut the corners. Your trainer explains what you need to do. You screw up again. You’ve hit a wall.

But sometimes, out of nowhere, your coach pulls magic words out of their hat that hit that mental barrier like a wrecking ball. And poof! You, your horse, and Miley Cyrus are crashing through the wall.

Sure, when in doubt, add leg. But here are a few more mind-blowing quips and unexpected riding advice from my trainers that suddenly made it all make sense.

◆ “Use the pressure you want to use.” This piece of riding advice is so logical it makes me want to scream. If you like a horse with an electric response, more pressure won’t do it; a whisper-soft leg with corrections is the way to go. If you prefer a firmer feel, you’re not going to get there anxiously holding your leg off your thin-skinned mount.

Use the pressure you want to use. It’s scary, it’s counterintuitive to me, and it works.

◆ “You have to go to work. So does your horse.” This came after I explained to a visiting trainer that my sassy, tantrum-y horse wasn’t in a “good mood.” Rule No. 1: always check whether the source of resistance is pain. But barring that, even great horses (especially certain mares) have grumpy days. I’ll make any excuse for my baby: It’s hot out! She doesn’t like the flowers! But this trainer helped me realize we still must do our jobs.

Even when I’m not “feeling the vibe,” I must go to work. And I may cut her some slack, but so does my grouchy mare.

◆ “I’m raising the jump, but ride it exactly the same.” I know this is going to be as big a shock to you as it was to me, but the fact you hear the jump cups sliding up the standards does not mean you have to get as nervous as if you just entered the Grand Prix ring for a $100,000 jump-off.

It turns out if you’re already doing OK, you don’t need to lose your entire mind over the jump going up 3 inches. Who knew?

◆ “Don’t forget to let the air out.” When you feel the anxiety rising, slowly blow air out of your mouth like you’re blowing bubbles. Whenever I do this, I realize how long I’ve been holding it in, and I feel active relaxation from all parties. Whoops.

◆ “Don’t ask until you’re ready.” Your trainer’s looking at you. Your lesson mates are looking at you. IT’S TIME TO CANTER. LIKE, RIGHT NOW. Relaaaaax. Are you ready to canter? Or has your horse been walking around half asleep, waiting for his turn through the grid? Is his white-rimmed eyeball trained on the lawnmower buzzing past? Are you discombobulated? Need some water?

Take a beat, friend. Gather yourself before rushing toward chaos and wrongness. You can afford a few moments.

◆ “Don’t make the distance work; make the distance happen.” A positive mantra from my jumping trainer to remind me this is not entirely a game of chance. My pace, rein length, and body position are all up to me. But also …

◆ “The last few strides are for your horse.” Whatever canter you have coming out of the corner, that’s your canter. The day before your wedding is not the time to be experimenting with tanning, and the strides before the jump are not the time to be experimenting with adding or subtracting a step.

If you’re blessed with an obvious distance, look up. Your job is done. Like pores in a magnifying mirror, the more you stare at the spot you chose, the worse it’s going to get.

If you see nothing, keep your pace, and 99 percent of the time, the spot will materialize out of thin air. It feels like a trust fall, but unless you’re jumping huge jumps, you’re going to be just fine.

◆ “Just sit there.” Truly the seed from which all these comments grow, and by far the hardest instruction to swallow. Riders are perfectionists; we can always be rounder, straighter, and pushing harder from behind.

But “sitting there” is an art form. When everyone is getting frustrated, don’t fret, don’t pick, just sit there. Shut the amoeba brain off for a moment and enjoy the ride.

Now get on your wrecking ball and start making some breakthroughs!

This article about riding advice appeared in the November/December 2021 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

The post Eye-Opening Riding Advice appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

This winter, while I clenched my horse’s freezing metal bit between my thighs to warm it up for her, I made a promise. I lifted my eyes skyward and telepathically swore to equestrian higher power Beezie Madden that I would neither whine nor wail about the heat and humidity this year if she would only hasten the arrival of warm weather and make the riding gods bring back the sun. There’s no better season than summer with horses.

The cool weather is a welcome break here in Texas, but four weeks into the season, the bloom is off the rose. It’s dark at 4 p.m., everything is dry, everything is dusty, and I yearn for green grass, turnout, and the end of dragon-longeing season.

So this year, I’m not complaining, both because I promised I wouldn’t look the gift horse of summer in the mouth again, and because there are quite a few points in summer’s favor. That said, I did take a quick peek inside the horse’s mouth, and I have a few, um, notes.

The Heat is On

First, you must allow me to tell you how ardently I adore the warm weather. I don’t care how much I sweat. The heat is so deliciously soft on my exhausted winter skin. Short hair coats on the horses! Short sleeves! Short work of all the cleaning I’ve been postponing. I can spray everything down, because guess what? It’ll dry!

Except, ahem, that it’s not “warm.” It’s hot. So, you’ll need to implement extra tactics to fully enjoy your summer with horses despite the heat.

‘Tis the season to down an electrolyte packet dissolved in a full water bottle before I even don my breeches. Forgetting to hydrate is an inconvenience in the fall, winter, and spring. In summer, it’s a one-way ticket to my heatstroke-riddled shell of a body being shaken awake by an alarmed spouse, who has found me asleep on the floor where I sat down for a quick second to take off my boot socks.

And it’s sweaty. It’s sweatier than an adult amateur who just realized she memorized the wrong course at her first rated show. Has anyone ever been this sweaty? Short sleeves, no sleeves, fully nude, it doesn’t matter, I’m going to leave the barn icky at a minimum, and more likely soaking wet. Horse ownership during summer brings interesting, yet rewarding, consequences.

Horse Baths

Next, it would be impossible for me to overstate my appreciation for the ability to (finally!) bathe my horse. Baths! Baths forever! And the months ahead are full of them. No more currying until my arm is sore, hot toweling, and minding a giant fleece cooler- wrapped mare for an hour while I wait for her to be dry enough to blanket. A quick spritz! A quick scrape! And we’re off! To graze! In the 7 p.m. sun!

On the other hand, I know I said “baths forever,” but baths forever? And it won’t be a quick spritz and scrape, because my horse is sweaty in ways and places that cannot be erased with a quick anything. She needs an actual bath, which she resents, with actual shampoo, which she loathes. And damp legs mean fungus, and fungus means special soaps, and special soaps means more baths, and more baths mean more fungus. And now my mare’s mad. Apologize.

Wet Everything

In addition, let me assure you I really love the enthusiasm with which you tackled my moaning about the lack of moisture in the air all winter. The dry air is gone! The dry hands are gone! The dry hooves are gone! The horsey dandruff is gone! The rubbed-raw tops of dry horse tails are gone!

But also: the dry air is gone. The dry hooves are gone. And now my horse is rubbing the top of her tail because she is irritated from merely existing in the putrid atmosphere. And now she’s showing a full white corner of her eyeball as I slather her with potions to prevent her from balding in the muggy, sticky heat.

Since the summer started, everything in my horse life has been running a low-grade fever of “moist.” It doesn’t matter how many desiccants and deodorizing packs I cram into my drenched helmet and steamy boots. My helmet liner is going to be wet tomorrow. My boots are going to mildew. And in the end, I will beg for blanket season.

Saving Daylight

Finally, whomever stepped up and made summer days last longer—you’re my hero. There are roughly 39 hours of sunlight in every day, which means maximum hours to spend at the barn after I leave the office.

And I have nothing to add here. Extra summer daylight hours are a heaven-sent apology from Beezie herself for the five seconds of civil twilight we have to ride in every day during the winter. And even I wouldn’t dare complain about that.

Happy hydration. Happy trails. Happy summer.

This article about summer with horses originally appeared in the July 2021 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

The post Making the Most of Summer with Horses appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

We riders are bright creatures. We memorize long courses, process multi-part instructions, and generally do the whole patting-your-head-and-rubbing-your-stomach routine from the back of a thousand-pound animal with a mind of its own. Except when we can’t. Occasionally, your mental computer gets gummed up with saddle soap. You lean at the jump. You twist for a lead change. You cut the corners. Your horse riding coach or trainer offers tips and explains what you need to do. You screw up again. You’ve hit a wall.

But sometimes, out of nowhere, your horse riding coach pulls magic words or tips out of their hat that hit that mental barrier like a wrecking ball. And poof! You, your horse, and Miley Cyrus are crashing through the wall.

Sure, when in doubt, add leg. But here are a few more mind-blowing quips from my trainers that suddenly made it all make sense.

◆ “Use the pressure you want to use.” This is so logical it makes me want to scream. If you like a horse with an electric response, more pressure won’t do it; a whisper-soft leg with corrections is the way to go. If you prefer a firmer feel, you’re not going to get there anxiously holding your leg off your thin-skinned mount.

Use the pressure you want to use. It’s scary, it’s counterintuitive to me, and it works.

◆ “You have to go to work. So does your horse.” This came after I explained to a visiting trainer that my sassy, tantrum-y horse wasn’t in a “good mood.” Rule No. 1: always check whether the source of resistance is pain. But barring that, even great horses (especially certain mares) have grumpy days. I’ll make any excuse for my baby: It’s hot out! She doesn’t like the flowers! But this trainer helped me realize we still must do our jobs.

Even when I’m not “feeling the vibe,” I must go to work. And I may cut her some slack, but so does my grouchy mare.

◆ “I’m raising the jump, but ride it exactly the same.” I know this is going to be as big a shock to you as it was to me, but the fact you hear the jump cups sliding up the standards does not mean you have to get as nervous as if you just entered the Grand Prix ring for a $100,000 jump-off.

It turns out if you’re already doing OK, you don’t need to lose your entire mind over the jump going up 3 inches. Who knew?

◆ “Don’t forget to let the air out.” When you feel the anxiety rising, slowly blow air out of your mouth like you’re blowing bubbles. Whenever I do this, I realize how long I’ve been holding it in, and I feel active relaxation from all parties. Whoops.

◆ “Don’t ask until you’re ready.” Your trainer’s looking at you. Your lesson mates are looking at you. IT’S TIME TO CANTER. LIKE, RIGHT NOW. Relaaaaax. Are you ready to canter? Or has your horse been walking around half asleep, waiting for his turn through the grid? Is his white-rimmed eyeball trained on the lawnmower buzzing past? Are you discombobulated? Need some water?

Take a beat, friend. Gather yourself before rushing toward chaos and wrongness. You can afford a few moments.

◆ “Don’t make the distance work; make the distance happen.” A positive mantra from my jumping trainer to remind me this is not entirely a game of chance. My pace, rein length, and body position are all up to me. But also …

◆ “The last few strides are for your horse.” Whatever canter you have coming out of the corner, that’s your canter. The day before your wedding is not the time to be experimenting with tanning, and the strides before the jump are not the time to be experimenting with adding or subtracting a step.

If you’re blessed with an obvious distance, look up. Your job is done. Like pores in a magnifying mirror, the more you stare at the spot you chose, the worse it’s going to get.

If you see nothing, keep your pace, and 99 percent of the time, the spot will materialize out of thin air. It feels like a trust fall, but unless you’re jumping huge jumps, you’re going to be just fine.

◆ “Just sit there.” Truly the seed from which all these comments grow, and by far the hardest instruction to swallow. Riders are perfectionists; we can always be rounder, straighter, and pushing harder from behind.

But “sitting there” is an art form. When everyone is getting frustrated, don’t fret, don’t pick, just sit there. Shut the amoeba brain off for a moment and enjoy the ride.

Now get on your wrecking ball and start making some breakthroughs!

This article that offers riding coach tips for horseback riders appeared in the November/December 2021 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

The post Lightbulb Moments: Riding Coach Tips for Horseback Riding appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

When I started working after law school, I thought I’d be back in the show ring in no time. I didn’t want to be missing any horse shows. I was fueled by childhood memories of showground shaved ices, long walks cooling out in the trees with friends, and afternoons goofing around back at the barn between classes. This was my chance to relive those days! I had a great trainer. I had a decent income.

What I didn’t have, it turned out, was time. Prep time, travel time, hurry-up-and-wait time—I had none of it. My job is time-consuming, and my husband and I still like to see each other sometimes. I tried to squeeze in shows at first. This is fine, I insisted, as I sat in my parked car in a thunderstorm straining to hear a work call over the booming sky and loudspeaker announcements.

How to Make it Work

After a few shows spent frantically speeding to and from work and home and responding to emails while waiting in line for the crowded show bathroom, I was distraught. I sat myself down to plan for the next show. I needed to school my mare on Wednesday. I could do that after work! But I’d need to leave early (assuming no fires to put out at the office). And I’d get home late. But if something came up, my trainer could school her. That would be fine!

I couldn’t show Thursday, because I had a work deadline, so forget it, my trainer would show her.

Friday! Friday would be my day to show. Unless I had to be in Colorado for a hearing—or worse, if a snowstorm required me to stay in Colorado. If that happened, my trainer could show her. Again.

But Saturday I could definitely show her. Probably. I just wouldn’t see my husband that weekend. That would be OK. Right? And I’d only spend one vacation’s worth of money on this.

This was not the horse show experience I had been dreaming about.

I was struggling to identify a show week without a risk of travel or interruption. Weekday classes were unworkable. Out-of-town shows were out of the question—beyond the ever-present possibility of a work nightmare shutting down my show dreams, I couldn’t justify trading a weekend away with my husband (who also deserved fun) for five days of solo enjoyment.

Missing Out … Or Not

I know people make it work. I know dedicated riders work hard to squeeze in careers, families and shows. They carefully budget time and money to prioritize showing over dinners with spouses, trips to visit friends, vacations, and fancy cheese.

But I can’t do it. I want to have time to have dinner with my husband. I want to go visit friends. I want the fancy cheese.

I still take regular lessons, and I take them seriously. I still pore over cavalletti exercises online and splurge on new equipment. I still tuck my shirt in. I still wear a belt.

Showing just isn’t in the cards for me at the moment, and I don’t feel guilty about it. Lessons are my shows now, where I get to (hopefully) display what we’ve been working on and translate it to the courses and gymnastic exercises that keep my horse (and me!) happy, fit and sharp.

Teenagers at my barn still ask whether I’m coming with them to Kentucky or Gulfport. I’m not, you guys. I yearn for the days when school obligations were pliable and taking off for a show was within my parents’ discretion—not to mention when they were footing the bill.

I am filled with FOMO (fear of missing out) when I see the trailer being unloaded. I can almost smell the hairspray. But I’ve eased into my no-show lifestyle.

I miss the adrenaline, but I’ve leaned into the stress-free way I now lesson without a looming deadline to fix our mistakes. I am missing hanging out ringside at horse shows, but I look forward to the tranquility of the barn aisle or the grass field on a Saturday when everyone is at the show. I miss the excitement, the ribbons, and the long cool-outs in the showground trees.

But I still get to ride. And I look forward to getting home in time for dinner … with the fancy cheese.

This article about missing horse shows appeared in the June 2020 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

The post Missing Horse Shows appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

Trying a new riding discipline (dressage) takes an experienced equestrian back to square one.

Like many kids, I spent my youth in Hunter Land: fluffy white pads, braided reins, last-minute slathers of hoof polish. But in law school, the closest stable trained in dressage. I’d known a handful of dressage ladies growing up, but I’d assumed these middle-aged women were simply afraid of oxers (goals beyond “jump high” did not compute). I’d lessoned with visiting dressage pros but took it about as seriously as I would have taken a jousting lesson—fun, but not especially relevant. So this would be new.

Rider Transitions

I approached my dressage transition exactly as I’d approached law school: It’s only three years! It’ll make you better! Well-rounded! You’ll learn a new language! It’s an adventure! I figured I would eat my flatwork broccoli and return, miraculously improved, to my brown jumps.

I strutted into the new barn assuming my fancy hunter headwear would do the talking for me. (The announcement, presumably, “As you can tell from my helmet, I am very snobby.”) I lengthened my stirrups before my first lesson. My feet were a mere breeze from freedom. Maybe I overdid it? My new trainer assured me I did not. She dropped them lower. Now a faraway sneeze could dislodge me.

This was a true riding school, and my lesson included mainly the 14-and-under crowd. But any swagger I already had evaporated when it became clear that I was the absolute worst in the class.

I quickly discovered I’d been relying on jamming my heels down to quiet my leg.

Dressage Reality Check

“Renvers!” my trainer shouted. (For the non-dressage riders out there, my trainer was asking for a haunches-out movement in which the horse travels parallel to the long side of the arena with his body curved away from the center of the ring.)

OH NO, I realized. I AM AN ADULT BEGINNER. I glanced around to see what everyone else was doing. Ahead of me was the clueless 10-year-old whose backward polos I’d fixed before the lesson. I tried to make my horse look like hers.

We picked up a sitting trot, which would have been easier bareback than in my dangling stirrups. OK, we will hold it together for today, then get in a hot bath until sometime next quarter.

I bobbled hopelessly without my stirrup crutches. The irregular rhythm mocked me. You. Bounce. Are. Flounce. So. Plop. Bad. Flop.

Time to Question

My stirrups were too short. My reins were too long. My upper body tipped. My legs swung. My hips did not swing enough. There’s really nothing quite like thinking you’re good at a thing and then having your pride sadly handed back to you, like a pair of beautiful reins your horse has chewed to pieces. But in this humiliation, a new door opened in my brain.

I had always been too intimidated to ask questions. What if my trainer thinks I’m stupid? What if I AM stupid? Or worse, what if the other KIDS think I’m stupid? Good hunters, of course, approach their sport with the same curiosity and precision as dressage riders do. But I had stopped learning, stopped thinking, stopped (never started!) questioning.

Now I was forced to don my big-girl breeches and just ask what a travers was and how to halt squarely. Maybe it was law school, maybe it was a new trainer who saw me as an adult, or maybe it was just that I was terrible and desperate, but I asked lots of questions. (FYI: travers is “haunches in.”)

I was amazed to find thorough explanations for everything we did. I no longer dumbly bullied my way through a problem. I took a walk break and thought my way through it. My horse is dragging me. Maybe we rebalance with trot-halts instead of kicking forward into nothing?

A Re-Education on Education

I hear you thinking, Of course you can think your way through a riding issue. What is wrong with her? How did she get into law school? Where does she live so I can avoid her forever?

But for me, switching disciplines was a breakthrough. My three years of dressage was a forced, humbling recalibration—the equivalent of someone saying, “You think you’re OK at writing? Have you tried it in German?”

I was no Charlotte Dujardin by the end of my dressage stint, but I’d learned a new language. And I’d relearned how to learn—how to ask questions, process answers, try new movements, feel results, and adjust.

I never returned to hunter land, but as a jumper, a little dressage is my secret weapon. And on a hot day, I’ll spend 40 minutes on lateral movements at the walk (I could definitely hang with those middle-aged women now). Dressage taught me skills I still love to flash, but more importantly, it taught me how to be a beginner again.

Today, I ask my trainers more questions than anyone they teach. Because my dressage years taught me if I ask, I’ll understand why. And if I understand why, the “how” might make sense. And once the “how” makes sense, there’s a chance even I can produce a renvers.

This Your Horse Life column, about being patient, humble, and open to learning while acquiring a new riding discipline, appeared in the April 2021 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

The post Your Horse Life: A New Beginner appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

Emily shares a humorous story any rider can connect with, especially if you’ve ever not wanted to clean your tack locker or tack trunk.

The afternoons are getting warmer. The humidity is turning the gray winter dust covering everything in sight into a vague slime.

You can feel the rainy, sticky hand of spring on your shoulder: “It’s time,” she whispers.

“It’s time to clean.”

One Tuesday night, you have plenty of time. No work crises. A busy spouse. But that won’t do. You need to pick another day, a day when you have 10,000 things to do, deadlines looming, and your significant other is texting, “Are you coming home tonight?”

Much better. You are officially suffocating under your personal and professional commitments. What better time to undertake an hours-long cleansing of your horse and all your belongings?

Starting Over

Before you start to clean, you take in the state of shambles that is your tack locker; two to three months of ignoring cleaning duties in the cold has led to sticky tack, disgusting saddle pads, grimy blankets and a dusty tack trunk. You seriously consider throwing everything away, switching barns and starting over. But a new identity is not in the budget. And it’s just a little crud. You can do this!

You begin by shampooing and scrubbing your surly, businesslike mare, who is positively aggrieved by the extra attention.

“I also hate this,” you assure her, as she lifts her giraffe nose and moves away from your sponge. Soap runs down your arms into your undergarments, and her tail whips you in the eyeball. But eventually she is clean, dry and munching hay.

Getting to the Bottom

Next, you empty your tack trunk. You are horrified to learn you have roughly 200 half-used tack sponges. You wipe down or shake out everything—tack cleaner, shampoo bottles, treat buckets, leather punch, saddle pads, old horse boots. You toss mysterious plastic bags and vet bill envelopes. Hordes of insects scurry away because you are ruthless, and they are afraid of your ruthlessness.

You tip over the trunk and dump out the dust, dirt and broken treats. Now you’re cooking with gas. You stab at the grungiest areas with a broom before attacking them with a rag.

At this point, you’re starting to feel bad about the spiders you’re evicting. But you’re also regretting all the times you saw them this winter and turned a blind eye, thinking, I know, spider. It’s cold. You can stay.

Bridles & Brushes

Every piece of leather in your trunk is moldy, which is a surprise because you’d forgotten you even had leather in your tack trunk. You assail the jumble of straps with mold-inhibiting tack cleaner and return them to the trunk to forget about them for another year.

Your tack is the only inanimate stuff in passable condition. But your saddle, bridle and breastplate still suffer a thorough delousing.

You throw away four sponges during this filth exorcism, which is for the best since you’ve evidently been hoarding hundreds of them for the tack cleaning apocalypse.

You feel a surge of guilt as you behold your grooming tools with fresh, spring eyes. They are undoubtedly making your horse dirtier.

You slog the brushes to the hose to assault them with soap, chewing yourself out for not doing this every week of your life like a responsible horse person. You nestle the clean brushes, picks and curries into the grooming box and feel good about yourself for several seconds. Until you see your blankets.

Kill It With Fire

Your blankets are on life support. They are but a faint suggestion of their original color. One belly strap has been gleefully ripped from its seam by your ungrateful mare. You resist the urge to light the blankets on fire. For too much money, the professional blanket cleaner conducts actual magic, and the blankets return clean, repaired and shrink-wrapped into cubes, as if winter and your horse never happened.

Your dirty saddle pads have accumulated in a wretched, smelly stack that should be destroyed. But you can’t justify all new pads, so you bitterly scrape off most of the horsehair and smuggle them into your washing machine when your spouse isn’t watching. They must be washed twice.

Now you’re ready for spring. New grass! New goals! New promises to clean your brushes regularly! You enjoy a whole four minutes of spotless bliss before your horse rolls. But she’s so cute.

This Your Horse Life column features a humorous story about how to clean your tack locker appeared in the April 2020 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

The post Your Horse Life’s Spring Clean-Mageddon: How to Clean Your Tack Locker appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

When I walked into the barn last weekend, six people were crowded in the aisle in a tight cluster, doing nothing. We are a fun, chatty barn, but we’re also busy, so people tend to chat as they do things, hands full of hoof picks and saddle pads. As I approached, it became clear they were not doing nothing. the tell-tale snorts were dead giveaways they were watching a riding video.

“That jump is so big!” one said.

“Look at your leg!”

“Look at your horse!” Five adult women were watching a teenager’s recent riding lesson on a tiny screen and metaphorically detonating a glitter bomb of positivity into her life.

Isolation

I am the strong, silent type at the barn—an introverted equestrian. Once I was past ponies, my barn had lots of adults and lots of younger kids, but not many riders my age. I quickly—and as a borderline introverted equestrian, contentedly—got used to barn time being alone time.

As an adult, I have a job and a husband, and sometimes I need to eat and sleep. I have to carefully plan to unearth even slivers of free time to jam in equine activities. So, in addition to enjoying going solo, I didn’t think I had the luxury of time to be social at the barn. I dug my little hole of solitude, and that’s where I happily lived.

Coming Into the Light

But in the six years I’ve spent at my current barn, I’ve been slowly dragged from that hole, against my will, and forced to make friends. It has been a painfully slow run. It started with one extremely outgoing blonde who made it her mission to extract friendship from me, plying me with riding compliments and queso (cheese dip). She succeeded.

I switched stalls and accidentally introduced myself to more people—moms and teens and young professionals—all asking about my ride, petting my horse’s nose and slowly crawling into my business with talk about school, work and which leg looks lame. Before I knew it, I was neck-deep in a community. And not only did I realize I had time, but instead of the harried, exhausted feeling I’d expected, it felt … what was this feeling? Nice? Because our barn’s social universe tends toward one thing: positivity.

Meeting a Need for an Introverted Equestrian

What made it feel so nice was not (entirely) that I am a busy, evil lawyer starved for the voice of another human, but that I am a doubt-filled ball of anxiety starved for the dulcet tones of people telling me I rode well and my horse looks pretty. And actually, we’re all starving for that.

I love to see it in action: kids lavishing praise on each other’s horses; adult amateurs high-fiving over the height they jumped; teenagers finding bright spots to applaud in really bad, rough rounds; people sharing war stories of bad show days with a freshly excused rider; and inter-generational laughs over refusals and falls that come as easily as smiles over perfection and ribbons.

And always, infinitely, people offering to video each other’s lessons, an army of Kris Kardashians in breeches, tripping over one another to gush, “YOU’RE DOING AMAZING, SWEETIE!” In a nutshell, everyone casually being their best selves to each other.

In Sharp Contrast

I’ve been to the kinds of barns where you can cut the negativity with a hoof knife. Quiet barns, where no one offers to help, lessons are whispered over and kids compare their ponies with angst.

Some barns like that are very successful, producing stars that ride in shows where I’d be thrilled just to spectate. But as a reformed solo artist, I’m here to sing the praises of the positive support group.

There’s simply no greater relief than walking out of the ring after a terrible work day and a truly shameful lesson to hear the next student say—even if you think it’s a lie—“You guys looked great!” Because like other really good things in life, the positivity you spread tends to rebound exponentially, sometimes when you really need it.

An Introverted Equestrian Spreads the Love

It’s just as good life advice as it is barn advice: Like someone’s boots? Tell ‘em! Think someone’s horse looks extra-shiny? Say it! Someone made the awkward oxer look easy? Praise is due! Your lesson partner has killer arm muscles? Tell her!

Think that little pony kid is the most adorable little one you’ve seen? Tell his mom; she will die of happiness. Is there a 2% chance the object of your positivity grenade will roll her eyes? Yes. But isn’t that worth the 98% chance you’ll open a fissure of joy and rainbows?

Better still, there’s a 100% chance that positivity will build a wonderful, supportive place where five women who have horses to ride and tack to clean will stand in the barn aisle, watch a two-minute video of someone else’s ride and tell her she’s doing awesome.

So throw down a glitter bomb of positivity. And if your grouchy target rolls her eyes at first—just add compliments and queso.

This story from an introverted equestrian appeared in the February 2020 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

The post Your Horse Life: Introverted Equestrian Goes Rogue appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

Legend has it that some people have unlimited time with their horses. They lazily chat up their friends and cool out for an hour. They graze their horses until they’re bone dry. They linger for hours playing with the dogs and watching the goings-on ringside. They don’t have to even think about a work-life-horse balance.

They never blow in 12 minutes before their lessons and power-walk their horses to the ring, apologizing breathlessly. They don’t send emails from their horses’ backs. They don’t spill 500 peppermints across the barn aisle because they were trying to carry everything in one time-saving trip. They never cancel lessons with two hours’ notice because they’re stuck at work, and they don’t skip cleaning tack because they have to at least see their husbands tonight.

But through no fault of our own, we mere mortals occasionally fall into the tack-neglecting, last-minute-canceling category. During particularly brutal cycles of this behavior, I often end up in meltdown mode: sick of late nights, sick of rearranging lessons, and terminally sick of paying other people to enjoy my horse.

I work hard to keep my work/life/horse balance in check, and I can usually get the job done. But sometimes it starts to look more like work/life/and-if-there’s-time-maybe-horse.

Sometimes work is the problem. Sometimes life gets in the way. But what suffers first and most is the horse time. For me, the horse time is the entire point of the work time. Here are some rules that help me keep things in check, which you may find helpful, too.

Get In Where You Fit In

After patiently hearing another round of blubbering about paying all this money for a horse I barely get to see, my husband logically suggested, “Could you ride weekday mornings?”

And it turns out, if I got up early enough, I could. That simple change added a few barn days each month. Even better, it prevents a harried, end-of-day text to ask someone to longe the horse I pay a bajillion dollars to ride. Even better than that, for 12 hours, it makes me the nicest lawyer you’ve ever met.

Can you swap weekdays to weekends? Weekends to weekday evenings? Go earlier. Go later. Stop by mid-day! Quit your job! OK, don’t do that. But you get the picture.

Set a Timer

When my work/life/horse balance craters, it feels like everything is suffering. My work quality suffers if I skip out early to fit in a ride. My riding suffers if I’m rushed at the barn. My personal life suffers if I bring too much work home. And all this misery starts with a lack of time.

Now I set a phone alert to remind me when to leave the office. Before I warm up, I set an alarm to tell me when to stop in time to make it home at a reasonable hour. Sometimes it’s a 45-minute schooling ride. Sometimes it’s a 15-minute hack in the grass.

No gossiping in the aisle. No elective tack trunk-cleaning procedures. It avoids apologies and anxiety, and I get to ride without feeling like I’m racing around the city, disappointing people and animals at every stop.

Use Those Spare Minutes

Nobody’s happy when I finally make it to the barn and my arms and legs are wet noodles. If I can’t ride, I’ll squeeze in some cardio or core work. The benevolent internet has gifted us with unlimited riding fitness blogs and videos. Go nuts.

Read some articles about equitation, impulsion, or how to nail a collected canter—they’re perfect for desk lunches, airport trams and waiting rooms. And amazingly, that stuff eventually sinks in and can improve your limited saddle time.

Don’t Beat Yourself Up

I once walked into the barn and was immediately deflated when a preteen with no responsibilities, who has never changed into her breeches in the car, stroked my horse’s nose and said, “I feel like you haven’t been here in forever!” Oh, hello, guilt.

Let go of that stuff. If you need to spend time with your family, finish a project that’s dragging, or get home to see your spouse, your horse can handle a day off. And if you can stomach paying for an extra training ride that’s going to save your week, it’s worth it.

Work and life are always going to try to buck you well clear of your work/life/horse balance. But if you get creative and practical, you can do what we horse people do best: dust off your horse, get in that saddle, and forget about the rest.

This article about maintaining a work-life-horse balance originally appeared in the November 2019 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

The post Your Horse Life: Finding Your Work, Life, Horse Balance appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

I don’t want to show up, ride, and hit the road; I prefer to steep in the barn until I am pruny with horsiness, a human tea wrung from sunlight, grass, fly spray, leather cleaner, horsehair, dust, and errant straws of hay.

Horse Ownership Guilt: The Harsh Reality

But some days, when I catch a glimpse of my bank account, I wish I loved something else. Something less expensive, like gardening. Or exotic cars. Or Manhattan real estate.

I’m usually what a kind person might call frugal, and others might call cheap. But that thriftiness typically walks right up to the barn gate or the tack store door, turns on its heel and steps out to get a cup of coffee for a few hours.

When my penny-pinching side returns, I find myself mired in guilt. I can see how this looks to the average human. I know it sounds weird that you can lease a horse (or that you can lease a horse for a show season). That you might regularly pay a second mortgage to keep your steed happy and fit. That you can shell out hundreds or thousands for a single weekend of “fun” during which your horse may delight you with a 10-cent ribbon. Or he might just as easily dump you in the courtesy circle, refuse the last fence, or pull a shoe on the longeline before your first class (because the one individual who definitely doesn’t know or care what you spent is your horse).

I’m lucky my sainted husband encourages me to lease the horse and buy the breastplate. “Just do it,” he nudges. “You love it.” He is the quiet force behind all kinds of expenditures I certainly would have money-shamed myself out of without his support. (He does have a brother, but he’s married. Sorry, ladies.)

But I still cringe. How many vacations am I spending on the farrier? How many charitable donations am I burning through with the vet? What else could we do with this money? (Answer: A lot.)

My Informal Survey

I informally surveyed 18 horse people to get a sense of their approach—and, let’s face it, to feel better about myself—and I found two overwhelming similarities: nearly all of us felt guilt, and nearly all of us wondered how others managed.

Most of us pay for our horse-related expenses from our own incomes, though a few do so with spousal or parental support. Our spending varies from under $500 per month to $3,000 per month, and from less than 10 percent to more than 50 percent of our incomes (10 to 20 percent was most common).

A big surprise to me was that most of us don’t formally budget our horse expenses, though we have a general sense of our limitations and try to stay within them. I have to assume that, like me, some purposefully avoid writing it all down to prevent dying of shock.

When something extra crops up—a show, a clinic, a killer deal on a bridle—we typically check our budgets on the fly to assess whether we can stand the hit. But we’re sensible, too, making horse leases and ownership work while contributing to retirement accounts, savings accounts, investments, car payments, mortgages, insurance, student loans and other expenses.

Yet despite mostly footing the bill ourselves, keeping a firm feel of our finances, and saving responsibly, 83 percent reported feeling guilty about horse-related spending sometimes or often. Most said it was worth it. 11 percent said they sometimes wondered if it was.

A lucky few said they or their spouse/parent work hard to pay for their horse activities, and they don’t feel guilty at all. I wish I were in this last group, because I do work hard to lease my horse, but I am decidedly in the first. I feel guilty all the time, and I’ve even found myself wondering if it’s worth it. A good hack always changes my mind.

A Worthwhile Guilt

But if you, too, feel the pinch of guilt as you write your next check to the vet or your trainer, take solace in the fact that you’re not alone. Sure, some people hit the lottery with trust funds or endless resources, but most of us are in this together, turning up our noses at $150 designer heels for work so we can slap our plastic down for the nice galloping boots.

This is a pricey passion at the lowest level. Don’t forget to take a deep breath. Inhale the smell of fresh shavings. Enjoy the scent of clean leather. Feel a soft velvet nose. Steep in the horsiness until you’re pruny. It won’t be long before you remember why it’s worth it.

This article about horse ownership guilt originally appeared in the September 2018 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

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I am a deeply envious person. It’s a terrible trait. I complained internally for years that I’d never be able to lease or buy a horse. The ink was still wet on the agreement to lease my mare when I started complaining that I would never get to buy a saddle, which it suddenly felt like everyone was doing. The new saddle (I needed one!) was barely broken in when I started griping this purchase meant I could never horse show like the other riders at my barn.

I am the Comparison Queen. I lust after other people’s horses, tack, riding apparel, and—most often—the seemingly endless time they have to spend at the barn (how?).

In conclusion, I am jealous and awful. And this sport, where someone always has more, is rough on a green-eyed monster like me. But I’ve realized I only compare myself to others when I think they have something better: a fancier horse, a cooler half-pad, a quieter upper body … et cetera.

Jealous Horse Riders: You vs. You

So in an effort to shove some gratitude down my throat, I’ve been endeavoring to see my unappreciative self through the eyes of someone with less: younger me. That’s right, when I’m struck with a bout of barn envy these days, I sit myself down for a reality check with 12-year-old Emily. Here’s how I think she’d respond to some common “complaints”:

Oh, you get to ride horses, but you can’t lease or buy one? I know, girl. But do you know how lucky you are? You have disposable income (or time, and a friend with horses) and you get to use it on something you love. Also? No homework. Also, can I tell you how fervently I’ve prayed that one day I’d convince the parents to buy the breeches you have and “invest” in some nice tall boots like yours? Do you want to trade? I’ll trade!

Oh, you jumped a lovely course, but someone else’s was better? OK, yes, I’m just as disappointed as you are that we’re not at the Olympics by now. But get over it. Stop being a jealous horse rider.

And holy moly. Do you realize what this means? It means you’ve taken enough lessons and put in enough time to not only be killing your lead changes but jumping courses (sometimes not even small ones!) without breaking a sweat. You’re a decent rider. We did it!

Oh, you get to lease a horse, but you don’t own one? Hold up. As long as we’re time traveling, I want you to rewind and take a hard look at yourself just two years ago. Look yourself in the face and tell that face you are leasing a horse, but it’s not enough. I want you to tell that person—whose jaw is now on the ground—that it’s not fair you only get to have this beautiful mare to ride and hang out with anytime you want. Did you hear that thud? That was the two-years-ago version of you fainting from jealousy and disbelief, because you are acting like a fool.

Oh, you don’t have the insanely expensive bridle you want? Yeah, I, too, like to circle the really fancy tack and “accidentally” leave the catalog open on the coffee table. But you know this isn’t a magic pill, right? You know this bridle isn’t going to fix your busy hands, correct? I feel like you know it, but you aren’t internalizing it.

And do me a favor. Borrow the fanciest bridle in your barn. Hold that bridle in one hand and your existing bridle in the other. Show your horse. Yep—she doesn’t care. She wants a cookie. If your tack fits, is in decent shape, and functions, she’s happy. Why aren’t you? And spoiler alert: Your horse finds both bridles equally tasty.

Oh, you got to go to a show, but you can’t go to every show like some people at your barn? Yeah. I see what you mean. You should probably hang up your helmet and quit. Riding is all about ribbons and silver bowls. If you aren’t pursuing those things, it’s pretty meaningless.

So if you can only go to a horse show once a quarter, or once a year, or once a decade, just stop whining because you are genuinely hurting my soul with your petty ungratefulness. Did you know some people will never get to go to a horse show? Did you know some of those people are probably at your barn and jealous of you? You don’t even like shows that much.

Oh, you own a horse, but [insert any minor complaint]? I literally cannot believe you are saying this to me with a straight face. You have your own horse to pet and scratch and ride and spoil? You know what? Don’t take it from me. Find any 5- to 12-year-old girl, and tell her you have a horse. Show her pictures. Tell her your horse’s name. Watch her reaction. You’re going to feel terrible. And you should.

That’s all there is to it. Next time you yearn for someone’s gorgeous new fleece-lined leather open front boots, just remember what 12-year-old you would tell you, and revel in how lucky you are to get to spend time with horses at all.

And don’t worry. Those fleece-lined boots will be filthy in no time.

This article about a jealous horse rider originally appeared in the August 2018 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

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