Now secured in crossties, Blackie tried to stand still, but he could not help himself from twisting his lithe body ever so slightly left to right, assessing all that was going on around him. Meanwhile, I gently stroked his supple neck and massaged his firm withers as I spoke softly into his furry ears and kissed his velvety muzzle. With these small gestures, I wanted to see if I could build my own bond with him, to observe if, with time, he might respond to and trust me like he did Gail. Quickly realizing that there was an immediate connection, Gail embraced the opportunity, saying, “Would you like to try Blackie? He moves as good as he looks.” 

Of course, I wanted to ride him, but in refusing to acknowledge this instinctive impulse, I clung to some semblance of my rational self and respectfully declined the generous offer.  

“Thank you, Gail, but no, not today,” I said. “I don’t have that ‘I’m ready to jump on a racehorse’ frame of mind.” 

Even though Blackie had already gripped my imagination, I held back from mounting him upon that spur-of-the-moment invitation, because I was afraid of this undeveloped prospect, unsure that I should or could accept such a splendid dare. While concerned about compatibility, I was mostly preoccupied with where such a big step might lead me. Before experiencing that closest of rapports between horses and humans that riding represents, I needed to pause, to ask myself if I should curb my quickening fancy and first consider the implications of a spirited horse like Blackie. Would he be too much for me? On many levels? Could I handle him? Could I train him? I pondered privately. Most importantly, though, I wondered, Could I manage him and my demanding job at the same time? What if this capricious creature upset all that I had struggled to establish as a professional woman, risking the mighty foundation I had built up for myself and into which I had cemented my very identity?  

On the heels of these trifling rationalizations, I closed the matter at hand by saying to Gail, “While I don’t believe Twinkles is a match for me, please give me some time to think about Blackie, as you consider whether you really want to let him go.” 

Unconsciously, I must have known that mounting him then and there would have ripped open a floodgate of repressed emotions that I was unprepared to confront. But those hidden feelings were precisely the secret sentiments Gary was hoping I would tap back into by having a horse in my life again, convinced that any Sturm und Drang unleashed by this magnificent 1,200-pound ball of pure energy would be temporary and, in the end, all for the good. He simply paid no mind to my inner conflict about this whole horse thing. Instead, he capitalized on the fact that, ever since stepping foot in the barn at Altamira Ranch, I had been eyeing this mysterious black beauty. 

Naturally intuitive, Gail sensed the tug-of-war going on inside me and leapt at another chance to steer me toward Blackie. 

“I know Thoroughbreds can be intimidating,” she said. “They’re a lot of horse, but once you understand them, they’re truly the best.”  

Gail found herself encouraging my nascent attraction, because, if she had to part with her Blackie, she wanted to place him with someone like me who revealed an instant affinity, however much I was trying to deny it. Assuring her that we would be in touch again soon, Gary and I took our leave, and as we headed to our car, I looked back over my shoulder and saw Blackie’s eyes fixed on me. 

While retracing our path back over the Santa Ynez Mountains to our home in the Santa Barbara foothills, we each quietly considered our day’s adventure. The lulling sound of the car’s pliant tires rolling against the hard asphalt filled the tranquil space between us. For me, this rare excursion together had been a refreshing change of pace from my normal workaholic grind, and I enjoyed the sense of calm it brought. As it turns out, though, it was short-lived. 

When we approached home, winding slowly up toward Rattlesnake Canyon on narrow, curving roads bordered with gnarled oaks and craggy boulders, Gary broke our silent musings. Being a decisive person, he simply stated, “I think you’ve found your horse. Search no further!” 

“What!? Why do you say that? What makes you so sure?” I shot back defensively, fearing deep down that he might be right.  

“Well, for starters, he’s smart and good-looking. And it’s about time you had someone like that in your life,” Gary quipped. Smiling wide now, he added, “There’s already some kind of woman-horse communication thing going on between the two of you. It just seems like love at first sight. Put it this way: if you ever looked at another man the way you looked at that horse, I would know the marriage was over!” 

Laughing under my breath, I had to confess, “Yes! Blackie’s definitely in my head, and more importantly in my heart, but he’s so green.”  

Gary quickly countered, intent on influencing my deliberations, “His naiveté is not a detriment. Think of his rawness and need for attention as assets. Even I can tell he’s a force of nature, but by bringing him into your life, you will help him while also finding a healthy kind of absorption. You desperately need that. Something good and wholesome but also challenging to check your obsession with work.” As I let Gary’s words sink in, he gently pressed one last time. “Call Gail and get on his back and see what you think, before she changes her mind or someone else grabs him.” 

Pre-order Fur Mama here.

This excerpt from Fur Mama by Diana Dupont is reprinted with permission from Trafalgar Square Books.

The post An Excerpt from Fur Mama appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

Hidden Campsite

Whether it was my sense of direction, good luck, or a skill I’d developed, I usually was able to keep us true to the westerly direction I wanted to go in. But several factors over a few days had brought us a bit south of where I wanted to be. I’d perused my maps and talked it over with the Newtons, a ranching family we’d stayed with, and we had a route in mind that would angle us north and west. Following the directions Dave and Jeff Newton gave me had us sharing the road with traffic, and riding past car lots and fast-food restaurants. At a burger joint in Los Lunas, New Mexico, two reporters caught up to us, and I answered their questions while Rainy and Amanda, my horse and mule and Gypsy, my Collie-German_shepherd mix, and I took a break from the road. I held back a laugh when one reporter, nervously eyeing Rainy’s big head practically resting on the picnic table, asked “Uh, do they always stay right at the table with you when you eat?”

A few miles past Los Lunas the stores and commercial businesses dwindled. By late in the day, we’d completely left that world behind. My animals and I were back in the land of open space and sage brush, where there was no one around but us. The Newtons had described an old water tower to me, and I searched for it as we traveled along the lonely road. “Is it okay to camp there?” I’d asked, and they’d laughed. “Who’s going to bother you?” Mr. Newton had answered. “There’s no one out there.”

They’d spoken the truth. Right about when I began to feel the day should be winding down, I spied the top of the old water tower. We turned down a narrow path that led away from the road and down a sandy incline toward railroad tracks. There was a little hollow down the slope and the remains of an old fence leaned in along the tracks. I dismounted and began the little rituals that made a place feel like “our place” when we camped.

Like every day, the first thing I did was relieve Rainy and Amanda of their burdens. I wanted them to know their work was done and they could rest and relax. I took my saddle, the pack saddle, and the packs, and placed them around our camping spot. It created a curving boundary of sorts and became the outline of our home for the night. It made me feel less like we were small specks in the wide-open space. I fed the animals, opening little bags of sweet feed onto the ground. I stayed with them while they ate, scratching their itchy spots, and hugging their necks. I thanked them for all they’d done during the day.

Our spot was invisible from the road, and though that’s usually what I wanted, it somehow felt extra secluded by the water tank. I had that strange sensation that came with the feeling that not one person in the world knew where we were.

I slept restlessly and woke from a dream that involved a raft and a dark empty sea. I looked outside the tent and saw that Rainy and Amanda were near, staying close in the brushy area we’d claimed.

Late in the night, I woke again, this time to a noise that I should not have heard, tucked away in the desert gully by the unused railroad tracks. It was not wild animals or blowing wind that caused me to sit up and listen.

It was the unmistakable sound of revelry. The clink of bottles, the faint bass beat of music, the occasional smashing of glass and bursts of male laughter.

With a sharp intake of breath, I sat up and grasped the loose scruff of Gypsy’s neck in my hand. We both stayed still, straining our ears. I prayed, willing so hard that the partiers came no farther down the track. I prayed that Rainy wouldn’t neigh, that Amanda wouldn’t send her unusual bray/whinny out into the night. I listened to see if it sounded like those partiers were on the move. How many did it sound like? Were they a few innocent teens out for a clandestine six-pack, or a mob of nasty men, cruising the desert at night?

Gypsy and I sat that way, listening, for what seemed like a long while. My breath was shallow and my heart beat too fast.

Finally, there was the sound of a few more bottles breaking, the slap of a hand on a vehicle, and then the sound of car doors slamming and an engine starting up. At last, the noise faded into silence.

After a while, I allowed myself to lie back down. I dozed again, eventually, but it was the kind of sleep that had served my dog and horse companions and our ancient ancestors so well; sleep that was shallow, with senses still partly alert, tuned to catch the sound of danger in the night.

Order Distant Skies here.

This excerpt from Distant Skies by Melissa Chapman is reprinted with permission from Trafalgar Square Books.

The post An Excerpt from Distant Skies appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

The most basic assumption about riding a horse is to go, to move. But there is more to it: The horse needs to learn to move from a cue, and remain moving in a steady fashion of his own volition, in the gait and tempo we dictate, like a car in cruise control, until we tell him otherwise. 

To initially set a horse in motion, or move from the halt to the walk, most horses will spontaneously “go” as a result of a slight squeezing of both legs. Leg aids work because they touch and activate the horse’s abdominal muscles, which pull the hind legs forward and lift the back. 

You want to teach your horse to respond to subtle aids from the outset—quiet signals from the seat, weight, legs, hands, and voice. These are the “natural” aids that communicate with the horse. Whips and spurs are “artificial” aids that should only supplement or refine natural aids. 

It isn’t necessary to use sharp kicks as are so commonly employed. You don’t want to teach your horse that harsh or repeated aids, like pumping your seat or kicking, are the cue to go, or you will become tired and frustrated from doing that the rest of your riding life. Indeed, you will likely end up escalating your kicking or pumping as time goes by because your horse may wait to see whether you are finished, or when you finally give that last “hard enough” kick or push. In fact, pumping with your seat actually produces the opposite effect of what you want: the pressure causes the horse’s back to sink, his head to rise, his croup to rise, his front legs move out in front of him and his hind legs move out behind him, so that he becomes shaped like a trapezoid. His lowered back and belly actually prevent his hind legs from moving forward. 

Aids Inform the Horse—They Are Not the Moving Force

Consider riding aids to be a form of sign language in which gestures convey meaning; a specific bodily movement means “go.” Such a signal informs the horse to go; the application of the aid itself does not physically compel the body to move. When a horse understands, he will go. 

Because your horse only knows what you teach him, be judicious and show him what he is meant to do when you communicate with him through the use of an aid. Use specific and consistent aids for each response you seek. Apply a gentle aid and see whether you get the desired response. If not, be more aggressive for one try then return to the slight aid. Often, horses offer several simultaneous responses when given an aid, so eliminate everything but the response you want. Eventually, your horse will understand that that request is the one and only aid for one action—“one response for one aid.” 

As riding instructor Sharon Vander Ziel remarks, “People always say that a horse can feel a fly landing on him, but did you ever notice that horses ignore flies? They’ll ignore you, too!” This shrewd observation reminds us that everything doesn’t work perfectly or instantly with horses, so be patient, keep trying, and expect results in small increments. Ask gently. If you don’t get a response, ask bigger until you do, then return to the slight aid. 

Be Consistent

Many people don’t realize they routinely use random aids. For example, many who want to trot urge their horse forward, pumping and kicking, without thinking it through. When I ask students to tell me what they systematically did to ask their horse to trot, they often just stare at me, perplexed. Such inconsistency creates confusion in the horse and puts him in the position of having to guess what you are asking for. When he guesses wrong, he may be blamed for being disobedient. 

Be methodical and patient with giving only the cue that you want to use until you get the response that you seek. Remember that alphabet that dressage trainer Jane Savoie taught us: Think of giving aids like spelling a word—if you want your horse to trot, make sure you spell “t-r-o-t” the same way every time; don’t spell “k-i-w-i” one time, then spell “c-l-o-w-n” yet another. Giving aids in different combinations, or “spelling different words,” compels your horse to guess what you want, and aids should not be unanswerable multiple choice situations. 

The minute you turn the corner and decide to be 100 percent clear, precise, and consistent with your horse on everything, you’ll find your horse will better respond to your requests. It can help to think of the kata in martial arts: a kata refers to a prescribed, detailed pattern of specific, choreographed movements that are repeated under the eye of a master until the movements being executed are perfected. Experts say the purpose of kata is to train the muscles. By consistently doing the same motions, your brain will become more comfortable with lacing together combinations and turning and moving a certain way. Eventually, you will be able to habitually duplicate particular movements without conscious effort; it becomes “first nature”—something you “are” rather than something you “do.” If you bring the kata mentality to using your aids, your horse will never be confused about what you are telling him. It will be kata for him, too. The more deliberate you are, the happier you will be in the long run because you will have effectively installed the cue that you want to use.  

This excerpt from How to Ride the Horse You Thought You Bought by Anne Buchanan is reprinted with permission from Trafalgar Square Books.

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For successful saddle fitting, it is as important to address the dynamic stability of the rider as it is the horse. A horse should be able to perform at his best without discomfort. The same is true for a rider.

Some elements make it more challenging when evaluating a rider’s fit in the saddle in any English discipline, whether it is dressage, jumping, trail riding, or another activity. The following are just a few tricky issues that saddle fitters run across:

◆ There is often a mismatch between a rider’s perception and reality because human cognitive sensory information relies on patterns. As an example, if a rider regularly sits to the right side of the horse whenever mounted, the brain believes this position is correct and straight. In brief, the rider’s perception of her position and actions in the saddle is frequently inaccurate! As a result of this perception, when asked what kind of saddle fit a rider “likes,” the rider will usually “like what she knows,” versus “knowing what she likes.” We humans like familiarity, even when it is damaging.

◆ A rider may believe her horse’s lameness or movement issue is due to a problem with the horse, even though the horse doesn’t appear lame until the rider mounts up. Rider-influenced causes tend to go unnoticed, and instead we focus on the horse when we should be addressing the rider’s issues, or a problem with the fit of the equipment used.

◆ Riders, particularly more advanced riders, regularly ride through physical pain. That pain causes distortion of their position and compensatory movement. Rider compensations, often enacted unconsciously, occur to maximize the rider’s own comfort and effectiveness, but they typically affect the movement of the horse in a detrimental way.

◆ There is not much consistency in the education of riders today, particularly in the United States, where a standardized curriculum does not exist. Theories and techniques are mostly up to individual trainers, with little commonality between trainers, and we do not have a precise standardized terminology with which to teach riders.

◆ Amateur riders generally spend most of their time in non-riding activities. Many of those activities undermine the symmetry that is so important to riding. For example, static positions assumed while driving a car or sitting at a computer all day create stiffness and asymmetry in the body, and weakness of the core muscles. It is clear that horses develop a locomotor strategy to compensate for such inconsistency and rigidity in the rider. The outcome of rider asymmetry, such as significantly weighting one stirrup more than the other, pulling on one rein (thus using one seat bone more than the other), or collapsing through one side all causes the saddle to compress more on the weighted side and shift to the weighted side compromising the horse’s spine, and can deform the shape of the panels, as well as cause compensatory movement in the horse.

All the rider considerations just listed come into play when addressing saddle fit. Ground reaction force (GRF) from the horse’s hooves contacting the ground come up through his limbs while the pressure of the rider pushes downward on the horse’s back. The saddle sits in the middle. Consider a right-hand-dominant rider—that rider is likely stronger throughout her right side. In response, her horse may then brace through his ribcage on the right side, causing the saddle to collapse and deform on that side, or push sideways and shift more to the left. Either way, the result is crooked.

The amount of pressure from the rider on the horse’s back increases with speed of locomotion:

◆ Walk: Pressure is equal to the weight of the rider.

◆ Trot: Pressure is two to three times the weight of the rider.

◆ Canter: Pressure is three to four times the weight of the rider.

With these numbers in mind, it is clear that at the walk, a crooked rider has less negative impact on a horse’s back than at the trot and canter. Forces from the rider are increased in those faster gaits, as well as when jumping. The more suspension the horse has—the more bounce in the gaits—the greater the pressure from the rider. And it is also increased when the rider is stiff, unbalanced, or uncoordinated.

As equine athleticism increases through selective breeding, effective and balanced riding is much more challenging. It follows that there must be a change in the style of modern saddles to address the needs of the rider. As little as 30 to 40 years ago, jumping, dressage, and English-style trail saddles were essentially flat in the seat with very little, if any, knee roll. Now, saddles tend to have a deeper seat, larger knee rolls, sticky leather, and everything but a seat belt to keep riders more secure. This is particularly influenced by the number of amateur riders entering the market with a healthy budget for saddles with attributes that will help them achieve their goals on expensive, athletic horses.

When the seat of the saddle becomes deeper, with defined spots for the seat bones and knee rolls that control rider leg position, it is very easy to damage the rider if the saddle is not fit correctly—to both her and her horse. Anatomical features of each rider have to be recognized and understood when choosing a new saddle, or when achieving and maintaining balance in an existing saddle.

This excerpt from The Illustrated Guide to Saddle Fitting by Beverly Harrison is reprinted with permission from Trafalgar Square Books.

The post Is Your Saddle Making You Ride Badly? appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

Horses are naturally equipped to handle the colder months; summer heat tends to cause them more trouble than winter temperatures. As soon as the days begin to shorten in the fall, hormones responsible for coat growth kick into action by beginning to produce longer and thicker hair as well as a thicker undercoat. In addition to daylight, temperature plays a role: thermoreceptors will perceive a cold autumn and trigger the growth of a thicker coat. If a horse is kept indoors or blanketed, horses adapt by producing less winter fur.

As soon as the days begin to lengthen in December, horses will stop producing warmer coats, even if January brings extreme cold. This isn’t something to worry about, as horses who have spent the seasons in the same place will have a well-established coat—even a sudden hard frost won’t be an issue. (This is why it’s best to transition a horse from an indoor situation to your outdoor stabling in spring or summer.) However, it’s important to have well-fitting blankets on hand in case a horse develops a problem regulating his temperature due to illness. I’m not a fan of preventative blanketing for outdoor horses, but this doesn’t excuse irresponsibility. Each horse should have at least one insulated blanket and a waterproof sheet, even if they both gather dust for years. At the end of the day, it’s better to have an unnecessary blanket in your closet than to have a shivering, wet horse out in a blizzard. Calling a vet at night is a much greater inconvenience and expense than finding good blankets for your horses.

One of the most frequently asked questions in the early days of outdoor horse keeping was whether horses were cold living out in the winter, and the answer, more often than not, was: they’re horses, not people… they’re fine! But many caretakers, especially with purebred horses, saw the exact opposite: simply put, their horses were cold. It doesn’t always require the coldest temperatures, but sometimes just a quick drop from warm to cool. Cold, wet weather can really have an impact on a horse’s well-being. Wild animals have far more options when it comes to finding shelter from the wind and cold. They can find shrubs, tree cover, or uneven terrain to protect them from wind gusts.

Maintaining an optimal body temperature is an absolute necessity for any warm-blooded organism. A constant body temperature ensures the normal functioning of bodily processes. The heat that a horse receives from his environment, together with the heat he produces, must be in equilibrium with output. If this equilibrium is disturbed, overheating or excessive cooling can make a horse very uncomfortable and even quite sick.

A horse’s muscle mass is excellent at retaining the heat produced by processes like digestion (fermentation of fiber in the intestines) and producing heat through exercise. A horse’s core isn’t subject to temperature changes based on his surroundings (because horses are warm-blooded), but the peripheral parts of the body (ears, hooves, skin) behave much like a cold-blooded animal’s would: they partially adjust to the ambient temperature, helping to maintain a stable core temperature. This is why you can’t tell whether a horse is cold by feeling his ears!

Temperature Management

Horses are excellent at regulating blood flow in the subcutaneous vascular network, which significantly influences temperature management of the entire body. Heat loss can be managed by vasoconstriction: blood flow is reduced in areas where blood would be cooled by being close to the surface of the skin. Horses are also able to cool off through vasodilation: by expanding these same blood vessels, surface contact is maximized and excess heat is transferred through the skin.

Skin, subcutaneous tissue, and fat act as powerful insulators. For this reason, it’s a good idea to have horses go into the winter season with a few fat reserves—they will be far less bothered by the cold than a skinny or underweight horse.

Also, a well-made shelter can help protect a horse from the worst weather—an animal protected by a shelter can save up to 25 percent more energy reserves than an unprotected one. This is no small thing on difficult days! Horses that aren’t as cold on a windy, heat-robbing day will consume hay at a more relaxed pace as well, saving some strain on your wallet. A well-thought-out shelter, whether you build new or rebuild by converting an existing building, is an investment which will pay you back over time.

Shivering

Some take a shivering horse as the definitive signal that it’s time to blanket. Others believe that because shivering produces heat, the horses are warming themselves and are actually fine. So what’s the real story?

Peripheral thermoreceptors are activated by the skin becoming cold. As soon as a horse’s usual defenses fail to maintain a comfortable temperature—hair bristling (increasing the coats’ ability to insulate against the cold) and vasoconstriction (narrowing of the subcutaneous blood vessels)—the horse will begin to shiver. Using muscle tremors, the body will be able to increase heat production by about 30 percent. But there’s a catch—this only works for a short time, and it uses a great deal of energy.

Unfortunately, the first horses to begin shivering are usually somehow compromised: skinny, sick, old, or recovering from illness or injury. These horses are the ones with the smallest energy reserves, but even a fat, healthy horse can’t produce heat for long by shivering—the energy necessary for such demanding work is exhausted early. Although the body has other defenses against the cold as well (accelerated metabolism, for example), their effectiveness is limited. Shivering should be considered a sign that your horse is headed toward hypothermia—don’t take it lightly.

Tip: If you aren’t sure whether your horse is cold, place a hand by the elbow of a front leg. If this area is cold, your horse is cold enough that he’s uncomfortable.

This excerpt from Keeping Horses Outdoors by Iveta Jebáčková-Lažanská is reprinted with permission from Trafalgar Square Books.

The post Is My Horse Cold? – An Excerpt from Keeping Horses Outdoors by Iveta Jebáčková-Lažanská appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

Why is the mental state of the human so important to a sport commonly calculated as 80 percent horse? Because just as horses feel fear, tension, and anxiety, so too do they feel a confident rider with clear intent. Being present and calm, staying with your breath, and having a positive attitude about your objectives gives your horse an advantage.

Regardless of which horse sport you compete in, winning is the preferred goal. But it is typically nowhere in my own preparatory thoughts. In fact, the less I think about results, the better I can play. If result-oriented expectations do arise pre-competition, I enjoy the good ones, let the not-so-good ones slip away, and trust that when I begin playing, all expectations will disappear.

The line of questioning that most inspired me was something called the four resonance questions, developed by the sports psychologist Doug Newburg:

1. “What feelings do you seek to experience in your sport?”

2. “What prepares you to experience these feelings?”

3. “What prevents these feelings from occurring?”

4. “How can you get these feelings back when they are lost?”

Sorting through my answers to these questions, I was eventually able to articulate my “dream” in my sport. Although I wrote the following passage when I was 10 goals and 39 years old, most of it still holds true for me today:

The fall season has come and gone—some good, some bad. The other day I found a quote in a book—Close Range by Annie Proulx—which I had underlined years ago. It inspired me. Here is what it said about the “rough, bruising life” of a young rodeo rider: “…when he got on there was the dark lightning in his gut, a feeling of blazing real existence.”

This rings true for me. The dream for my polo is that feeling of blazing real existence. It makes me feel alive. One way that it blazes is that my senses are wide open when playing, totally perceptive, and acutely sensitive. Maybe it’s adrenaline, maybe it’s the sense of challenge about using my skills toward a contest. Perhaps it’s my “love-hate” relationship toward competitive situations—“Who is better?” Whatever, why-ever, I know that my gut blazes and I get that feeling of aliveness.

My dream is to find this feeling of intensity and sensory connection when I am playing my game. I can even learn to appreciate it (enjoy it?) while it’s there, and not only after the event. I reach this state through giving it my all; through thinking good thoughts, which enhance my confidence and ability to play well. Perhaps the stars just lined up correctly? This is the challenge: getting myself to this state of being. And it is another state of being—one of total awareness. I’m acting by “letting go” and letting my body lead. I’m not looking much at other players (teammates, opponents) or umpires. I’m trusting the strength of my horses; they feel a part of me. I may have a short outburst at an ump or opponent, but my anger quickly dissolves because there is no time. I have the next play to execute or prepare for. I am in it. My mind is comfortably locked on my objectives. These are simple and clear.

I am human and unnecessary thoughts do arise, even during best-best performances: “Geez, I’m playing one of my best games ever!” “I missed those two goals, I really want to finish my next chance—who’s watching?” “I hope we win this one, I just got out-dueled.” These thoughts are there, but when I’m living my dream and playing from my gut, I can deal with them. I recognize that it’s okay to have them—everybody does—and bring myself back to my breath, my tree, or my “next play” mantra. Sometimes, when the feeling doesn’t come easily in a particular match, the best technique is to try to “just be there,” with a calm mind, and trust that the game will get into me. That can be enough. It allows the sport to bring out my instincts, my anticipation, and hopefully my total connection with my horses and what I am doing. Outside the parameters of my field, good things come—accolades, money, team offers—because of my connection inside that field, and because of my mindset, which ironically has a lot to do with not caring what people think outside the boards. Even my goals of playing at the highest level of the sport for a long time, of being a great 10-goal player, of fulfilling my potential, are really things outside the boards. What is inside is that emotion of blazing real existence. Visit this often, go for it, and if it’s meant to be, my goals will take care of themselves.

My dream is to immerse in the feelings of intensity that I get from playing the game. I put myself in the most competitive situations possible because these challenges bring the “lightning in my gut.” Love-hate it may be, but these big feelings are my dream. They exist because I care.

I believe competition is a time to emphasize our strengths, to focus on positive things in our control, to trust and play. This is the best way I’ve found for putting expectations to the side, letting go, and enjoying the performance. Famous dance choreographer Alvin Ailey said that “freedom comes through discipline.” The discipline to prepare to the teeth, gives us the freedom to perform all out, thought-free.

I have come to believe that our mood, too, is in our control. Being positive simply means that you see the choices in front of you. We may sense that we woke up on the wrong side of the bed, or that our warm-up was a disaster, but it is usually possible to find (or invent) a positive lining—“bad rehearsal means good performance”—and shift focus onto the little things within our control. “What do I love about my sport?” is a question I ask myself before entering the competitive arena. For me: I love the ball, the teamwork, and the feel of the horse under me.

Free yourself of result-oriented thoughts, and bring your awareness into the present. Feel your calming breath flowing in and out, see the texture of the footing, hear the cadence of your horse’s stride. With your senses wide awake, and in the here and now, execute the task at hand to the best of your ability. Trust yourself. Trust your horse. Put your focus on the doing. After all, as Chungliang Al Huang and Jerry Lynch say in Thinking Body, Dancing Mind, “Focusing on the moment-by-moment joy and elation of the event will usually be reflected in winning outcomes.”

This excerpt from Winning with Horses is reprinted with permission from Trafalgar Square Books. Get a copy here. This is a web exclusive for Horse Illustrated magazine.

The post Preparing for Competition: Self-Reflection appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

An excerpt from Arena Tracks by Christian Baier.

These classical tracks are ultimately at the foundation of everything we are doing in the arena with the horse. It starts with the beginner rider just off the longe line learning the most basic tracks all the way to the most experienced rider working a horse at the highest level of equestrianism. Jumping courses even consist of a combination (or variation) of classical arena tracks strung together from start to finish marker!

The classical arena tracks that I outline here are just a few of the tracks that guide the rider in how to safely navigate the arena in an organized way, in addition to being a useful tool in the physical development of the horse. For the instructor, they are an important tool for communicating with the student.

So, why do we have tracks?
◆ To ride in an organized and safe way in an arena.
◆ To change direction with many options from basic to more advanced.
◆ To make it easier to deal with other horses in the arena.
◆ Basic tracks are of great help to the novice rider and inexperienced horse.
◆ They are excellent help in training accuracy.
◆ Riding tracks support and demonstrate the suppleness of the horse.

The eight tracks described in this excerpt are in reference to the standard dressage arenas, which come in two sizes: 20 x 40 meters and 20 x 60 meters.

Single-Loop Serpentine

◆ Purpose: Suppling through the bending line and change of flexion to the turning side.
◆ Possible tracks: From left and right using the quarterline for orientation. If stated in instructions, it can be ridden into X.

Change Direction Through the Circle

◆ Purpose: To change direction within the circle.
◆ Possible tracks: From left and right; from short and long sides.

Half-Circle Back

◆Purpose: Used to change direction.
◆ Possible tracks: Usually ridden from middle to end of long sides.

Half-Circle Back in Reverse

◆ Purpose: Used to change direction.
◆ Possible tracks: Usually ridden from the middle to the end of long sides.

Three-Loop Serpentine

◆ Purpose: Trains turning, accuracy, and frequent change of bending flexion. It is an excellent suppling exercise.
◆ Possible tracks: Can be ridden from left or right. Serpentines with an even number of loops create a change of direction. Serpentines with an odd number of loops maintain the same direction.

Four-Loop Serpentine

◆ Purpose: Trains turning, accuracy, and frequent change of bending flexion. It is an excellent suppling exercise.
◆ Possible tracks: Can be ridden from left or right. Serpentines with an even number of loops create a change of direction. Serpentines with an odd number of loops maintain the same direction.

Five-Loop Serpentine

◆ Purpose: Trains turning, accuracy, and frequent change of bending flexion. It is an excellent suppling exercise.
◆ Possible tracks: Can be ridden from left or right. Serpentines with an even number of loops create a change of direction. Serpentines with an odd number of loops maintain the same direction.

Double-Loop Serpentine

◆ Purpose: Suppling through bending lines and changes of flexion to the turning side when ridden in walk and trot.
◆ Possible tracks: From left and right, using half the distance to the quarterline for orientation (2.5 meters inside the track).

This excerpt from Arena Tracks by Christian Baier is reprinted with permission from Trafalgar Square Books (www.HorseandRiderBooks.com). This is a web exclusive for Horse Illustrated magazine.

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An excerpt from Neuroathletics for Riders by Marc Nölke about what causes riding anxiety.

Safe or Unsafe?

The human brain takes a giant dataset and compares it with information saved from previous experiences. Then it decides whether you are SAFE or UNSAFE. If your brain assesses the coming situation to be SAFE, it will relax your muscles, reduce your respiratory rate, keep your heart rate steady, and allow your joints to move through their full range of motion.

However, if it assesses the coming situation to be UNSAFE, it will increase muscular tension, respiratory rate, and pulse rate, and you might also experience pain or shortness of breath. Many people experience back pain. What’s more, your mental state is instantly influenced by your brain, so you feel anxious. And if your brain keeps detecting UNSAFE situations, you might even become depressed, which serves to avoid threats and keep you safe.

Perception of Safety

All this means we need to find stimuli that increase our perception of our safety. I’d like to use an example to explain what that means in practical terms: Imagine you tear a ligament in your ankle and rest your ankle for a long time. Your brain hardly receives any signals from the motion sensors in your ankle while you’re resting it. The neurons that transfer information from your ankle to your brain are “asleep” and may be asleep for weeks. When neurons stop firing, their connections to each other become weaker. Prior to your injury, the “map” of your ankle in your brain was precise (see clear map image) but now, after weeks without any activity, it isn’t precise anymore (see blurry map image).

That means your brain no longer knows exactly what position your foot is in; as a result, it can’t accurately predict how the foot can bear weight. Is this a good starting point for your brain to ensure your “survival”? Nope! Your brain thinks: “I have no idea what the foot’s doing, so I can’t guarantee anything.” In this context, riding your horse at canter over a log is immediately categorized as UNSAFE, and full power to your body and riding position will not be made available. But that obviously applies to all movements, not just jumping a log.

And if you nevertheless decide to jump the log, despite your brain’s hesitation, your stubborn frontal lobe will go on an ego trip. It can work, but only because people are incredibly good at compensating. You can expect your brain to reach for its ultimate emergency brake: pain. But you shouldn’t resent it, because it’s just trying to protect you. Your brain produces pain because it believes there are too many threatening signals and too few safe signals (G. Lorimer Moseley 2017).

When the Nervous System Takes It Too Far

Anxiety about riding is something riders don’t like to talk about. Everything becomes less fun, becomes a test of courage, and we start avoiding things that trigger our anxiety. We communicate our anxiety to the horse, too. Anxiety makes us overreact and sometimes do strange things—and often those things cause the horse to suffer. But our anxiety is usually based on false assumptions and expectations about future events. We can be anxious about people, animals, things, situations, movements, and pain. Denying or not acknowledging anxiety unfortunately doesn’t make the problem any smaller. Quite the opposite.

It’s much more helpful to recognize and understand anxiety. The leading scientist in the field of anxiety research, Joseph LeDoux, once said: “Anxiety is the price we pay for our brain’s ability to imagine the future.” I think that sums it up quite well.

Lorimer Moseley from Australia is one of the world’s leading scientists looking into the question of what pain is, how pain arises, and, of course, how we can reduce pain. He concisely sums up the results of his research: “Pain is a construct of the brain” (L. Moseley 2011).

Top researchers from both fields agree that pain and anxiety are “output”—that is, they are our brain’s opinions about the state of the current and future dangerous situation in and around our body.

In the case of fear of heights and vertigo, there are experimental indications that this unpleasant feeling could result from an “intersensory maladjustment if visual information does not correspond to vestibular and proprioceptive information” (Brandt et al. 1980).

It goes without saying that our experiences play a major role in this subconscious formation of opinions, as does the social and cultural milieu that we live in. Context influences perception of anxiety and pain (G. L. Moseley and Arntz 2007). For example, one and the same movement can occur and cause distress in the context of “barn/horses,” but cause no distress in the context of “family” or “office”—or vice versa.

Pain (and equally anxiety) warns us about impending danger and the threat of pain, and immediately mobilizes our stress and emergency systems to arm us against that potential threat. However, anxiety and pain aren’t necessarily proportional to the degree of actual injury, actual physical harm, or actual threat or danger we’re experiencing: We can feel incredible anxiety, capable of paralyzing us, even without being attacked by a real tiger. Knowing there’s no realistic chance of falling doesn’t stop us from feeling fear of heights. And in the same way, we can feel intense pain even when nothing is wrong. On the one hand, pain and anxiety are important, self-protective feelings—on the other hand, they can be disruptive and unhelpful when they occur frequently and inappropriately. Excitingly, numerous pieces of research show that understanding how these feelings arise can greatly reduce pain and anxiety. Knowledge can therefore be a very effective painkiller and anxiolytic (G. L. Moseley 2004)—and now you know a little more.

Allies for Survival

It’s helpful to imagine anxiety and pain as friends and allies, because, after all, they only want us to survive. However, sometimes these feelings objectively aren’t appropriate to the situation.

A mouse in the tack room is just as unlikely to kill us as a papercut, but both can trigger strong emotions. Pain can become problematic when an injury has long since healed, or when there is objectively no threat. Our “protective system” is working overtime, and protects us unnecessarily, like a “helicopter parent” at the playground, always hovering over their child, ready to needlessly intervene in a game and deny their child opportunities to learn. Many different areas of the brain are involved in these reactions. In pain research, we talk about the “pain neuromatrix” (Melzack, n.d.; G. Lorimer Moseley 2017; Chapman 1996; Legrain et al. 2011).

Neuromatrix

Let’s take an example: Imagine your grandma for a minute, and think of everything you associate with her. Here, “grandma” is a trigger for other thoughts, feelings, and maybe even physical sensations, just like an old song from our childhood can trigger a cascade of memories and associated feelings. In both cases, very different areas of the brain are activated to a lesser or greater extent. This would be a “grandma neuromatrix,” but your grandma matrix is guaranteed to be different from my grandma matrix. That’s also the case for the pain neuromatrix. Pain and anxiety are individual, and always real for the person experiencing them. Saying things like, “Don’t make a fuss,” or, “It’s not that bad,” don’t help anyone.

In my experience, it’s highly likely that much of your pain and anxiety will be alleviated if you develop your training with neuroathletic exercises and practice daily—because your brain gets better input from various systems in your body. Your “maps” become precise—and your brain can navigate more confidently and make better predictions about the future with better maps.

This excerpt about riding anxiety from Neuroathletics for Riders by Marc Nölke is reprinted with permission from Trafalgar Square Books (www.HorseandRiderBooks.com). This is a web exclusive for Horse Illustrated magazine.

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Excerpt from The Athletic Equestrian, by Sally Batton and Christina Keim

When your two-point seat is correct, you will have developed the alignment and balance that serves as the basis for all future work. But many riders have not been taught the proper mechanics of the two-point, and instead of sinking into their leg and closing their angles, they stand over or even ahead of the pommel. They are then both unbalanced and unable to apply their aids correctly. In addition, they are using their back to hold the two-point, rather than allowing the legs and abdominal muscles to support the position.

If you can correctly execute the two-point position, you will be balanced and able to hold the position for multiple circuits around the arena, or galloping cross-country, without worry of falling back into the saddle or onto the horse’s neck. In a correct two-point, your leg joints—including the ankle, knee, and hip—are fluid and shock absorbing, and the major muscle groups of the leg (quadriceps, hamstrings, and calves) are engaged.

Where do you stand on the “Rider Awareness Scale” when it comes to your two-point position? To find out, try this series of four exercises.

Also Read: Overcoming Fear After Falling Off a Horse

Test 1

In the first exercise, you will exaggerate putting your leg out of position until you develop a kinesthetic sense of how this impacts your upper body balance.

Start by getting into your two-point at the trot, then bring the lower leg so far forward that you can see the toe of your boot. You will immediately feel your upper body shift backward to compensate, and you will likely fall into the saddle.

Next, try bringing your lower leg too far back. I haven’t met very many riders that can stay off their horse’s back for too long when in this position; most people have to put their hands down onto the horse’s neck just to stay in the saddle!

Practice this exercise until you develop a clear awareness of the position of your lower leg, and the resulting negative effect on your balance with your leg in each incorrect position. Riders who have practiced this exercise enough will almost instinctively know the necessary correction if they experience a loss of balance in the future.

Test 2

The next mounted exercise requires the assistance of a friend. Starting at the halt in the center of the arena, get into your two-point position, and have your friend place her hand or a thin, tightly rolled magazine about 2 to 3 inches in front of the cantle (back) of the saddle. Your friend is now going to try to push you forward with pressure from her hand or the rolled magazine on your tailbone. If you have opened the angles of your ankle, knee, and hip, your friend will easily push you onto the horse’s neck.

Now re-center yourself in your full seat and rise into two-point while keeping your friend’s hand or the rolled magazine in contact with your tailbone the entire time. Imagine the feeling of “squatting” while unmounted—your weight goes down into your feet and the muscles of your legs engage. The angles of your leg joints close and the hip tips slightly. This is the same feeling you are trying to create in your mounted two-point.

Keeping this “squat” feeling in mind, your friend is now going to try to push you forward, while you do everything possible to resist her. If you have been successful in sinking down through the leg while rising into the two-point, she shouldn’t be able to push you forward. When riders find this correct position, they are amazed at how strong and secure they feel in the tack.

Test 3

Finally, have your friend keep her hand or the rolled magazine just in front of the cantle, and get back into your corrected two-point. Transition from the two-point seat to the full seat, alternating between them without letting your tailbone break contact with your friend’s hand.

If you do this correctly, your seat will still be clearing the saddle when you are in two-point position, but it will likely be much closer and more centered than it was before. I tell riders to imagine that their femurs (thigh bones) are pushing their seat bones toward the cantle, rather than thinking about their shoulders coming forward.

Whenever I do this exercise with riders for the first time, they usually comment on how strange it feels, and they think they are not far enough out of the saddle. But for a jump of 3 feet in height or less, your seat only needs to be about 3 inches out of the saddle.

If you look at photos of most riders jumping fences in this height range, you will see that many of them are much more than 3 inches out of the saddle. Their upper body is ahead of the motion, a serious rider jumping fault that makes the horse’s jumping effort more difficult and will result in a point deduction from the judge in an equitation class.

Test 4

If you don’t have a friend to help you try this while riding, you can practice an unmounted variation of the exercise at home with a family member. Standing in an open space on level ground, place your feet about shoulder-width apart and get into a full squat. Slowly reopen your angles until you are about halfway between a full squat and standing positions, and ask a family member to push you on your tailbone. Notice how this affects your balance.

Next, start to get back into your squat, and stop when your angles have closed enough that you are simulating a correct two-point position. Again, ask a family member to push you on the tailbone and see if she can disrupt your perfect balance.

You’ll find that in your full two-point/squat position, you will remain balanced and centered. But when your leg angles are in the halfway open position, your family member will be able to easily push you forward.

This excerpt about perfecting your two-point position is adapted from The Athletic Equestrian by Sally Batton and Christina Keim, and is reprinted with permission from Trafalgar Square Books. This excerpt first appeared in the May 2022 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

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