Jess-2, Fear-0.5

Fear and I are doing a dance, but bit by bit, I'm reverting to my true nature and starting to lead a little more. It has not always been this way, no. There have been many times over the last couple of years when I've let myself chicken out when faced with a situation I think could get squirrely or even one that just makes me a little nervous. Sometimes the scenario mirrors one that caused Bar and me trouble in the past, and sometimes it's just something unfamiliar. I'm not proud of giving in to the fear or hesitation and I could cheat and resort to only writing about the times we are awesome, but we won't start to work past anything if I don't start by admitting I still get scared sometimes.

The thing is, I'm coming back around to the conclusion that I can handle more than I think I can.

Calabar says, "Duh." And, "Phew, it's about time you figured it out."

Over the last couple of weeks, I've faced a couple scenarios that previously would have caused me to back away--riding with folks I don't know, and having another horse in the round pen when I'm working with Calabar. Both cause me anxiety and I've used both as an excuse not to take him out, but I decided to suck it up and deal instead.

Last week, I got to the barn in time to ride, but saw the lights on in the lower barn and a few cars there, indicating I would have company in the arena if I chose to ride. "Urgh," I said to myself. I could just smooch and go home, no harm, no foul. But.....

Bar hadn't been out in a few days and I needed to be a big girl and do this. It would be a learning experience, right? And he's been really good lately. And we both needed OUT. I needed out of my medical-industry-nonsense brain space and he needed OUT of his blanket and paddock.

Yes, please, and thank you. Now.

Being around other horses has been challenging for us, and I'm not sure how much is him and how much is me being nervous because I'm afraid he's nervous and will react to the other horses. I know he's a herd animal and that other horses are interesting, exciting, and possibly competition. He has had good days and bad days, but has gotten progressively better over the years with more and more exposure. That night in the arena, he showed interest in the other horses and riders while we did our ground work in the round pen, but he didn't show off too much and kept his head in the game. I got on and we stayed in the round pen to do our work, during which a little bounce-spin told me that was a good plan. He thought he was done after that, so I worked him some more to show him he wasn't. We finished up our ride and I told him next time he could go out with the other horses if he was good. "I was good," he said. "I suppose you were at that," I sighed, realizing I should have trusted him a little more than I was ready to. Something to remember next time, though.

The other night, after I'd warmed him up in the round pen, saddled him, and gone to get on him, the barn owner's wife came in to lunge her Quarter Horse mare. Bar is particularly weird about horses lunging in the round pen. To put it bluntly, it freaks him out. No, I have no idea why, but I've levitated with him enough to safely say it's low on his list of favorite things.

So I thought it prudent to stay on the ground until I could see how he was going to handle this. Daisy is normally fairly sedate, but she was frisky and Calabar's eyes became large brown saucers. However, he didn't go anywhere and even moved forward a few steps to check out what was going on in the round pen. In fact, he was really good and I was about to get on when he heard someone clang the gate to the outdoor arena and I became the center of a short-lived Thoroughbred tornado. Only one circle, actually, at the end of which he tripped over the mounting block and looked suitably embarrassed.

I did get on after that, and we walked, and he was somewhere else--e.g. not with me. You know. Me. His rider. So I got off and lunged him again a little in the round pen, which he thought was truly boring. I told him I was scared, and that I really couldn't get hurt again and he bumped me with his big head as if to say, "It's okay, I know." Then I got on again and he was most excellent. Once again, I realized I could have trusted him more than I did. "Sigh," says Calabar.

In between those two scenarios, we went on a trail ride that was not only physically challenging for all of us, but provided much-needed non-arena time.

Today there was no scary situation, no hurdles, just lazy Calabar and me in the arena. We did a tiny amount of ground work, then I climbed on bareback and worked on feeling his front feet. He worked on trying to figure out what I was up to and pointing out when I was scrinched over to one side. "You're doing it again," he said. "Crap, you're right," I said, pushing down into my seat bones, pushing my shoulders back, and uncurling my spine.

It was all very relaxed, even the tiny (and I mean tiny) dip-spook he did in the back of the arena because he could hear-and-not-see someone out there.

Bit by bit, I'm taking the lead back from fear. All with the help of my big, fuzzy, brown mirror. And a little faith in myself tossed in for good measure.

Outdoor arena

One of the goals from my fear series was to ride in the outdoor arena, a place that has been kinda scary for me for a long time. Though I wanted to end up there to do a little work today, it was not my intention to start there with a horse that hasn't been worked enough over the last two weeks.

I was derailed.

Neither Steve or I have recovered from the dumb germ, yet, and it's been two weeks. The horses have not gotten out enough and are understandably a bit on the wild side. I had worked Bar last night so he wasn't completely fresh, but the bounce was still very evident.

Normally, he and I would go into the round pen and dance around before we went into the indoor--let alone the outdoor--arena. However, the round pen was in use and I had already saddled up my big, bouncy horse.

Lena and Steve were in the outdoor arena and were having quite a raucous ride. The horse waiting for Peter in the round pen was reacting to the echoes that bounce into the indoor arena from the outdoor arena by bucking and snorting.

Calabar reacted to both of them. How can 1200 pounds levitate? I don't actually know the physics involved, but I have witnessed it. In person. Recently.

And yet.

I needed to do this. I didn't need to gallop, I didn't need to do anything complicated. I just needed to get on and ride in the outdoor arena. Bar needed me to ride in the outdoor arena, too. He didn't know it, but he did.

And we did okay. We walked--bouncy, bouncy, bouncy--me feeling his front feet as they moved zoomily (yes, zoomily) forward. Poing, poing, poing. I was doing well. Feet down, sitting solid in the saddle, trying not to curl forward, trying to move with the big brown spring under my butt.

We stayed at a walk. I'd love it if I could tell you I threw my hands in the air and galloped courageously around the arena, but .. no. I did handle a spook and a spin, though, as well as a high level of Thoroughbred energy. Poing, poing, poing.

"What are those??!!" "Those are bike riders on the bike path down below us." "Okay. Iwillbelievetheyarenotdemonsifyousayso." "They are not demons." "K.Fine."

Poing, poing, poing.

I knew he wanted to run. I even wanted to let him run. I just wasn't ready. Luckily, he agreed to me not being ready and to listened to me. Okay, maybe not luckily but because he and I have done a LOT of work together. Either way, we have made an agreement.

I sang in the saddle, mainly because it helped me breathe. Breathing is good, it helps me relax and not tighten every muscle in my body--a very counter-productive thing to do while riding.

I am glad we are at a place where he doesn't just do what he wants to do, a place where he is taking care of me. I want to get to the place where I can let him do some of what he wants to do rather than what he knows I feel safe doing. I want to run him out there, I do.

Baby steps, baby steps.

Fear management - Part six

Bar says he was good when there were cows involved. No small feat, for sure, let along for an OTTB

Last of the series--but the most important in many ways--exercise six asks you to create an action plan of small steps that are reasonable, that you can accomplish on the way to where you want to be.

The instructions say this is where it becomes personal, where I determine my starting point and how I get from here to your goal.

My here and now is a horse who has scared me and hurt me, but who now works very hard to try to do what I ask. A horse who has sublimated (mostly, anyway) his very nature and has likely bound up his own body in order to comply with my wishes.

My wishes must change or he and I will be stuck.

Where do I want to go? I believe galloping down the beach is my answer.

Small accomplishable steps between where we are and where I want to be are both specific and general:

• Drop into my feet and legs, relax, feel him and our connection.
• Remind him how to move forward with impulsion and give him permission to do so.
• Feel his front legs.
• Practice that one-rein-butt-over move. A lot.
• Get out of the round pen and into the rest of the arena more often.
• Ride in the outdoor arena.
• Get the walk to move right.
• Get the trot to work right.
• Ask for a canter without being terrified. Or if terrified, breathe, then ask for it anyway.
• Get the canter to work right.
• Canter. A lot. 
• Do all of the above in the outdoor arena. A lot.
• Make big circles and small circles.
• Do transitions - walk/trot and trot/canter. 
• Practice lead changes just for fun.. (He doesn't need much practice, but I do.)
• Try new things that make us both nervous and work through the reactions.
• Breathe. 
• Breathe some more.
• Sing to him. He likes it and it helps me breathe.
• Just get on and ride.
• Ride some more.
• Reward him for the try and ask him to try again. 
• Reward him again.
• Reward myself for the try.
• Be patient.

That's a good list to start with, though I'm sure I'll add more as I go along, and I'm pretty sure the last one will need to be interjected here, there and everywhere.

True love

Sometimes, in the midst of beating myself up and wishing I'd done better, Steve smacks me (delicately) upside my head.

He just told me how proud he is of me and how much I've been able to accomplish with Calabar and reminded me not to minimize all the work we've actually done together. He said, "You love him and he loves you and I think you did have an epiphany yesterday!" He's excited to see what is going to happen with us now.

Then he made me cry.

As I stated in an earlier post, one of my biggest fears is that Calabar will hurt me badly enough I can't ride. Or worse. And then he'd be the horse no one would want because he hurt his rider.

Do you know what Steve just promised me? He promised that if anything happened, he would do his very best to find my big horse a home. He'd call Devon and Howie and Karen and find my network of blog and Facebook friends and make sure my big guy didn't become dog food.

NOT, by the way, that I intend to let anything happen, but good grief I feel like a lucky girl.

Upcoming clinic

Calabar expressing my deep-rooted fear of public embarrassment

I confess I'm mildly terrified about doing a clinic. Here, let me get on my horse in front of a bunch of strangers and let them see all of my insecurities and troubles. Gah.

Maybe they will snicker behind their hands, or roll their eyes. Maybe they will shake their heads in pity. Or maybe, just maybe, we will all learn something.

Maybe my troubles, the things that bother me and that test my own resolve, will actually turn out to be bigger in my own head then they are when viewed by an audience.

Maybe they won't be, but I'm just saying there are other possibilities than total mortification.

Maybe something we learn will help someone else. Maybe something someone else learns will help us.

So if I follow the previous post with visualizing success, I need to think of being out there--naked with all my fears and anxieties exposed--turning that into something that teaches. Something that moves us--Bar and me--a few steps forward.

My heart may be pounding, but my gut says to trust him. Up at Slide, he went into a strange arena with lots of new horses, not to mention cows, and he did great. He stayed with me, listened to me, even when I was too afraid to let him run. Even when he ached to race past these tiny little Quarter Horses on his long Thoroughbred legs, he deferred to me.

He wants to learn, he wants to be ridden. He tells me this all the time.

I need to stop thinking of all that could go wrong, and believe in all the things that could go right.

And how far could we go with that? Very far indeed, I suspect.

Fear Management -- Part Five

I love my horse. I do. I had a great ride today. And I had to reach through the fear, hear my breath over my pounding heart, and get on a horse who was high, lit up with the cool weather and his own need for movement. And the message? Do it anyway. Exercise five on the fear management list is to Visualize Success. So I did.

Today I decided to visualize me, relaxing on Calabar. Sit deep, shoulders back and relaxed, hands loose, elbows out--and we got there. We still have a journey, I still have a journey, but today was a good day.

Next weekend, we have a new piece to add--a clinic. I have so many things to worry about. So many things I can imagine that could go wrong. A clinic? Other strange horses? New experiences? Anathema to my big, brown routine-oriented ex-racehorse. But instead, I think I will imagine things going right. I will imagine me, being calm in the saddle, communicating that level of relaxation to him as we try new things, as we learn new things together.

 We can do this, Bar and me. We can do even more than that.

Fear Management -- Part Four

Exercise four in the fear series asks "What am I afraid of?" Then it moves to refining that question into a few categories: What it is; How I currently respond to each fear; What skills I'd like to have to address the issue; Assess where I am right now on a scale of 1 to 10; Map my path to a 10

What is my biggest fear? Getting hurt so badly that I can't ride anymore probably hits the high note, but part of that is also the worry of what would happen to Calabar if I were that badly injured. Yes, there is me--and the irony of saying I'm afraid to ride because I might end up unable to ride is not lost on me. But who would love a horse that broke his rider? Who would understand and be willing to work with him if he was labeled "the horse who hurt (or worse) his owner?"

I cannot fail him. I can't fail me either.

So on to the exercise.

How do I currently respond to each fear?

Um. Sometimes okay, sometimes not so great. It would probably be easier if I just focused on what would happen to him, but I'm a little too selfish for that. 

So it comes back to me. I am trying hard to just get up and ride and to challenge the fear with at least one thing that pushes me a tiny bit past my current bubble of a comfort zone. Breathing deeply, shoulders back, I ask for a canter. Crap. I lost my inside stirrup. Stay with him, relax, use your seat. Cool, I'm still on. Ask him to slow down, now.. gently. 

Ask him to do something I'm scared to ask, and go with what he offers if it's in line with what I asked. Ask a little harder if he doesn't respond and correct him if it's not what I asked for at all. 

What skills would I like to have? I'd like the skill to separate my mind from my body so my terrified lizard brain isn't directing my body to do the exact opposite of what it needs to do. Stop gibbering, darn it! I do NOT need to curl up into a protective ball in the saddle! I need to sit up, breathe deeply, and not  wrap my legs tightly around this coiled spring of prey-animal like a nasty, ornery predator might do. 

Assess where I am now. I am at about 40% of where I need to be. Some days, I'm doing really well and I can talk my hammering heart out of exploding out of my chest. Some days..well, ground work is better. I am having more days like the first part, so that's good. I'd like more days, though. 

Mapping my path is actually not so hard. The main goal is to actually ride more. Nothing will get better without me getting my butt in the saddle for more hours. This is a work in progress as my real job seems to be counterproductive to my fantasy life as a cowgirl, but it is the only path to horsey goodness.

There may be more concrete steps I can take, but it all comes down to more saddle time and more sweaty saddle blankets for both of us. 

A horse is a commitment. Some people think of a horse as the means to an end--be it shows or ribbons or other glories. I think of Calabar as my partner on this journey. The best path is the one we create together.

Fear Management, Part Three

Next in the series from the Horse and Rider article is Exercise 3: What can I do? How well can I do it? 

Calabar says, "What are you so worried about, Mom?"

The direction is to make a list of everything I can do that is related to the horse--start to finish--writing in the affirmative, then rate how well I do it on a 1 to 10 scale (1 being "No way, Jose!") It's really a way to acknowledge what I can do and build my confidence from there. Turns out, there is a lot I can do with this horse of mine.

I can go into my horse's paddock and not be afraid. I can pick up his feet, do stretches with him and simple ground exercises using my own energy and a few carrots. I can direct him away from me when I'm graining so he waits to approach until I give the go-ahead. (10)

I can lead him without him crowding me or pulling my arm off to get to grass. I can work him on the ground in the round pen using just voice commands and body language. We can walk together, stop together and back together. I can direct his head and hindquarters and move him sideways both directions and backwards without touching him. (9)

I can (and do) get on him bareback with just his halter and lead rope. I can ride him at the walk bareback and ask him for trot, though we are still working on the smoothness and coordination of that particular thing. (8)

I can tack him up and ride him in the indoor arena. (8)

I can ride him in the outdoor arena. (4 -- I am nervous above the trot but can take him over obstacles at the walk.)

I can load him in the trailer, even into the first slot, most days. I can always turn him around in the trailer and unload him without him running me over. (8--I need to work on my own patience here.)

I can take him out on the trail and feel pretty calm and confident, even when doing something new--including following after deer for a few steps just because I pointed him that way and asked nicely. I can even ask him to trot or lope on a trail, though we mostly stick to trotting unless we're on the beach. (8)

I can have him around cows and not have him spin away from them. In fact, I can have him face down a cow--at least from the other side of a fence. (7--mostly because we've only done it once.)

I can ride him around a group of horses he doesn't know, keep him from trying to glue himself to Lena, and hold his attention. (8)

I can decipher when he's being naughty and when he is reacting out of fear and address the situation appropriately. (7)

I can work the sore spots in his body and not get bitten because he knows better and because I pay attention to his pain limits. (9)

I can give him a bath and reach inside his sheath to clean it. I can pat his fuzzy, brown belly and even walk (well, crouching anyway) under him. All of this without getting kicked, or even the threat of being kicked. (9)

I can doctor his wounds and wrap his legs and spray him with fly spray. I can put his fly mask on without having to halter him. (10)

I can ask him for a canter, though (as with the trot) the smoothness of the asking and resulting gait still leaves a bit to be desired. (5--I don't do it enough yet to improve)

I can lean my head against him and get a Thoroughbred neck hug in return. (10, duh.)

I think I could actually go on forever, but here's what I see so far: I do some things pretty well, and in fact approach some things that should be scarier (like trail riding) with less trepidation than more "normal" things, like arena riding. Being a little backwards is sort of the story of my life, so this is not all that surprising. 

Since I still want to gallop my horse down the beach, there are a few things we need to work on. But the point of this exercise (I think) is to remind me that there is a lot I can do, a lot I'm already doing, and maybe--just maybe--it's okay to add a few things to the list.