Turning a page on fear

Life offers ongoing lessons and life with horses tends to provide multiple chances to find out just how much there is left to learn. Since he bounded into my life in 2007, the road has been interesting for Calabar and me. We've had ups and downs--definitely a few moments of fear and frustration, but so many more of absolute joy and connection. He greets me at his gate every day, always ready to ride, always willing to give a good snuggle.

He really gives the best hugs ever

It has not always been easy, but from day one there has always been something between this big brown horse and me.

In fact, the very things that drew me to Calabar--his energy, his big presence, his straightforward attitude about the way things should go--are the things that have also led to our more painful incidents. The incidents, of course, led to fear, anxiety, less riding, and so on.

I'm still not where I want to be--galloping along at full speed, carefree and laughing--but I am riding more and enjoying it. I am learning to push him and trust that he'll respond and even if that response is a little belligerent, that I can handle it.

So far, it's working. He's happier. He's excited to be out with me and hasn't even really tried anything evil. He's a little lazy, but he doesn't get mad when I push him past it. He is attentive and responsive and relaxed. Maybe even a little relieved that I'm taking control so he doesn't have to, both of us responding to the ever-increasing level of trust.

Well, he looks good anyway.

Trust has been hard. Trust in the form of cantering has been vaguely terrifying and the mere thought of cantering in the outdoor caused hyperventilation. I had not cantered in the outdoor arena for, well, forever--afraid that Calabar might just take off. Or more specifically, that he would take off and I wouldn't be able to control him. In the indoor arena--a more contained environment--there has been cantering and jumping. There have even been various pranks and silly episodes worked through with as much grace and confidence as I can ever muster.

But the outdoor? With the scary bushes of doom and the wide open spaciness? Oooo.. shiver.

The other day, my friend Allie (who has been riding both Lena and Calabar) said, "Just do it." So I did. And my horse was good. Even when I got a little off-balance, he kept a happy face and moved forward in a relaxed and calm place.

Unlike riding motorcycles, leaning into the turn on horses is not necessary.

Then I slid off his butt backwards just because I could and he sighed and said, "You are ruining the reputation of crazy Thoroughbreds everywhere." I told him it was his fault for taking such a rookie and turning her into a huge fan of crazy Thoroughbreds. So much of a fan that fear is just not an option any more and trust continues to build on itself with every step.

Bar says, "You're embarrassing me."

Next we will try some jumping because I'd like to be a part of something that makes my horse smile this much.

"Wheeee!!!!"

Simple exercises

Ignore the bus driver on your back, Bar--you're doing great!

The other day, in the midst of finding my balance again in the English saddle and helping Calabar ignore another horse bouncing around the arena screaming loudly and continuously for his herd-mate, I had a revelation.

Riding is fun again. 

It is something I look forward to, not something to talk myself into. It is an opportunity to learn, not a time to beat myself up over being afraid. There isn't anyone in my head saying "should" anymore. Or at least not nearly as often.

What's there is instead is a new mantra. "What can we do to get to the next stage?" This breaks down into smaller pieces, as it must for the two of us. What can I do better to communicate to him how to do X? And once he's done X, what's next and how do I tell him how to do that? Then how do we tie it all together in a more seamless way so we're building, not just repeating?

That's a really nice change, and we've had a lot of help getting there from a few good trainers and some great friends. It turns out, there is a lot in both our heads, we just need to put it all together.

Ellen really helped us do that in the two lessons we had, so I treated myself to her (and Betty Staley's) book/DVD combo to bone up for the next clinic. "Bringing It Together: An approach to a lighter and happier dressage horse."  It may say dressage, but the exercises she teaches are simple, work for any horse and--best of all--do just what we needed. This, then this, try this when that doesn't work. And then build on it with this. (Being specific would be boring and Ellen is much better at describing it all in any case.)

It's given me ways to teach Bar and have him become more and more willing to learn--more cooperative--even if he's not sure what I'm asking or why. Seeing those brown ears pointed back at me, patiently (mostly, anyway) waiting, asking what to do even as I try to figure that out myself--it's like a whole new chapter. 

It's even gotten me feeling more relaxed in the saddle--my shoulders have rolled back and my chest is no longer curled defensively over my stomach. 

It's not really a culmination of everything we've learned so far, it's more like being able to pull it all together again outside the foggy, fearful place and having the future open back up to us. 

I've likely thanked all these folks before, but they deserve another shout out because somewhere along the line, they all were there when I needed them. 

Peter, who rode Bar and told me "He's a good horse, he just doesn't know much," released a huge knot in my chest I barely knew was there. Ellen, helping Bar engage his big brain and think, taking us a little further.  Ike and Cheri for not being afraid to let a "crazy" Thoroughbred get in front of cows.

And of course there are the folks in the background--my own little cheer-leading and coaching section. Steve gently supporting me and pushing just enough. Katie congratulating me on some of my smallest victories with more enthusiasm than was likely warranted. Karen and Devon reminding me how far I've come with him and pointing out the bond we have. Joan for talking through some of the fear with me and giving suggestions and help and letting me know it was okay to get off sometimes.

Yes, Bar and I both deserve credit, too. I'm too stubborn to give up on him and he's too stubborn to let me. And soft. And fuzzy. And adorable. (Him, not me.)

It's been a road that sometimes felt long and frustrating, like we'd never get up the hill again. But we did. And I can look out at the horizon from between a pair of big, brown ears (and sometimes spotty ones, too) and know we have lots of adventures we will take together, one simple step at a time. 

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 two

I'd intended to get to this next post a little quicker, but my computer decided that breaking was its next order of business. Luckily Steve is willing to share his computer so I can write about Exercise number two: What are my goals?

Exercise two asks, "If fear weren't an issue, what would you want to do with your horse? What are some specific things you would do?

Well, fear is less of an issue than work for me right now--I can't get out of the office early enough to even get to the fear part--BUT.. I digress.

If fear weren't an issue, I'd gallop Calabar as fast as he could go--which is actually pretty fast. I'd lean forward and feel the energy and power of my horse as he did what he was born to do. I'd go out to the beach and we'd race Steve and Lena and see who really is faster in the long run. My eyes would water, his mane would whip me in the face, and I'd know what a jockey felt like for real. I'd know what it felt like to fly.

Exercise two also tells me to visualize fulfilling my goal 15-20 minutes a day. Not just picture it, but incorporate detail. The sound of the sea gulls at the coast, the constant wind and sound of the surf, the thud of his hooves as they hit the sand, the waves and spray sending salty mist into our faces, the sound of his breath huffing out of his big Thoroughbred nostrils, the stretch and surge of his muscles (and mine) as he pours himself into the run, the sweet smell of his sweat and warmth of his neck between my hands, watching it all from between his brown ears, moving with him, being relaxed, laughing as the beach races by below us.

I'm supposed to rank my goals in order of importance, but I really only have one. It dovetails into many other things, but there is really only one.

Every step we take together, every time I push him past the grumpy stage and get him to go along with whatever odd thing I'm asking, I know I get a little closer.

The very first step is not tensing up when I ask him for a canter. Actually, scratch that. The first step is not tensing up. Period.

If there are other specifics, say a little low jumping, it all falls into the same category--trusting myself to handle what he throws at me, if he decides to throw anything at all. Which he hasn't done. In a really long time. 

I think he's trying to tell me something.