I took Justin to a little jumper show today. We warmed up with the 3 ft. division, and then did two rounds in the 3'3" - 3'6" division. This was easily the highest course I've ever ridden in a show, because schooling shows don't usually set their fences at true height. (A 3'3" class, in my experience, is usually barely even a solid 3 ft. class.)
The 3 ft. division was set closer to 2'9", and thank goodness for that, because I might be dead otherwise. I don't know what happened to me today... We had such a good ride yesterday, we've been making so much progress on the flat! I decided to put him in the snaffle, not the hackamore, because I feel like I'm still sort of learning how to use the hackamore, and I was worried that if I were to go into "panic show jump" mode (which I did...), it would be far more horrific than if it happened in the snaffle. (Mostly because it has happened in the snaffle, and I know that we can still get around a course in that fashion, even if it's far less than ideal.) But I really wish I had ridden him in the hackamore, because I think we would have avoided going into that self-destruct mode.
Which we did not.
We were in "self-destruct mode" every single course. I froze up. I hung on his mouth. The first class we were beyond lucky- the fences were small enough that he could step over them- so our absolutely ludicrous speeds didn't cause the problems we would have had if the jumps had been any higher. We won the class, because we went faster than everybody else, but I walked out of the ring feeling horribly disappointed and embarrassed by the way I was riding. I still had people coming up to me left and right to tell me how great our round was, and how great of a rider I was, etc. All I could do was smile and say "thank you," even though I didn't mean it.
Don't get me wrong, I really did appreciate their kindness. I met a lot of very nice people and I liked them all very much. But I realized what it is that had me so disappointed, and it very well may explain every single problem I ever had with Gold.
Here it is:
Why were these people complimenting me? They were complimenting me because from the display they had just seen, I was riding an incredibly strong and difficult horse, with a lot of "go" and not enough "stop," but a jump that could clear the moon. They were complimenting me for dealing with the problems my horse presented to me.
What these people didn't know, though, was that I was the one causing these problems.
A few weeks before MDHT in August, I had a breakthrough ride with Justin. I realized that I held on his mouth so much because I was fearful of him getting quick, but he only got quick when I was holding his mouth. I was making him feel trapped, and the only way he thought to escape this was to get quick. We were just constantly feeding off of each other in the worst way possible.
When I rode him around stadium and XC at Maryland, though, I did something different. I let him show me where the comfortable rein length was for him. I used my legs and seat, not my hands, to not only steer him, but to slow him as well. And we rode one of the best courses we've ever ridden. We weren't fussing with each other. He took me to all the spots on the jumps and I went with him, not the other way around. We continued that way at Seneca and again at the MDHT unrecognized horse trials.
We had a great lesson last week, but for some reason I just didn't bring what I had learned with me today. We won every class, but that was only because we happen to be a lucky pair. We're small and fast and can get around turns even when, by all laws of physics, we shouldn't. But this is not the way we should be going around the course. Justin could go like a hunter if I wanted him to. The only reason he got so strong and quick was because that was how I was riding him.
I think this was my problem with Gold.
I never rode Gold the way I've been riding Justin. He was so much bigger, the idea of losing control of his front end just seemed like a death wish. Sure, I had several instructors that tried to work with us on more riding from the back and less from the front, but after several years of going around like this with no formal instruction, we had adapted to this way of dealing with each other. I'm sure that is what made it so much harder to train us out of it.
I still know that Gold was a very powerful beast, there's absolutely no question about that. But I don't think that things necessarily had to be as difficult for us as they were. If I had learned sooner that the key to control is letting go, we would have been able to learn to go that way with each other. Instead, we developed habits that appeared to fix problems that I am beginning to question the cause of.
Having this kind of realization is so bittersweet. On the one hand, I am so pleased with myself as a rider to be able to recognize these kinds of things. It really reminds me that I will never be finished learning about my riding, and horses, and the sport itself.
On the other hand, I wonder how things would have been with Gold if I had been able to break us of our habits before they got out of control. And that is kind of a hard thought to deal with. I know Gold knew he was loved, and he had a good life. But I just hate knowing now that I was probably causing him more problems than I was fixing. Gold wanted to be good... He was good... But he wanted to be better.
I suppose there's no use dwelling on the past, simply take what I have learned from this and move forward with it. I really don't think you're ever done learning in this sport, and I think that may be why I am so passionate about it. You have to remain humble, otherwise you're just going to get yourself into trouble.
Enjoy my embarrassing jumper rounds. (Laugh at my awful riding, and be amazed by my incredible pony. Surviving today was all him.)
I love my father's comment, "I can't see a thing!" while his thumb is halfway covering the lens. (He moves it before fence 4.) Also please note that after the last fence we have to go halfway around the ring before we can stop...
