The saying is that one doesn’t really gain
mastery of a skill until she’s done it 10,000 times.
It may be so. What it is saying is that one
must practice, practice, and practice. I know this works. There are skills I
learned in the military that I practiced so often that they did become
automatic. For instance, I can probably still strip down-and re-assemble-an
M-16 with my eyes closed, even so many years after retiring from the military.
I now know, too, that as one ages, that
ability to gain and keep a skill, such as riding, seems to take longer.
Riding, for instance.
I got back into horses in early 2011. I had
never been good at riding before, as I’d not been a regular rider as a kid. Nor
had I lived in an area where there were horses, or when I did, I couldn’t
afford lessons, or, while in the military, didn’t have the time.
The children who are blessed with riding
lessons in their early days are truly lucky. Most of the horsemen I know are
like me: they had lives that didn’t include horses up until their children left
home and they had enough time and money to indulge in their passion.
I owned Jordan for the last five years of
his life, and rode bareback, but I was still working and didn’t have an arena
in which to ride.
So. I’ve been riding, mostly bareback, since
2011. I’ve had a few lessons, picked up several good books, but still, I’ve
relied mostly on just getting comfortable on a barebacked horse.
At times I’ve grow discouraged. I will never
get this, I would think. I certainly don’t have ten thousand hours atop a
horse, even at this point. I’m old enough, though, to know that, starting so
very late in life, I will NEVER be the rider I see all around me. If I can be a
little bit better than I used to be, that is good enough for me.
I didn’t
put a deadline on my desire to be a better rider. I decided, I won’t push it. I
will relax and just enjoy the feel of a good horse underneath me.
It was with a sense of astonishment, and I
should say, pride, when I made a breakthrough last month. I have found my core
and can engage it. Why that makes a difference, or whether it does, I don’t
know. I don’t really think it matters, despite the fact that it seems to be the
cause de jour lately.
I was riding Raven, bareback. We were alone.
I have been practicing turning him and moving him without reins. He’s so very
patient and willing for me. He’s a good horse.
I-and I hate to use the word suddenly as
often as I’m going to in this post- but I suddenly felt as if I was truly
plugged into his spine. I’ve had brief glimpses of this feeling, but this time
it wasn’t ephemeral, here and gone like mist in the wind. No, this time, that
feeling of my spine being connected to his in one fluid, crystalline piece was here. I was balanced. I was IN the
horse, not on him. I was amazed. I lifted both my legs off his sides and wagged
them back and forth and felt as solid on his back as if I were truly plugged
into him. He spooked at something, went sideways, and I hardly moved. I even
laughed. It was a lovely feeling.
Three days later I got back on…and felt it
again. And the next time. And the next.
I am
balanced. I am comfortable on his back. This feeling, it’s here to stay. I have
finally learned to sit on a horse.
That was more than enough for me. I felt
proud. My patience and Raven’s teaching had finally been translated into muscle
memory. My confidence has climbed several notches.
I wasn’t done with breakthroughs.
Two days ago, I led Raven into the arena. I
hadn’t planned on riding. It was raining very hard, the wind was blowing into
the arena, and all the horses have been confined to quarters, because our
monsoon has arrived and the paddocks are fetlock deep in water.
Raven is a horse who wants and needs work
every day, and I knew he was very fresh. I thought it’d be safer to just lunge
him.
Raven, though, had other plans.
He dislikes ‘dope on a rope’. Sue can free
lunge him, but I am not that adept at it, so I tacked him up with a lunge line
and asked him to ‘walk on.”
He turned and faced me.
No.
It wasn’t arrogance, or stubbornness, or an
obstinate refusal. It was just a polite no.
“Come on, Raven, walk on.”
His warm brown eyes bored into mine.
No. Get on.
“Really, Raven? Don’t you want to work?”
Get
on. I have something to teach you.
Okaaaaaaaaaaay. So I untacked him, left him
free in the arena while I ran for my bridle and helmet. When I returned I could
see he’d rolled, which I had hoped he’d do. It’s good for their spine, and I
suspect he’s not had a good roll in three days.
I bridled him and mounted. The wind was
howling louder than the rain, but I trusted him to be calm as always.
I settled myself. I always give him a carrot
per side, reward for standing until I’m ready to move off. Seat bones? Got ‘em.
Core? cough cough there you are. Arms, click click cuffed to my ribs. Shoulders
back, head up. Breathing? Nope, I still to this day can’t remember to breathe
when I ride. Someday I’ll pass out and fall off.
We walked off, sans reins. I like to let
him drop his head, stretch his topline, and just generally walk the kinks out
before I touch a rein.
I’ve been practicing my hands. I imagine my
upper arms to be handcuffed to my ribs. I pretend I am holding a baby chick in
each hand. Now I can feel Raven’s mouthing the bit. That’s a new one, too.
Once we were both settled and ready to
‘’’work”” I picked up the reins. I cheated by looking at where I try to keep my
thumbs on my laced reins. (I love laced reins, more for their looks than
anything else, but having a definite spot for my thumbs helps me a LOT).
C’mere, chicks, hop into my hands, we’re going for a ride.
After several rounds of the arena, I
thought, what happens if I just gently squeeze those chicks. Not even to hurt
them, just to see what happens.
I have to explain a failing of mine. I don’t
take verbal instructions very well. It’s not obstinacy, or arrogance. I just
get easily confused, especially if the instructions are multi-faceted, as
riding almost always is. It’s hard for me to put two legs, two arms, two hands,
all doing different things at the same time. Let’s not forget that I must also
think of seat bones and weight shifts and which side is out and which in.
Thus, when taking instruction or lessons,
I’ve listened and reacted backwards. I would tell my teacher, I want to learn
to do a half halt. (a subject always one of contention. Every rider I’ve ever
met does a half halt differently and can’t tell you how. They just Do it.) So
my instructor would say, do this, do that, do the other thing…THERE! Did you
feel it?
Well, no. I’ll say “yes” but I know I didn’t
do it. I think, I’ll memorize what she just said, and I’ll repeat it the steps
in order, and by reverse engineering, I should get the same result.
But it doesn’t ever work right. I’ll do it
the same way and if I’m alone, Raven continues on serenely as if I never asked
a thing. If I’m being taught, I eventually get a GOOD, you did it! But I am
lying to her.
It’s a case of Raven figuring out what I
want, due to the instructor’s voice, and he does it. Hey, don’t laugh. This is
a horse in front of whom we must spell ‘c-a-n-t-e-r’ because he loves it and will at the mere
breath of the word. One of these days he’ll figure it out. He already knows
“C”. The rest will come, sooner than later.
I think Raven just responds because he hears
me wishing he would do it. We both know I didn’t make him do it, I didn’t do
the steps right or at all. He’s just a kind, loving teacher.
Which is another reason I prefer riding
bareback, and alone. I can fumble along, take things at my own pace. If I
accomplish nothing but enjoy the ride, and he’s happy, I’m good.
But
this time…this time I was listening to him. I squeezed the reins, gently…and
felt SOMETHING. Something Different. Something…collected.
What
do you feel?
“Oh my god, Raven, what did you just do? Can
we do that again?”
Can
YOU?
It wasn’t until late that night, in bed,
that I, rehearsing what I’d felt, finally understood a phrase I’ve heard so
often but have never experienced.
I dropped the reins, we did another round of
the arena, then I picked them up and asked the same way.
I felt Raven “come up underneath me”. His
ears were pricked forward, his neck arched so beautifully and for the first
time in my life, I knew I was riding a collected horse.
I finally know the best teacher I will ever
have is the one underneath me.
I might finally be on my way to learning how
to ride.
