Riding Past Fear into Spring

Stephen Pressfield, author of War of Art says, “Henry Fonda was still throwing up before each stage performance, even when he was 75. In other words, fear doesn’t go away. The warrior and the artist live by the same code of necessity, which dictates that the battle must be fought anew every day.”

While the book War of Art is on my reading list, and fear has paralyzed me as a writer, especially seeking an audience, I’ve been wrestling with fear ever since Tessie bolted and dumped me six years ago. To be honest, fear has threaded through my whole life. From my fear of riding, I’ve come to recognize other fears–the writing thing, rejection, acceptance, abandonment, assorted people. I feel my wariness like the warm threads in fresh brewed iced tea. I haven’t quite sorted the difference between good instincts and the fear that lies.

For instance last spring I didn’t go trail riding because the wind was high and it was the first ride out. Well, the horses that went out, were wound up enough, that if I’d been there, I’d have been terrified. Why reinforce fear if you don’t need to?

We ended our training in December on a rough note with Tessie shying and bucking both when I asked her to canter. She’d been bolting, seemingly out of the blue, and bucking when asked to canter. My trainer lunged her to see if she could see what was happening and Tessie was even worse, running hard and bolting to the left to escape the right leaning circle.

What was she trying to tell me? Does the new/used saddle fit properly or pinch? (It seems to fit better than the old one, not scuffing up Tessie’s girth area, not scuffing her back. I’d seen white hairs where the panels sit and decided it was time to change out my saddle for this one.)

Are we pushing her too hard, too short of breath, when she is not a fit pony, not really a candidate for dressage? I remembered how asking her to trot fast and faster years ago lead directly to her running away with me, to my terror of being out of control and a pony who wanted me off her back.

Back then, I found Robin, a hunter jumper trainer then who worked on rhythm and balance, teaching Tessie how to carry herself in a slow rhythmic trot. We worked from the truth that while she was a quiet pony, she was far greener than she appeared. The canter is not a natural gait for this horse and has scared me because she has felt so unbalanced until that year of rhythmic trot.

My friends have said it’s good training to ask Tessie to change within her gaits from slow, to fast, and then faster. Driving horses need to show these gaits in the ring, so I’m not sure I should be wary of them, but I am. Her bolting started with this trotting faster business years ago. That fall shattered my confidence. It has taken a long time to trust Tessie again, to find the fun I had riding her that first year.

My trainer (not Robin) picked up where we left off in December, lunging her with saddle and bridle. Suddenly, out of a rhythmic trot, Tessie took off in a hard run. There was no warning. Charley Snell and others have said that when a horse bolts something is worrying them. At the right end of the circle, Tessie would veer to left, just like she does when I ask her to trot in that direction. I was glad I wasn’t riding her. If I didn’t catch her veering in time, I brought her back and tried again.

All winter the fear had settled into a malaise that also had to do with how much work it takes to care for horses through the winter. As a retired person I wonder about the expense and the work. It’s funny how fear can sap the fun out of a gift the universe is trying to offer. I have loved horses ever since I was a baby, but I’d look at Facebook pictures and read people’s exclamations of how much they loved their horse or enjoyed riding and sigh because I don’t have their passion.

This first ride back of the season, fear was brushing my shoulders, so Amy put Alyssa up to ride Tessie out. I remarked that no one but me had ridden Tessie in eight years. She is a lovely rider and it was good to see someone else up there, but I also saw how this dream of doing dressage with Tessie might not be such a good one. A good rider can make a horse look better than you can dream of, if the horse has the ability. Well, Tessie looked disconnected at best.

When I got on, Tessie was tenser than tense and dripping wet. We let her walk out and she calmed down. Later I read a long FB thread about whether or not to attach a lunge line up over the poll and to the bit on the opposite side. Several people commented on how sensitive both mouth and poll are. That configuration doesn’t allow for release. I wondered if that was part of what pissed Tessie off . Though she is so strong, if you don’t have some leverage, she can lift you off your feet. I have to be very present when lunging her, to watch her body language, to catch her before she changes.

I brought her home and thought hard about what I was going to do. I am not sure I completely understand the fear that rose so hard riding Pal, the lesson horse at this barn. I just knew I wanted the winter off from riding and there were illnesses going around barns in the area and Tessie had gotten sick and I didn’t want to carry something home or back to the barn. (She colicked and then stopped eating hay for a week. The vet found elevated kidney values, something that doesn’t happen in horses. She has since been tested and her values are coming back to normal ranges.)

My trainer is a marvelous teacher, because she knows how to help me adjust my body so I can sit up straight and not lean left, or free the horse to move by lifting my legs away from the horse. She is like a writing teacher offering exercises that help the writer find their own story. Because dressage is about moving forward, and forward scares me, I am not sure this training will keep Tessie suitable for me.

The weather finally warmed enough to begin soaking warmth into our bones and raising a sweat. And my desire to ride Tessie, the feeling of fun I had last fall, came back with the warmth. I took her out to our field, a place that had terrified me as far as riding, not too long ago, and rode her. (I remember feeling that slippery feeling I get when Tessie is wound up. I remember our neighbor having to stop his equipment because Tessie was reacting to him so I quit our session and got off.) I feel whole again after riding, healthier, dropped down into my body instead of tucked somewhere between my brain and Facebook. I feel Tessie’s happiness for the companionship.

I have learned with fear to keep my sessions short for my own sake so that fear is not reinforced and to make less chance for the fearful thing to happen. I started with walking in my small paddock, laid over with ag lime and then moved the next day to twenty minutes in the field, with mostly walking and some trotting. And walked with Bruce on a short trail ride alongside bluebells that hadn’t quite blossomed. Some other trail riders over took us. We followed and talked about the proposed railroad coming through our area. (He was a member of the Ogle county board and thought it will be a done deal. I argued saying we can fight this thing.) When they turned left and I turned right, I was a little uneasy how Tessie would react because horses like to go with other horses. But she turned with Bruce and I. She relaxed and so did I.

When I took her out for our first trail ride with friends, the fear was back, straddling the back of the saddle, hugging my belly. I breathed and concentrated on talking with my friends. I set my hands on her neck so I wouldn’t pull on her mouth and give her something to run against. The first ride out can be a nervous thing, especially since Tessie has wanted to stride out and lead. I don’t like fighting her to stay behind. (She lead most of the way, but a few times Ginger gave her that look, pretty subtle, that made her stop and step back.)

 

Morgen stands at the gate and watches. We’ve driven her a few times, taking her to look at the neighbor’s bull and steer, but we’ve gone barefoot and the road has hurt her feet. But I think she is inviting me to ride her. And I think I may just get on her back one day. She looks with such longing when I take Tessie out.

Oh and I want to tell you when I walk the dogs last thing at night I see Orion settling towards the horizon in the gap between trees on our driveway. There’s something graceful and beautiful and magnificent about seeing him standing, while I pull my dogs outside for that one last squirt, my least favorite thing.

Bruce and I are easily entertained, standing at the head of our drive waiting for the space station to glide overhead or waiting for the train to come in from the west.