Downs And Ups

By the time I made it back to Solo's stall, my blood pressure had well passed healthy levels.  As I surveyed all the gear that needed to be applied to the horse, my eyes rolled and I turned in deperation to my teammate stabled next-door and shamelessly begged for help.  As any good eventer would, she sprang into action without hesitation.

I now had approximately twenty minutes left in which to tack up my horse, redress myself, warm Solo up, and be ready to parade through the coliseum gates. I arranged pad layers and set my jumping saddle on top and whipped off the fleecy cover.

Fuuuuuuuu..........!!!!

Teammate: "What are you missing??"

"I HAVE NO $#@%! STIRRUPS!" I recalled they were on my dressage saddle, which sat in my trailer at the other end of the complex, well out of range of retrieval in time.

Dear, wonderful teammate: "It's ok, take my dressage stirrups."

Stirrups applied (and leathers rolled like I am six years old since they are long).

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.......!!!!

It was like a curse. I discovered several other things which sat in the trailer that I could not possibly continue without. Teammate calmly handed over everything we needed to get by and stuffed me up on the horse. Eventers rock, y'all.

Lesson 7: Don't put anything away until the end of the day.

We scurried over to the warmup ring Indy 500 track attached to the coliseum and started to trot around. And by trot around, I mean picking our way through horses cantering in both directions about three deep along the rail around the warmup jumps. People would randomly peel off and weave around to a jump with a warning yell. It was utter chaos and no place for the faint of heart, be it human or equine. Amazingly, even though there was more than one set of rider eyeballs bugging out, the horses calmly went about their jobs with not even a squeal of protest at the close quarters.

At this point, I discovered that not only were the stirrups set at jockey length, they were uneven to boot. So I swept out the gate and in desperation, asked a random couple to hold Solo for me while I fixed the leathers (horse people in a panic seem to have no qualms about harnessing the labour of innocent bystanders).

My state of emotional meltdown must have been written all over me like a billboard as the kind gentlemen readily stepped up and took Solo's head. As I fumbled with the buckles with shaking hands, he gently said, "Relaaax. Take it easy. Remember, sometimes when we try to do things faster, they just take us longer." Bless him, whoever he was. It was enough to get me to draw in a shaky breath or two and get things sorted. I jammed my feet home and with profuse thanks, returned to warmup.

With my brain now focused on riding forward to the jumps, keeping legs and core strong and supporting and the hands soft, we took crossrail, vertical, and oxer on. I could hear David and Becky in my head on each approach, reminding me to keep my shoulders back, leg on, and wait wait wait...

Our number was called, I rode through the white swinging gate, and then it was just us; one red horse and one determined me alone with ten jumps and the laser eye of the timers. I felt the ripple of a thrill as I heard our names being announced by the voice of eventing, Brian O'Connor. Then everything else disappeared and all I heard was hoofbeats and my own voice in my head: They're just poles. It's only an arena. Ride each jump and keep your eyes locked on target and LET GO OF THE DAMN REINS.

So when I got to the first jump, I completely choked, overrode it, and pulled the top rail.

Lesson 8: Let go of the damn reins.

Then I got mad at myself. And that makes me sit down and ride. I put a supporting leg on to each jump. I carefully remembered and used the tips we'd gotten earlier from an Advanced friend. I waited for the waiting jumps and rode up to the oxers. And the rest of the round was clean and under time, despite a few bobbles along the way.

There were many pats and much praise for Solo and a giant sigh of relief for me. I still had no idea what our score was, only that it had just increased by four. The rest of the day was ours to collapse and recover from this chaos and tomorrow...

Cross country awaited.

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Dressage Is For Haters

The warmup arena closest to my ring was on a slight slant. I knew as soon as we took our first few trot strides downhill that I should have done the hock injections sooner.

Lesson 5: Always listen to your gut.

Solo wasn't off, but I could feel that he just wasn't as willing to really push from behind and support his weight like he had been doing. Thank you, universe, for making sure that, so far, we never get to compete recognized at 100% capacity.

I worked on suppling and transitions, but perhaps we have been doing the transition thing too much -- Solo anticipated all of the upward transitions and flung his head around in annoyance. I threw my dressage whip in the grass, which improved matters a little. All the while, I boiled with frustration inside. In true adult fashion, I mentally screamed at innocent bystanders: Stop looking at me! I am a psycho.

His dressage work has been beautiful at home. Even 80% of what he has been doing would have been great. But the confines of the stall and the cold snap were too much for Friday morning's Adequan shot to overcome.

A steward trotted down to the ring, loudly looking for 241.

"That's me," I said.

"We have been looking for you!" she called. This girl was about 15 or so.

WTF? Again?? Am I doomed to never actually get a helpful warmup steward who does their job and lines up people on deck???! "I'm sorry," I replied, "but no one is giving us information down here."

"Oh," she says, "there is no steward because this is not an official warmup area."

I look blankly back over my shoulder at where we had been warming up: a harrowed, watered, PREPARED surface with about six or seven horses and riders prepping for their tests. Sure as hell looks like a warmup area to me.

I shake my head and walk up to the ring. I greet the judge and enter after she rings the bell.

We put down our test. It doesn't feel very good. Solo is a bit resistant, especially since the first half of the test tracks left, his weak side. Once we go right, he softens a bit. I try to keep up the energy but he is dead slow in medium walk and breaks to trot several times in anticipation, the bugger. I salute at the end, thank the judge and leave.

I am near tears of frustration and fury, not all of which is completely explainable. There might have been a hormone surge in there somewhere too. But I am so angry that all of our hard work with such positive results seems to disappear as soon as we step in a warm up arena.

As I put Solo back in his stall to rest for a bit before show jumping, I am overwhelmed by hopelessness.

I want to just pack up and go home. I hate this. Why do I do this? This is ridiculous -- I am here by myself, trying to do forty jobs at the same time and I am failing at all of them in this huge place. What is the freaking point?

Lesson 6: Don't skip breakfast. It then means I have low blood sugar, which means that I am crabby, impatient, and moody.

I resolve to go watch a few stadium rounds before I get ready to show jump. I need to calm the heck down. As I settle into the bleachers to watch the first round, I glance at my watch. It is 1:20 pm. I am a five minute walk from my barn and I am supposed to ride my stadium round at 2:02 pm. Like, in 40 minutes.

My head explodes anew and I slam through the auditorium doors in a mad race for stabling.

This is not going well.

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Virginia Is For (Horse) Lovers

How do I even begin? How do I encapsulate the ride from fury and hopelessness to joy and satisfaction? What can convey such an unexpected experience?

If you've never been to the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, I can firmly assure you that you have missed out. I spent three of my undergraduate years there and its smoky vistas and brilliantly coloured hillsides still catch me with their effortless beauty. Nestled in the western foothills on the north side of Lexington (yes, there are two Lexingtons) is the Virginia Horse Center, home of the Virginia Horse Trials for at least the past ten years. Solo and I pulled into the gravel drive on Friday afternoon around one o'clock. I settled him into a stall and walked to the top of the hill near the cross country field and turned around.

Spread behind me were the huge colliseum (on left) with the attached covered warmup (front), SIX stabling barns, each the size of a warehouse lined up behind, with the foothills resting in the background.  Perfectly groomed warmup areas (six or seven of them) hid around every corner.  There were four dressage arenas scattered in a half moon behind this vantage point.  Oh, and inside the colliseum was our stadium course (half of it is pictured at left).  At this point, my jaw unhinged.  I am not really used to riding my jump courses in Madison Square Freaking Garden.  I was a very tiny minnow in a very massive ocean full of sharks.  I slunk back to my horse to hide out.  Only it was a really long slink because this place is HUUUUGE.

Oh, and did I mention that there were about 300 other competitors there for this august event?  So this massive facility is buzzing with duallys, bobcats, trailers, leaping horses, wheelbarrows, golfcarts, motorbikes, people, loudspeakers, vendors, and dumptrucks from about 7:00 each morning until about 8:00 each night.  The ocean is bloody enormous.

My intention had been to camp in the back of my truck, since I have a cap on it. I had a ton of blankets and a heating pad. But when an Area II acquaintence offered the pullout bed in her (very warm) fancy trailer, I grabbed my sleeping bag and never looked back. It was 31 degrees on Friday night and my windshield held 1/2 an inch of ice Saturday morning. I love you, Cindy.

Lesson 1: If camping in the truck, don't be too damn lazy to go up in the attic and break out the full fledged space heater.

I was up around 7:00 Saturday morning to feed and handwalk Solo. He was already about a month overdue for his hock injections. Since he lives in a pasture 23 hours a day, normally, this is not a huge issue. Since he'd spent the night in a stall, however, I wanted him OUT and moving as much as possible.

I walked back to the campsite (down three huge barns and across a massive parking area) to get my food and video camera and watch some morning rides.

Lesson 2: If you are unfamiliar with the facility and there is any chance it might be the size of, say, a county, bring a damn bike!

We were slated to ride at 12:56 pm. At approximately 12:02 pm, I discovered that in my drug-clouded packing attempts, I had failed to include a shirt and stock tie for dressage show jumping. Shit-fire. In a panic, I ran to the next barn to find Cindy, one of the few people I knew there, praying that against all odds she would be at her horse's stall.

"OMG OMG OMG, I need help!"

Cindy stares at me like I have two heads. "What's wrong with you?"

"I have a clothing crisis!!"

"What kind of crisis?"

"I have no shirt and no stock tie! I was on drugs and I thought they were on the same hanger as my coat and and and..." I wailed in despair.

In veteran Cindy fashion, she calmly said, "Go in my trailer and look in the closet, you will find what you need."

Lesson 3: Do not consume opiates or other consciousness-altering substances while preparing for an important event. This goes hand in hand with

Lesson 4: Keep your horse show crap together. On the same hanger. Always.

I hope I squeaked a thank you as I dashed to my truck (oh yeah, I'd already given up on the walking unless someone figured out a way to clone me), got to the campsite as fast as I dared, shoved on shirt, assembled the stock tie so it appeared that white linen had been vomited in a pile at my throat, pinned it into a ghastly mess, and bolted back to the barns.

Solo, bless his calm and patient heart, waited for me to stuff the bridle over his ears and climb on before making his way out into the sun and back to a warmup ring. As we crunched down the gravel path to the area designated for our division (Novice Rider), I took deep gulps of Blue Ridge air and tried desperately to calm the lightning storm in my skull. Hooves hit harrowed dirt and it was time to warm up for our test and time to see what I had underneath me that day. The next 30 minutes would probably decide, to a large degree, how we would place, if at all, in this humongous machine of a horse trial.

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Time To Go

Tomorrow morning sees my rig pointed at the Virginia Horse Center.  I would feel a lot better about it if we hadn't had a CRAP ride tonight.  I blame the fact that I have been on Vicadin and muscle relaxers for two days due to neck pain.  But Solo was a BEAST, argghh. I can only hope that means the next ride will be great.

Our ride times:

Dressage: Saturday at 12:56 pm
Show Jumping: Saturday at 2:02 pm
Cross Country: Sunday at 11:50 am

Our team for the Adult Team Challenge is called "Nuts To You." We had to have a little name change after some registration confusion, but hopefully that is worked out now.

Live scoring may be available here. A link to the horse trials webpage is listed on our calendar.

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Cross Country With Becky OR Why You Should Never Take A Jump For Granted

Cross country day promised to be many things.  Solo & I didn't run till after lunch, so that meant I got to spend all morning watching the Training & Prelim folks go (which means I got to spy on them to see what I'd have to force my aching legs to do).  So I limped up the long sandy path from the stabling which led through the woods & around the field to the steeplechase area.  As the group moved on to the cross country course, I quickly discerned my goal for the day:

WANT TO JUMP THIS! (double stairstep bank that Jammie & Rocky demonstrate effortlessly)


Like, want so bad I can't stand still.  Want so bad that I tell everyone around me how much I want it.  Want so bad I work myself up into a frenzy of want.

Note to you non-eventers out there: this is one of the classic signs of a terminal case of eventing fever. The twitching, the frothing of the mouth, the hopping motions all indicate an incurable eventer who has spied a new obstacle to attempt. Do not try & stop her, it is pointless to intercede. Just stay out of the range of any limbs that may be thrashing with excitement, I wouldn't want you to get hurt.

Moving on...

(It's going to be a long story, but if you stick with it, I promise great entertainment.)

At one o'clock, I head up the path again, only this time on my horse. One member of our group has never really schooled cross country; I caution her that once she gallops through that water at the end, she will no longer be able to think about anything else for the rest of her riding days.

To begin, Becky wants us all to gallop the steeplechase loop sans jumps so she can watch our galloping position & our gallop rhythm. Solo is more than happy to oblige with the galloping through a field bit, but I have to remind him about every 0.2 seconds about the rhythm bit. I choose to ignore the burn of my thighs, what do thigh muscles know about what is important anyway?

After our circuit, Becky offers effusive praise for our rhythm & position & my ego shoots up about 25 points. Which is probably about 30 points higher than it should be.

"Okay," she says, "Now do the circuit again, but include the small steeplechase jump."

This jump is maybe a 2' or 2'3" wooden coop with fake plastic sticky "brush" coming out of the top. No problem, a simple fly jump. Solo's already sniffed the brush anyway.

I gallop off with a smug little smile, thinking, We're so awesome. My horse is awesome. I am awesome. Everyone is going to watch us do this jump so easily & they will wish that they were us!

Ha.

We roll around the turn & I put my eye on the jump. I half halt, balance my horse, & casually gallop up to it. I'm so busy thinking about how easy it all is, I only barely notice Solo's front feet tap the ground for takeoff & I lean forward for his jump.

Only there is no jump.

The next thing I know, I have cartwheeled over Solo's head as he ducked & spun to the right as he is wailing, "OMG, HORSE SPEARING STICKS OF HORRIBLE DOOM!!!!" I am flat on my back on top of the jump with a hearty whack & I think, Cool, this vest is awesome, I can't feel a thing! Then I slither backwards & land conk! on the nice baked clay on top of my head (that helmet's pretty sweet, too).  Finally, I am sitting on the ground with a bridle in one hand (I always wondered how people did that) & a fly bonnet in the other. Damn, I wish there were pictures.  Oh besides that one on the right.  Yeah, that's what I totally looked like.

I look to the right & I see a shiny chestnut butt & tail hightailing it into the woods back to the stabling. I think I can hear a distinctly equine snicker.

I look to the left & I see Becky walking towards me. "Well," I say, "that was unexpected."

"Now do you understand why we emphasize staying back before the jump?" she admonishes.

"Yes, ma'am, yes I do!"

Unfortunately, now I must do the Walk of Shame with bridle in hand to fetch my very naughty horse. It's a long way to stabling (remember that sandy path I mentioned), so they are kind enough to give me a Gator ride. A few minutes later, Solo ambles up to me as I exit the Gator with pricked ears. Hey, mom, whatchyou been up to? I just had a great gallop!

I resist the urge to call him a very nasty name. Or at least I resist saying it out loud.

He has a bloody mouth & it appears he has either bitten his tongue or hit his nose on the jump.

I don't feel very sorry for him right now.

The bloodflow has stopped though & he cheerily accepts the bit, so I swing back up & we trot down the path (again) to rejoin our group.

With my ego thoroughly deflated back down to proper levels, we gear up to have at it again.  We must do the little jump & we are given our choice whether or not to do the Big Kids' jump.  This time, I am sitting on the back of my saddle & my legs are well-wrapped in place.

And the shiny bastard refuses it, clearly terrified that the plastic sticks will stretch up & grab his little wussy hooves in mid-air. I am ready this time though & we whip around with a snarl.

Now I am seated approximately on Solo's tail & the spurs are fully engaged. There is no option; he WILL go over or go through, these are his choices. Wisely, he opts for the former with all the grace & beauty of an orange goat.

And damn straight, we are DOING the Big Kids' jump!!  Solo considers & finds this aligns with his best interests.

And after that...things went smooth as warm butter.  I most certainly did NOT get ahead of my horse (funny how I had zero further temptation to lean forwards) & Solo took everything as old hat (it's amazing what proper riding can do).

As we work the bank complex, I hear Becky telling our newly-converted classmate to watch how we go up the bank because "she's riding great now."  Ha.  Ok, that was pretty funny... 

Oh yeah, & that second picture? That's us going up the DOUBLE BANK. WAHOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

The Red Machine gets a well-earned drink after we finish at the water complex.

As always, we ride back to the stable with a big stupid grin on our faces (well, at least mine).  Oh, & our classmate whom I warned about the habit-forming properties of cross country?  Yeah, she can't wipe that shit-eating smile off her face, I'm afraid her cheeks will pop.  We have a new convert!

The Wisdom Of Becky With Respect To The Ego-Maintenance Tool That Is Solo:

-STAY BACK when jumping at speed.  Sit down on his tail & push him forward with your seat & leg, especially at slower gaits. Stay very strong in your core & don't let the horse pull you forward & compromise your position.

-If you keep your position, when that stutter step in front of the fence happens (you know which one I mean), you just wait & let him jump up in front of you.

-When galloping, put your hands down on his withers & keep them quiet until you need to make a correction; don't carry them up.

And I must add a huge thanks to Morgan, for all the pictures!! She worked hard all weekend to get some shots of everyone enjoying this fantastic opportunity & we are so grateful for it. Great job, kiddo, & thanks again!

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