FEI Challenge comes back to haunt me...

I have discovered a little-understood downside to having one's dressage teacher participate in a clinic taught by a hot-shot international FEI judge from Sweden. That is that said teacher comes to class the next day ON FIRE with new ideas.

J. and I came into the arena yesterday and ran headlong into A's steely new determination to get J. round and on the bit. Five thousand half-halts later, I think we actually semi-achieved this goal for a good four strides. And it was a lovely 10 seconds. But will we ever be able to stretch that 10 seconds out to last for an entire test?

(Photo above is NOT my horse. My horse only dreams of looking so cool.)

Nothing really wrong with all this, except for the screaming in my shoulder muscles and the equally painful reminder that I know nothing. It seems that my horse and I achieve the most fundamental goals of the dressage discipline approximately .001 percent of the time.

Ah well, pole pole (slowly slowly), as we say in Kenya

Riding Schedule, Ideal Version

It's been a great week for riding, if not for ideal horse behavior. Dressage lesson on Tuesday (Discouraging! Amazing how much we have both forgotten in just two months...), arena work and a few small jumps on Wednesday, day off Thursday, hacks on Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

Today's hack was particularly fine...My friend J. and I like to combine some bird-watching with our riding, and this afternoon, we saw a secretary bird. These are wonderful birds, a compelling combination of fierce and ridiculous. "A large bird, usually in pairs, hunting on foot with measured gate," according to my bird-bible Zimmerman.

This coming week, I'll try to slot in a weekly jumping lesson with R. from next door. He's a good teacher and J. likes him.

The first time we had a lesson together felt, at least for a few minutes, like a transcendent breakthrough. J. and I seemed to in synch to an amazing degree, proof at last that cross-species psychic communion is possible...

Sadly, I was deluded. It turned out that R. had trained J. when she was just emerging from her short, unhappy polo career. So she wasn't responding to some infinitisimal signal direct from my brain to hers - but to R.'s commands. It helps that he has a very particular way of calling out instructions..."Tuhhh---ROT" "Ahhnda ha-ALT."

Since then, R and I have worked out a code for our lessons, one that J hasn't cracked yet. I don't get that push-button response anymore, but at least I know the response I get is honestly earned.

Once we've found a time for our weekly jumping lesson, I'll have the outlines of my ideal riding schedule all set. Then comes the hard part, which is actually carrying out all of the elements of the schedule. Rain. Doctor's appointments. Plumbers. The list of things that can and will interfere is endless.