First Show EVER!

My first show (ever!) was scheduled for January 5^th and we made it!  A very laid back schooling jumper show at Destination Farm Eventing. 

I arrive at the barn early to try and make Rocky presentable, no small feat for a horse who frequently looks like he competes in mud bogging tournaments.  He’s not awful, and its too cold to give him a bath, but I do rinse just his legs and wash his impressive tail, which he was rather non-plussed about.  I throw on his new black sheet, which is miraculously clean because he hasn’t been turned out in it yet.  We don’t mention the fact it’s a Rhino 82 Quarter Horse fit (for broader shoulders).  And of course Rhino has to plaster “Quarter Horse” all over it.  My poor TB is going to have a complex.  You aren’t fat buddy, you’re just big boned. 

We arrive and are lucky enough to be able to unload some of our horses into stalls.  And my boy Rocky is UP.  He hasn’t been anywhere in a while (not since our failed event months ago) so he is dancing around and snorting and then we pass a trailer full of MULES, which he is wholly unimpressed by.  And that’s when I start to get nervous.  Dear God, this horse is going kill me. Okay probably not.  Even his bad is good.  Kerry laughs at me, asking if he’s wound up.  Yup!  He sure is.  “Awwww, Rocky’s so funny when he’s up.” 

Yeah, funny.  Not the description I was thinking. 

We (Kerry) lunge him for a few minutes to take the edge off and I walk him around the indoor and over all the jump poles lying on the ground (I hope that’s not cheating).  And he’s starting to settle.  Now the long, nervous wait until our 2’6” class starts.  I watch most of the rounds and its good fun and one of those mules is GOOD.  Damn, we aren't going to be able to beat the mule.  I even get to watch Tom (Waters) school a horse around the 2’3” class.  Finally Kerry and I do the course walk for course #1 and she gives me some vital information on getting my rather large, elephant-like horse around this very tight course in a narrow indoor. 

And its time for warm-up.  Everyone always says, if you can survive warm-up, then you can survive the actual show round.  They aren’t kidding.  Its quiet when we start our warm-up and we start with the cross-rail.  Which apparently we jumped going in the wrong direction.  Kerry points out the Santa hats on the jump standards are supposed to signify a red flag “red on right.”  And naturally we jumped it red on left.  Oops.  We correct and jump the rest of the fences red on right.  Warm-up is short and sweet and just enough to get our minds right and remind me I can actually do this, stay on a horse over a fence.  By the time we leave the warm-up ring, it’s a zoo and my horse is coming apart.  He’s under the bit, dancing around like a horse about to whirl away from underneath you.  We quietly exit stage left and join the rest of the Miles Ahead Farm crew and miraculously Rocky pulls himself together and goes into “couch” mode.  I call my husband so he can arrive in time to see our second round.  I plan this cleverly, because I am convinced my second round will be better than the first, so hopefully he won’t witness any disaster, which may or may not be our first round.  Kerry comes out to tell us it’s a big 2’6” and the jumps are “looky.”  Dear God, “looky”???  WTF does that mean?  Finally we are on deck and I get my first glimpse at what “looky” means.  There’s shit everywhere.  Barrels, boxes, flowers, brush, planks, psychedelic painted poles, and there are oxers.  Oh my, are there oxers.  There are oxers 3 poles deep.  OMG, why did we not do the 2’3” class first?!?!?!  If Rocky decided to bag this whole thing and back on up outta here, I would not stop him and I would only feign to beat him with my stick and just hit my own leg instead.  But alas, he stood quietly awaiting our turn. 

And #24 is up.  Remember in my previous blog post (The Event That Never Happened) I said Rocky has a game face?  Yeah, well, that was not a joke.  All f*cking business in the ring.  To be fair, I don’t really remember a lot of the specific details from the round.  Its like when something traumatic happens to you and you can only remember the time right before and right after the traumatic event, but not the actual event, even though you were definitely there and apparently coherent.  As far as I remember, our round was pretty good until the very end.  No stops, no poles, I managed to stay with him, pointing him in the right direction and just kinda holding on and hoping for the best.  And then the last line comes.  Two fences with 5 or 6 (maybe even 7 or 8, I don’t know), strides in between.  Just enough distance to get yourself in trouble.  And the last fence had a very scary barrel underneath.  The second-to-last fence was fine (I think) but then we kinda zigzag down to the last fence, and I’m not real sure Rocky was convinced he needed to jump over that barrel, but I somehow straighten us and he doesn’t really have a choice.  And he jumps it huge (and maybe long, I don’t know) and pops me out of the tack a little and I lose my right stirrup AND I yell “SHIT!”…..very loudly..….with lots of little kids around.  Very classy.  I manage to stay on, collect my right stirrup and apologize for my Tourette's.   Apparently my jumping rounds are not kid-approved.  But we SURVIVED!!!  And now I have to do it all again, only a different course, with my husband watching.

After my round Amanda (Tamminga) proceeds to tell me how great I did, and yes, the last line was a bit dicey, but I straightened us, worked it out and held it together.  Tom proceeds to tell me how awful the last line was (yes, it was very bad).  I think I need (and want!) Amanda around all the time to buffer Tom's critiques of my riding. 

AND my husband arrives.  He has watched me ride before, albeit not often, but I have the uncanny ability to ALWAYS fall off when he’s present, thus reaffirming his stance that I’m trying to kill myself via equestrian activities.  I REALLY don’t want to fall off at my first show ever, but I really do want him to watch my round, so its kind of a rock and hard place.  First round was passable, so hopefully we do maybe even a little better for round two.  Kerry is left holding Rockstar for me so I walk, or rather jog the course with Beth and Julie, two other Miles Ahead Farm boarders.  I maybe shoulda spent a little more time walking that course.  It was a little tighter with sharper turns than course one.

And we are off for round two.  My breathing is only slightly less shallow than round one.  I do remember chucking my shoulders horribly at one fence (sorry Rocky) but he still took  the fence for me and I pull it together, until……fence 10.  F*cking fence 10, where the hell are you?  I finish the 9-a-b combo…and get lost.  I haven’t the faintest clue which fence is fence 10.  11 and 12 I know, because it’s the same terrible line I did in the first round.  But fence 10 is….oh there you are fence 10, sharp left turn to natural barrel.  Thank you spectators and Kerry for pointing that out for me.  We circle and finish our last three fences without incident.   Tom proceeds to tell me the fences are in fact NUMBERED and you go in ascending order.  My husband, God love him, wants to know why ALLLLLLL those little kids could remember the course, but I couldn’t.  Ahhhhh, f*cking fence 10.  Apparently remembering two courses within 20 minutes of each other is beyond me, which means my first event is going to be REAL interesting. 

After my round, once my breathing returned to normal, Kerry tells me I did great!  But….I could have used some more pace in round #2.  Then Tom tells me I did great…..aaaaand I could have used some more pace in round #2.  At least there is a trainer consensus.  I wish Steuart Pittman had been there, and then my complete set of trainers could have told me……I needed more pace.  I think it takes at least three times for me to be told something and then it finally reaches the part of my brain that remembers stuff.  (Yes, I have three wonderfully amazing trainers.  When you are as awful as I am, one trainer is just not enough.)  Clearly, we have GOT to work on adjustability at the canter.  And by we, I mean me, because Rocky will do whatever you tell him.  Unfortunately, there was not a whole lot of thinking going on for my part of the two rounds, and pace was very low on my list (pointing Rocky in the right direction and staying on were very high on the list).  But it was  my very FIRST show, so survival mode was really the best I could hope for.  At least I didn’t chicken out (I almost did) or cry (always a strong possibility).  Sooooo, for next time (which just happens to be Feb. 9^th!), I’m going to try and be, uh, a little more present in the saddle and maybe think my way through the course a bit more…..with more pace. 

Finally, I climb off Rocky and land on very jello-y legs.  Nerves anyone?  I’m absolutely exhausted returning Rocky to his stall to untack, and Kerry comes over and tells me I got a ribbon for my first round.  Seriously, I laugh.  No we didn’t, I just rode an elephant in an indoor, there’s no way we got a ribbon for time.  But there it is, a pretty pink ribbon.  I’m still skeptical, and seriously, it crossed my mind that maybe they just give ribbons to everyone, like in pony club, so no one gets their feelings hurt.  But, seriously, we got fifth place :)

The Event That Never Happened

So, as a newbie eventer, there was some hope that this year I would actually make it to an event.  There were plans.  GOOD plans.  And what is it they say about the best laid plans?  Yeah, throw a horse into that mix and you are guaranteed to wind up working on Plan Z version 2.7. 

My maiden voyage was to be the MD starter trials in Oct.  Home base (MDHT is across the street) is always a good place to start.  A starter trial is ideal because I own no show boots, jacket, britches…..well, anything.  And as I’ve mentioned, I don’t know how to braid yet, so an unrecognized starter trial is the perfect venue to not worry about attire + appearance and just focus on the basics, like, you know, SURVIVING.  Kerry and I worked out a masterful plan.  She was hosting a training day on Saturday as part of MDHT’s “week with the pros” so I would actually get to ride the entire course before the actual starter trial on Sunday.  Perfection.  Riding the course the day before would guarantee at least a smidgeon of confidence.  At the very least I would know exactly what to expect.  We added to Kerry and Julie’s Perfect Event Plan by entering Rocky to go novice the week before at the recognized MDHT.  Rocky hadn’t been to an event in a while, so Kerry was going to run him novice to knock off any rust, ensuring he’d be all “ho hum honey badger” going beginner novice (with me) the weekend after.  Planning Perfection at its finest. 

I learn a dressage test.  My first dressage test EVER.  Some walking, some trotting, some cantering.  We got this.  Well, all but the cantering, but that’s only two circles so so what if we canter around with our nose in the air?  The goal here is to do it, not necessarily do it well :)   I have a two hour lesson with Tom to work on our round canter, its non-existent.  Emphasis on OUR, as in me + Rocky.  Rocky apparently has a very nice round canter, which I have failed to elicit.  At this point I’m just concerned with keeping him cantering for a whole 20m circle, round and supple is the least of my worries. 

Novice run commences.  I am late, and show up in time to see Kerry in dressage warm up.  Rocky looks a little nervous, which is to say he looks awake, Kerry looks exhausted having run the Baltimore marathon the day before.  All business in the dressage ring though.  Rocky is definitely one of those horses who has a game face.  After dressage, Rocky is much more relaxed, honey badger just don’t give a f*ck attitude in full force.  We’ve got some downtime before show jumping, so Rock star gets some grazing and relaxation on the trailer. Finally we tack up for SJ.  Kerry hops on and starts the trot down to warm-up.  And Rocky is dead LAME.  Huh?  How does a horse come up lame after a novice dressage test?   Best laid plans.  Pack it up, that’s a wrap.  We get Rocky home and he toes his left hind all the way from the trailer to his stall. 

We hope, we pray, we pack the hoof trying to draw out the suspected abscess and ascertain some realm of soundness before the weekend and my FirstEverAmazingBeginnerNoviceAwesomeEventingSurvivalExperience.  We try him on Wednesday.  I believe “wonky behind” were the exact words Kerry used.  By Friday the “wonkiness” had not subsided, no abscess to be seen and I finally re-route my starter trial event hopes to the November MDHT starter trial.  All hope is not lost!  I tentatively start my daily, silent dressage prayers….until it takes three weeks, a month (?) for Rocky to finally blow out that abscess.  At this point, I have actually forgotten about the November edition starter trial....until the rest of the barn starts prepping for it a few days before the event.  Oh yeah, I was supposed to be running BN….two days from now.  Sometimes I entertain the notion that I am in fact a bad-ass.  A bad-ass wouldn’t care that their horse had only been ridden four days out of the past month, hadn’t seen a cross country jump in even longer or that they didn’t even know which dressage test was scheduled.  A bad-ass would throw caution to the wind, jump in head first and ride bareback around their first ever cross country course.  And then I wake up from my daydream and realize I am not a bad-ass.  I am more in the realm of pansy-ass, definitely smart-ass and on some occasions even dumb-ass, but bad-ass, no.  So there is no way I am running BN in two days.  I feel utterly unprepared.  And feeling unprepared leads to a lack of confidence.  And a lack of confidence leads to nerves.  And nerves lead to soiling your pretty white britches (I don’t actually have pretty white britches yet).  Our event hopes are gone for 2012, so newbie eventer I will remain until next year.   

I’ve given a lot of thought to my petrified state at the thought of going Beginner Novice unprepared.  For a while I just chalked it up to being a complete pansy-ass, which may be entirely true, I mean, Rocky is pretty much a training level packer, so beginner novice is not going to phase him.  But to save my ego, I’ve decided I’m (mostly) not a pansy-ass, it is just in my nature, a personality trait, to want to be prepared. Especially for new scary/exciting things and even some things I’ve done lots of times.  Case in point, triathlons.  I’ve done a lot of triathlons the past couple of years, but this year (2012) I did not do any.  Why?  Lack of preparation.  I was never able to stay consistent enough in my training to feel comfortable doing a race.  I like to be at a certain point, physically, before a race, and I never made it there this year.  Mainly due to falling-off-Bernie related injuries, but I also had some problems with my right knee (un-Bernie related) which side-lined me from my normal triathlon-training regiment.  When I was finally injury-free, it was towards the end of the triathlon season and I thought about just doing one for the hell of it, I know I can finish the race, but decided not to.   It would be stressful and just not  as much fun.  And really, that’s what races and events are all about.  HAVING FUN.  Feeling prepared* provides me the best opportunity to have a good time out there while trying not to die (hmmm, a bit over-dramatic).

*Do not confuse this training/physical/ability preparation with remembering-things-you-might-need-in advance-forethought preparation.  While I will always strive to be prepared physically and mentally in my ability to accomplish something, I have very little hope of achieving forethought preparation, like remembering my helmet and gloves so I don’t have to drive to the barn in the morning to fetch them (see blog post I Swear I am Smarter than I Seem). 

Fast forward a month, and while my hopes for an actual event start are postponed until spring, I do have my first ever jumper show on Jan. 5^th.   Its actually not just my first jumper show, its my first show, period.  And while the weather has not permitted a lot of practice for Rocky and me lately, I have complete confidence in his ability to go there with his game face and get shit done, and I have moderate confidence in myself to go along for the ride.  Plus, Kerry said there will be adult beverages. And NOTHING goes better with your first jumper show than adult beverages. Triathlon training for the 2013 season starts in January too.  Its going to be a great month.  Kerry Blackmer, OPEN WATER HERE WE COME!

My Second Trip to Dodon Farm aka I Swear I'm Smarter than I Seem

We’ve all done it.  We’ve all made fools of ourselves.  Some of us just do it more often than others.  And some of us do it on a regular basis.  I’ve been told there are two types of smarts.  There is book-smart and then there is common-sense or “street” smart.  Well, apparently these two attributes rarely go together.  And apparently I am of the “book-smart” variety, (yes, I did well in school) which is to say, I lack common sense.   And this is another one: “Some people are just really good at taking tests.”  Yes, that’s me.  Will there be a test on this, please?  I’m hoping my ultra-honed test-taking abilities will carry over to dressage tests (somehow I’m thinking not).  I’ve had the bookish, smart-person label all my life, and I’m okay with that, but for f*ck’s sake, I can be a massive idiot sometimes.  A lot of the time.  I refuse to believe I completely lack all vestiges of common sense, so I’ve given some thought to the causes of my frequent air-headedness, and here’s what I’ve come up with.    

  

      1.     I am normally in a hurry 

      2.   I don’t always take the time to think things through (see #1) 

      3.     I tend to be a bit absentminded and A.D.D. 

      4.   I spend a lot of time thinking about the immediate immediate and not a lot of time thinking about the immediate future, which means my “planning ahead” skills are a bit suspect (see #1 and #3)

I don’t really agree with the term “absent” minded.  While the dictionary definition of absentminded, “preoccupied” could be my life’s motto, I take issue with the word “absent.”  Implying the mind is nowhere to be found.  I‘m actually too much “present” minded.  I am in my head all the time, often preoccupied thinking about one thing while doing another.  Which means I am too busy over-analyzing the tightness present in my  left hip which is causing my left leg to slip back over fences, and lose the occasional stirrup and what stretches, warm-up and foam rolling exercises would be beneficial to correct this, than to think about the most logical way to load the dishwasher. 

Now, remembering my list of excuses above for my frequent forays into idiocy, I will move on to a section of my blog post which I am calling I SWEAR I AM SMARTER THAN I SEEM.

I head to the barn Saturday evening to clean Kerry’s tack in preparation for Sunday’s event (she is taking Rock star novice for me).  While there I get a very helpful lesson on tack cleaning (thank you Elizabeth Darr).  Laugh all you want about my rudimentry tack cleaning knowledge, but I’ve NEVER been to a show before, which also means I’ve NEVER cleaned tack in preparation for a show before (newbie eventer, remember?).  I don’t know if there is some special show ritual for cleaning tack.  Do you use special saddle soap, is there a special order, some unwritten but well-known process of cleaning tack for a show?  These are all things I don’t know.  And this isn’t tack cleaning for me, its tack cleaning for Kerry, so, you know, it needs to be done right.  The good news is cleaning tack for a show is the same as cleaning tack normally, but more thorough, so I feel I was successful with the cleaning aspect.  The bad news is I unfortunately wasn’t there the next morning when Kerry was prepping for the event, so hopefully I managed to put everything back together correctly. 

While at the barn cleaning tack, it does not occur to me to go ahead and grab my helmet, gloves, boots and half chaps, which I will need for tomorrow morning’s trek to Dodon Farm.  I blame it on the wine I had with me for tack cleaning endevours, but we know the truth (#4 above).  My lack of preparation and forthought lead to an additional 20 minutes added to my early morning trip, as I retrieve these items from the barn which I could have easily grabbed the night before when I WAS RIGHT THERE. 

Necessary riding equipment acquired and I’m on my way to Dodon Farm.  I am CONVINCED I need to take I-70 to get there, and as such I do not plug in my GPS until I reach the highway.  Which I then promptly ignore as I drive past my exit.  An hour and 20 minutes later, I arrive. On my trip home, I immediately plug in the GPS and it proceeds to take me a completely different route  (no I-70 necessary) and I make it home in an hour. I swear I’m smarter than I seem.  

I am doing some work for Steuart Pittman for Retire Racehorse Training Project (RRTP) and in exchange he is giving me some much welcomed riding lessons whenever our schedules coincide and I can make the trip to Dodon Farm.  (www.retiredracehorsetraining.org  CHECK IT OUT).  Last time I was here I made a bit of an ass of myself by crashing through an oxer and subsequently leaving my helmet and gloves (see blog post My Visit to Dodon Farm).  So, I’m figuring it can only go up from there.  I’m not nearly as nervous as I was last time, which I’m hoping will translate into some more relaxed riding.  A lot has changed at Dodon since my previous visit and I give myself the self-guided tour of the new barn, which is amazing.  There is something peaceful about being in a horse barn.  I could probably spend hours sitting in a barn, I enjoy the sounds, even the smells and the simplistic atmosphere.  I also appreciate being in a place that while neat and kept, is never really truly CLEAN.  Because its not supposed to be.  It’s a place where horses are loved and cared for, which also means it’s a place where horses poop.  I think its hard to take yourself too seriously around horse poop and I appreciate that.  It seems like a lot of aspects of my life have been very, stressfully “serious” lately and I will find and take comfort wherever I can get it, and if its horse poop, then its horse poop.  If I can just get to the barn, I’m immediately more relaxed and all of my big, looming problems, don’t seem so big and looming anymore.  I can take time to turn my focus to my horse, my riding and our partnership and everything else just seems to fade away, if only for an hour.  Sorry if I went too deep for some of you about horse poop, but maybe you should spend more time around horses and horse poop and see if you feel similarly. 

Horse poop ruminating aside, Steuart appears in all his glorious tallness and infectious enthusiasm and we select my mount, Laney (aka Lois Lane on Dodon Farm’s horses for sale page).  Steuart hands me a boot as we boot her up.  (We actually had to trade boots because Steuart handed me the wrong boot for the right front, which I actually noticed, kudos to me.  Don’t worry I’m about to blow all my horse-tack-knowledge points on what happens next).  Then he hands me what I think is some new-fangled fancy saddle pad as he retrieves his saddle.  He goes to put the saddle on Laney and realizes I’ve put the saddle pad on upside down.  NO!  I’m really impressed with my new low of stupidity embarrassed.  I mean, Steuart is well aware of my mediocre riding abilities, but not being able to figure out a saddle pad?!?!  I glance around for a large hole to crawl in, but there isn’t one.  For f*ck’s sake, really Julie?  Is this your first time tacking up a horse?  If my work for RRTP thus far hadn’t been spot on, I’m quite sure Steuart would think I’m a nincompoop.   I swear I’m smarter than I seem!

To top it off we are bridling Laney with some contraption I’ve never seen before, and I’m shooting Steuart loads of quizzical looks as we adjust it. 

“You’ve never seen one of these before?  They’re all the rage.”  He tells me. 

No Steuart, I’m still coming to terms with figure 8 bridles and apparently saddle pads, which seem at the cusp of my IQ level, this thing is way past.  The contraption in question:

Alright, boots on, saddle pad right side up, fancy Micklem bridle conquered and we are ready. 

We do a little bit of flat work and transitions so Laney and I can get the feel of each other and to warm up.  I never really get her round at the canter which seems to be the story of my life lately. 

**Side story**:  I had a two hour lesson with Tom (Waters) recently prepping for a dressage test (that never happened) and I could not get Rocky round at the canter.  Just couldn’t get it done.  Tom hops on (in jeans and sneakers mind you and NO spurs which are a requirement for riding Rocky) and he has Rocky lovely and round at the canter in 30 seconds.  “Julie, this horse should be making you look good!  He already knows everything and does everything for you, a monkey could ride this horse and do well in dressage.”  Says Tom.  Okay, maybe he didn’t say the monkey part, but its something he would say.  He hands Rocky back over to me and I STILL can’t get a round canter.  Mcuk Me. **Side Story End** 

And as much as I love my forgiving, willing Rock star, Laney is a bit more forward and easier to keep cantering, which is nice.  But Laney is a rock star in her own right over fences.  Very easy and comfortable to jump.  It's easy to see she enjoys it and really hones in on the fence once you point her at it.  She is faster and more forward to fences than I’m used to, and it’s fun.  I miss a couple of spots to the fence, mostly the long ones, but for the most part I’m staying with her and even asking for the extra step here and there.  Steuart puts me on some courses, which is good because I don’t practice a lot of courses (clearly I should).  He also incorporates some tight steering and correct aim, which I miss the first time around and we have an awkward S-curve approach, but work it out any ways.  And we do OXERS!  And I don’t fall off.  I’m feeling pretty good and confident and Steuart and I discuss my jumping before we do some cross country.  He tells me even when I have a good spot to the fence, I’m still just a little forward a tick too soon with my position.  I know.  I can feel it.  I need to sit and wait a half second longer.  I’ve suspected this.  Even when I’ve felt good about my jumping with Rocky I’ve suspected my bad habits haven’t gotten better, only my timing of my bad habits.  Steuart has just confirmed my nagging suspicions.  Still something to work on.  Wait and then wait some more.  I don’t know what my mental block is when it comes to waiting.  Am I afraid of being left behind?  Am I still trying to “help” the horse forward by leaning forward?  I can hear Tom yelling now “there is no reason in any riding discipline to ever throw your shoulders forward in front of a fence!  Ever!”  Ugh, he’s right.  Quiet the mind and still the body in front of fences! Only been working on it for a year now.  Maybe another year and I will have this habit conquered.  Steuart makes an interesting suggestion based on some advice from Jim Wofford: draw my head back (like you’re trying to create a double chin) right in front of the fence.  If my head stays back, so will the rest of my upper body.  According to Jim Wofford (according to Steuart) there are two sports where you never want to stick your chin out, riding a horse over fences and boxing. 

As we move to some cross country schooling, I give this a shot.  While a bit awkward and yet another addition to the ever-increasing list of things I need to think about in front of fences, it does work if executed properly and timely.  If you over do it (which apparently I was) then it can make you stiffen the upper body, which you don’t want.  So, just a small motion and don’t make yourself rigid over it.  If you’re interested, here’s my list of things to think about in front of a fence:

  

     1.      SIT DOWN 

     2.      LEG ON 

     3.      Don’t throw your shoulders forward (EVER!) 

     4.      Left leg at girth (it tends to slip if I don’t think about it) 

     5.      Hands down and quiet 

     6.      Count your strides 

     7.      Look at the top of the top rail of the jump 

     8.      And now: Draw head back and make a double chin 

     9.      Oh yeah, and don’t fall off

So, that’s a lot to remember and execute well in the seconds before a fence.  Perfect practice makes perfect.  I need to master a few of these until they are automatic (good habits!) and then move on to the next few. 

Alright, more about my cross country schooling.  Laney is a forward horse, so I secretly have concerns about her running away with me.  But she doesn’t!  She is obviously a very well-trained horse, because you get the impression she WANTS to take off like a bullet, but she knows better and waits for her rider’s cues.  We go over logs and roll tops and take an awkward one over a coop.  And we do my first chevron!  Made easier by the fact it was flanked by two large blue barrels, but still, it was my first!  Now we are adding a ditch and a down bank.  Apparently I like to tell Steuart when he is asking me to do something I’ve never done before (aka a down bank and an up bank).  Steuart then likes to make me do these things.  He’s incredulous over my lack of experience with banks.  The up bank is easy, but down banks TERRIFY me.  (See blog post Things I Learned from the Olympics).  Which is impressive in its own right, seeing as how I’ve NEVER done one before and have no real negative experience with them.  Nonetheless I’ve done a pretty solid job of mentally freaking myself out over drops.  So we trot to the down bank and it’s a bit ridiculous.  Right before the large drop (small step down, whatever) I take my leg off and completely stop riding Laney and in turn she completely stops.  Steuart yells “LEG!” sounding suspiciously like Tom, and we quietly step down off the bank.  Sheepish smile.  Does that count?  Of course not, now we are just going to add it into our short cross country course at a canter.  Yikes.  Laney is doing her thing, I’m trying to do my chin thing (rather unsuccessfully because I kinda forget, see list above) and we do the ditch rather nicely and canter the approach to our drop.  I get confused, probably on purpose, miss the “drop” and we canter down a sloped hill to the left of the drop instead.  I miss the interesting tire jump altogether but turn it around and finish the last two jumps.  So much for confidence, steering and staying on course.  Steuart’s expression is a bit unreadable after I finish my mini-course, I think he knows I sub-consciously, possibly consciously, missed the down bank because I was, uh, scared, but he lets it slide.  It’s the end of my lesson and maybe he’s just happy we’ve finished with me still in the saddle, so he doesn’t push the bank issue.  I have a feeling this drop will resurface in my next lesson.   I do two more jumps specifically to practice my double chin and I nail it on the second one.  It felt RIGHT, I was with Laney, not a split second ahead of her.  Her motion moved me into my motion.  Now if I can just memorize and replicate. 

We head to the barn and I get Laney untacked and ready for turn out and I’m searching everywhere for her halter.  Finally I ask Steuart and he says, “you’re holding it aren’t you?”  Why, yes, yes I am.  And now I’m looking for that hole to crawl into again right after I get back from turning Laney out in the wrong pasture.  I swear I’m smarter than I seem.