(“I wasn’t using ‘the wrong aids’, but I also wasn’t using the aids right.”)

In Second Level Test 1 the horse canters the short diagonal from M to E and is required to make a simple change of lead (canter directly to walk directly to canter) as he approaches the track. As he comes past my judge’s booth at C, I can look at the horse’s balance and connection—or lack thereof—and say to my scribe “any bets on whether this is going to work?” And many more times than not, our predictions are correct. As with many movements, the successful execution depends much less on the actual aids given in that moment and much more on whether the horse is listening, susceptible to the rider’s input, and properly prepared before he’s asked to perform it.

To this point, I recently unearthed an ancient (by MTV standards) piece of video. It was a riding lesson I took with Major Lindgren 25 summers ago. He was helping me with my Thoroughbred Adam as we tried to move up to Prix St. George. In the lesson we worked at tempis, canter pirouettes, even half steps. And I have to say, it really wasn’t very good!

I had ridden all those movements before—in fact, I’d ridden them off and on for the better part of 15 years already. But this was the first horse I’d ever really tried to teach them to. I wasn’t using “the wrong aids”, but I also wasn’t using the aids right. And now years later I can look at that tape, and just like someone who’s been to Rocky Horror three dozen times and knows all the lines, I can’t help but react with a stream-of-consciousness, “No, no, too much . . . ouch, no, not now . . . oh, don’t do that . . . more, more . . . too late . . . late again . . . fix that first . . . where’s your supporting leg . . .” and so on and so on.

In retrospect, it all seems so obvious, but at the time—despite knowing all the words and the gist of the conversation I meant to be having—the nuances were yet to be discovered. And so nothing really worked. I wish all this would lead up to a magical revelation to share with you, but alas, no. Other than the boat you feel you’re in at those down moments is a boat shared by many, and when you hang in there through enough trials and heavy seas, you eventually make it to a peaceful shore.

Only to launch yourself bravely, perhaps foolhardedly, but ever-optimistically on the next voyage.