Not Good Enough

          Riding Sergio fills me with joy, and releases me from the distractions of a body at rest.  He doesn't care about what I accomplished today, or what achievements I have made.  He isn't distracted by the masks that I wear.  He only cares about the time we have together and that I am present and trusting.
          I, however, have higher expectations.  I struggle to ride him the way he should be ridden, to accept what he has to offer, and to bring my share to the team.  He is a such a beautiful, talented horse.  I tell myself that I should be able to show him successfully.
          I want to be in control of the ride, to dictate our speed and direction minutely.  I want to be able to execute every maneuver exactly according to plan.  Unfortunately, my efforts to control change the way I ride, and distort the cues I am giving to him.  Our ride ends up being tentative and discordant, and the judge can see it.  The score reflects the judge's opinion, and my confidence plunges.  When my score is announced, I hear "You are not good enough."
          The message is repeated as my coach gives me advice and feedback on the ride.  "You need to sit back when you stop him (you are not good enough)."
          As I go over my ride, I repeat the message again, "I think I turned him around better, but I got a penalty (I'm still not good enough)."
          This message has been haunting me for most of my life.  When I am in a good place, it's easy to tune out.  When times are difficult, like they are now, the words ring in my ears.  I offer up everything I do for review and approval.  If the response is critical, well, that's to be expected because I. Am. Not. Good. Enough.
Miss Goodie Two Shoes
          Maybe the message originated during my childhood, as a middle child.  My response to a house full of girls was to be the good girl, to get along.  If my older sister struggled with her grades, mine would be A's.  If my younger sister quit her miserable California job and moved back home, I would tough it out and work an awful job.  The problem is that even as I tried my best to do the right thing and to be good, what I longed for was attention.
          Naturally, no one worries about a good girl.  No one lectures her, or encourages her, or tells her she is tough enough to overcome obstacles.  No one rushes in to save her from a disaster, because she never risks having one.  Instead, they leave her alone, because she has it all figured out.  Right?  Although I was good, I was never good enough to receive the praise I craved.
          My older sister recently bought a bottle of wine for me - "Middle Sister Goodie Two Shoes."  She probably wouldn't have if she knew how much it hurt.  The description on the label pierced my heart, because it was true, every word.
The Fire
           One of my favorite quotes from the Wizard of Oz is "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!"  That's because I feel like everything I do is a mirage, a carefully constructed play to hide the fact that I am not good enough.
         Riding and showing Sergio is fearful business.  Not because riding him scares me, although sometimes it does.  What is really scary is the possibility of failing.  I am afraid that everyone can see right through the self-controlled masks, right through the good girl, and discover my secret:  I am not good enough for this beautiful horse.
          The whole purpose of showing is to be judged.  I am painfully aware that I am being watched by not only the paid judge, but also my coach (who I have a sinking suspicion already knows my flaws), my friends, and my family.  When I ride in the show pen, I feel as though I am being held up to the light.  As the bright light of my desire shines through me, it reveals all of my flaws.
          This scares the hell out of me.
Don't Give Up
          Showing horses is a hard business.  The rules keep changing, and there's always someone who rides better, has a better horse, or has more money.  The cold, hard truth is that I will never be good enough.  I will never have it all figured out.
          Nobody ever promised me that I would be good at showing horses.  Even so, no matter how sternly I address my heart, I cannot deny the love I have for riding.  To quit is to give up on myself.  Maybe my dreams don't tie to the reality of my ability (or funding).  Without horses, I am lost, and empty.  So for now, I will continue to slog it out, and hope that I can find peace from my good girl, and acceptance that not good enough is still Enough.

Can you see that person dancing in the flames on Sergio?  That's me - dirty, grubby, imperfect me.

I would like to thank Emily Freeman and her book, Grace for the Good Girl, for the inspiration and for the words I just couldn't find.

Captain of My Soul

The Release of Running

Today, I have a guest post from my son, Walker Rainford.  This is actually an English assignment, but he said it would be okay for me to post.  He speaks about something I feel when I ride, the unwinding of my stressed-out, cluttered self...

The Release of Running

by Walker Rainford

          If you ask most people what they would think of taking a three mile run every day, they might look at you like you’re crazy or maybe like you are one of those people obsessed with fitness. Until my freshman year of high school, I would have reacted much the same. At my father’s request, I signed up for cross country to become more active in school. While the first few weeks were difficult and left me feeling as utterly exhausted as I had thought I might feel; the more I got in shape, the more I came to truly enjoy running. Out in Falcon, with the open, endless space left before you to run, it can be an amazing opportunity to relax and find time to think without seeming utterly unproductive. The steady cadence and shorter stride of a lengthy jog might easily settle into the back of the mind, leaving the mind free to wander where it may without the distraction of a body at rest.

"...leaving the mind free to wander where it may without the distraction of a body at rest."

          As the season pressed onward, I found myself anxiously awaiting our Monday workout, when we ran north, along a dirt road for an hour or more past open fields where cattle graze. I was able to use this time to think, about my life, school, and anything else pressing on my mind.  Running allowed me to release the stress I piled upon myself, and to solve my troubles. My darkest of moods were moved to serenity by the open space and silent trails we ran. I am truly glad my father prompted me to try running, because without it, I wouldn't be the person I am today. It has brought a level of wisdom and balance to my life that I have lost in the past.
          Even after the season ends, and life goes back to my normal routine, I make time to go for a run in my neighborhood especially on the days where it would first appear that I don’t have the time to spare. The opportunity to run, even on days crammed with homework, allows me the chance to think things through, and gives me a chance to plan the rest of my evening, as well as acting as an aid to me for finding the answers to problems I’d struggled with throughout the day. This very essay was planned when I went for a jog to clear my thoughts and calm myself after a tough day at work.
          The next time you find yourself lost in a jumble of thoughts, consider going for a jog, or even a walk if a jog sounds like too rigorous a workout for the time. Find a long road, or a route that you know well, and let your legs take you where they may. The clarity that comes with a walk will likely leave you rejuvenated, and ready to go back into your life, with your mind sharpened and your body loosened. When I return home and begin on schoolwork, I’m often
able to do better and gain more if I’ve run prior, as I find that the events, both past and eventual, are no longer clouding my thoughts with questions and uncertainties.
          Even if you don’t have something looming or especially troubling on your mind, your thoughts will lead to stressors that you weren’t aware were present. The time with nothing more than scenery and your open path let your mind wander as it will, and given time, your mind will always sort itself towards that which is troubling you or concerning you, sitting at the back of your mind with a false label of something resolved or of no concern. When these are sorted out, you can almost physically feel the clarity and the calm that will reach your mind,
something we often seek fruitlessly. Your mind is an extremely powerful tool, and like any tool you hold in your hands, it must be cleaned and cared for, lest it cease to function properly. If you leave your mind and your thoughts unattended over time, you will lose the ease with which you could once think without ever realizing it. The first thing you do upon reaching this clear state brought by the time running gives to think will surprise you, being accomplished with an
ease you might have long forgotten. 

Saying Goodbye

          I will never forget the look on his face, peering through the stall bars at the National Western Stock Show grounds.  He was always eager to see me, always ready to say “hello” and ready for that day’s adventure.  Today, however, my heart was heavy.  I had just finished giving him a final hug (his forehead pressed against my heart, my arms wrapped around his head).  I turned away, this image of my Squishy burned in my mind.  His ears were perked, his eyes bright and curious.  From his posture, I could tell he was leaning forward, pressed against the stall door.  Perhaps he knew that something was different about this parting.  This time was our forever good-bye.

          Riding a horse for me is more than recreation, more than sport.  It is forging a team, whose communication is through intimate physical contact.  Signals are sent and received in a constant stream, most of them imperceptible to the observer (really, many of them are imperceptible to me as the rider).  In a contract of trust, the rider provides confidence and direction while the horse becomes an extension of the rider.  It takes time to build the relationship, time for the horse and rider to learn to read each other. 

          I originally purchased Squishy in a partnership, as a business venture.  Our goal was to buy a young horse, who would be trained and shown by a professional, and then sell him as a fine derby horse.  When Shane Brown brought him home from Texas, where we had purchased him sight unseen, I admit I was disappointed.  As I led him out of his stall, all I could see was an ordinary brown horse.  I’d been warned that he wasn’t beautiful.  My reply was “beauty is as beauty does.”  But still.  Did he have to be so plain?  Even the name he came with was common to his bloodlines:  Tejon.

          As Shane worked with him, building up his confidence and teaching him how to learn and use his body, Tejon began to bloom.  He was a talented stopper and pretty mover.  He did have a white star and four white socks.  His coat was a reddish sort of bay, so maybe not plain brown.  I stood on the fence, watching him ride, evaluating his strengths and weaknesses from a distance, strictly reminding myself that this was a business venture.

          One day, Shane let me ride him.  Shane had warned me that the horse was short-necked, but from the ground, Tejon was a nicely-formed, balanced horse.  After I settled in the saddle, however, I realized what Shane meant.  Riding him was like riding a cab-over truck, where it felt like the saddle was perched right behind his head.  During that first ride, Tejon kept checking in, wanting to know what I expected of him.  We were both tentative.  My stern reminders of the business side of this were weakening.

          After a time, we (my partner, Shane, and I) came to realize that Tejon just wasn’t cut out to be an open rider-level horse.  Since we had entered him in the big Futurity in Oklahoma, we decided that I would show him in the Nonpro class.  That fall, I rode Tejon as much as possible, in an effort to build our trust contract before we were under the pressure of a show pen.  I threw the business facade out the window and embraced a new relationship.

          For Tejon, having a Nonpro for a rider meant that there were treats, rub downs, long baths, walks in the grass, and time spent exploring the world together.   During that time, Tejon grew into an expressive, interactive horse with a compact build.  Plain ole Tejon just didn’t seem to fit anymore.  So he became Squishy.

          Squishy and I worked hard on our partnership together.  We showed at the Futurity, where we didn’t place, but we didn’t shame ourselves either.  I continued to show him during the following two show seasons.  We had some good classes, and we had some bad ones (one in particular comes to mind where he jumped sideways at the end of every stop).  In the end, we had a great friendship, but we weren’t a team.  Squishy needed someone with confidence and an ability to dominate the ride.  I needed a horse that would forgive my indecision and heal my broken trust from a prior horse.  Like a bad romance, we were both too needy.

          No matter how much fun we had when I was out of the saddle, it was time for each of us to find a new partner.  Very rarely is there a horse and rider team that can grow together, from Rookie to Intermediate and beyond.  More often, a competitor has to be prepared to bring in and let go of several horses during their show career.  Intellectually, I know this.  Emotionally, I have yet to let go of a horse.

          So it came to that fall day in Denver.  His expression on that day is crystal clear in my mind.  He had this way of getting hugs from me by butting his head against my chest.  The hugs always turned to rubs, where he rewarded my efforts with sighs and a blissful expression.  On that day, with my own sigh, I backed out of the stall, pushed his seeking nose back in, and slid the door shut.  At the end of the alley, I looked back, and there he stood.  Both his expression and body reached out to me.

          He trusted me.  In leaving him there, I was breaking that trust, and breaking our bond.  That still hurts my heart and brings tears to my eyes.  Even so, I know that I made the right decision for Squishy and for me.  Squishy found a new vocation with less precision and pressure.  I found a horse exceeding my competitive abilities, but who could wait patiently for my trust.

The Day I Fell Off (A Story about Trust)

          Anyone who has spent any amount of time knows what I’m talking about – falling off.  When I first learned to ride, that’s pretty much what I thought riding was – climbing on, clinging as long as possible, falling off, rinse and repeat.  Literally:  rinse the dirt out of my mouth, climb back on and do it again.  Eventually, falling off got to hurting more, and staying on got to be a goal.  Now that I’m older, falling off hurts A LOT more, and I spend quite a bit of time thinking about staying on. 

          Last spring, I fell off in a big way.  We were riding in the outdoor arena, working on our stops.  If you’ve watched reining, or ridden reining, you know what that’s about.  It’s about running the length of the arena at top speed, and then asking your horse to stop.  If all is right in the world, the horse will tuck his hind legs under and slide to a stop.  Really cool if it’s right.  Really scary if it’s not. 

          On this particular day, we were taking our game to the next level.  I had been going to shows and getting scores of 69.  I wanted 72’s.  To get there, we had to take a risk.  We had to push our maneuvers to the next level, which means going faster, running harder, and trusting more.  That’s what we were doing on that Saturday morning.  I was running him harder to his stops, and he was trying harder in his stops.  Unfortunately, I mistook trying harder for doing more.  I thought that I needed to push more with my body, to sit back farther, to steer with my hand.  Inadvertently, I took away the trust I had with Sergio.  Going slow, I trusted that he could perform the maneuver with me aboard as a passenger.  Going faster, suddenly I was grabbing the steering wheel, pushing the gas pedal and working the clutch.  Sergio was confused.  In fact, he looked back at me a couple of times as if to say, “What are you doing?  I don’t understand this new language you are speaking.”

          The ultimate result was that he came into the ground crooked, his back end slaloming off to the right, his front end jarring into the ground.  I popped up out of the saddle and off to the right.  I had a moment to clutch at the saddle, but all I saw below was dirt.  So I fell off.  It was not pretty.  I left my own slide tracks with my butt and hip.  As I crawled around, alternately pressing my forehead into the dirt in pain and fumbling for my glasses, I wanted to quit.  I was pushed beyond my limit, and scared.  Truly scared, and this is not something I enjoyed one bit.  But I knew that I had to get back on, to try the stop again, and do it quickly before the fear really set in.  I didn’t need to worry about Sergio’s fear, he understands forgiveness, and offers it up most of the time.

          As I climbed back on, knowing I was going to have a beautiful bruise and maybe some swelling, my hands were shaking.  My heart was pounding, my thoughts were racing.  Even as I readied myself to do it again, I was coming up with excuses not to.  Instead, I pointed him to the other end of the pen and kissed.  Or at least I pursed my dry lips together and squeezed my shaking legs.  Sergio took off for the other end of the arena.  As we loped, I told myself that I absolutely had to trust Sergio to do his job.  I had to let go of driving and be the passenger (or I would die).  It worked; we stopped bigger than we had all day.  We quit on that one, but the lesson was learned.

          The tricky thing about trust is that it is easy to give when I am in control.  When Sergio is providing the impulsion, locked in and doing his job, it’s a lot harder to trust.  I noticed, too, that the trust can quietly erode away when we don’t challenge ourselves as a team.  If I get in the habit of riding the maneuvers at home at a medium pace, I lose the trust I have in pushing ourselves to go faster.  Then we are right back in the same situation, I’m trying to drive and he’s sitting in the driver’s seat. 

         The thing about the stop is that you absolutely cannot Flinch.  As you are flying down the length of the arena, you must remain calm.  Your middle must be supple, your legs relaxed, your hand down.  I repeat the words of my coach – your hand down.  No really, you must put your hand down.  If you pick your hand up, it is equivalent to putting your foot on the clutch.  The engine revs but the car slows down.  If you are focused on the end of the arena and your jaw is set, your eyes are up, your body is flowing with the horse, and the pounding of his hooves fill your head … then, whoa.  The horse (who is now one with you) drops out from under you, your body rocks from side to side as he powers to hold on to the ground.  You can hear the friction of his sliders on the arena base, and it is a deep moan that echoes in your chest.  There is no thought at this time, no worry or wonder, and no doubt.  It is simply, “Whoa.”

Competitive Heart

 I once knew a horse who loved to compete.  You could ride him in the warm up pen for hours, but when he entered the show pen, he was a different horse.  He loved the run in patterns best.  I think it was because he could make a big entrance and wow the judges with a huge stop.

         I loved to cheer for him.  I would chuckle as he stood before the gate with his eyes half closed.  He was just waiting, confident that today he would get applause, today the judges would love him, today he would win.  It was so much fun to watch the judges sit up in their chair when he came in.  Here was a horse who wanted to compete, here was a horse who tried hard, here was a horse with heart.
         What is a competitive heart? When looking at horses, can you see it? A competitive heart is hard to define, but easy to spot.  Horses with heart come in all shapes and sizes, but they are the ones that people remember.  They are the ones who overcame odds, who tried the hardest, who never doubted - even when their rider did.  Secretariat, Sea Biscuit, the Black Stallion, and now War Horse; our stories are filled with tales of heart. A horse with heart draws an audience.
Riding a horse with a competitive heart, on the other hand, isn’t as easy as it would seem.  These horses will run until they’re hurt, will give too much, and end up broken.  Their desire to win is greater than the pain they feel.  

Not trying hard enough is equally dangerous.  Holding back a competitive horse by not showing seriously, by showing tentatively, or by making mistakes too often can frustrate the horse.  He will express his frustration in a variety of ways, many of them destructive in the show pen.

"The rider must know when to guide and when to ride."

         A competitive heart requires a bold rider.  The rider must know when to guide and when to ride.  There has to be a trust relationship between the rider and the horse. The rider has to be definite in his actions, and confident. The confidence is important, because the rider has to trust the horse. When it is time to compete, the rider's role is to guide the horse through the maneuvers, and let the horse do the showing.
If you have ever had the opportunity to ride one of these special horses, you understand what I'm talking about. Horses with heart will change you, they will challenge you to be better. They ask us to rise up to their level, to trust their desire, and to be their partner in the win.


What is your story about an extraordinary horse?

To Forgive is Equine

Definition of FORGIVE (Merriam-Webster Dictionary)transitive verb
1a : to give up resentment of or claim to requital for <forgivean insult>

Resentment is a surly word.  Someone who feels resent is called resentful.  As if you can’t be just a little, you have to be full.  To resent is to fail to forgive, to carry around bad feelings, to be full of bad feelings.

          Contrarily, forgiving is to let go of the resentment.  Is it to empty oneself of the surliness?  Maybe.  Certainly it is to move on, to go forward, and to accept a change in attitude.

 A forgiving individual definitely carries the lighter burden.

          Last year, I learned a lot about forgiveness.  I learned that the act of forgiving benefits the giver much more than the receiver.  As I said above, to forgive is to lay down a burden.

          My mom's big, beautiful buckskin mare, Belle, gave me a lesson in forgiving.  In riding, forgiveness is a constant transaction.  As I ride, my heavy hands offend my horse’s sensibilities.  A quick jerk, an accidental spur, an unintended shift in weight – these are all transgressions in the partnership I have with my horse.  

          Belle has her trespasses against me, too.  A slow response to my leg cue, a pulling on the bit rather than softening collection, and not speeding up during the run down to the sliding stop; she is an individual with an opinion as well.  

       However, Belle has the superior trait of forgiveness.  She lets me know when I cross the line with a flick of her tail, shake of her head, or unwillingness to follow my direction.  Once I quit the offensive behavior, she relaxes and we are a team again.  She’s not anticipating the next time I make a mistake, or lecturing me for the last one, she’s just riding with me, in the present.

I've been working on that as a rider.  

To start with, I used the breaks in riding to check in.  Belle has learned to sigh during these breaks (thanks, Mom!), and after an intense transaction, she will look back at me as if to prompt me to sigh, too. 

So I do.

I use the sigh to relax my muscles and my brain.  As I worked on this, and I got more comfortable with the forgiving attitude, I was able to shorten my time from the mistake to letting go.  Belle might have a different opinion, but I think that I am able to forgive on the fly, which clears us for the next maneuver and challenge.  Someday, I hope to be like her and forgive right away.

Barn Time

Photo by Johnny Magnusson via Freestockphotos.net

          Whenever I go to the barn, I find that the passage of time changes.  My sister calls this "being present."  What she means is that she is fully in the moment while she is in the barn, even if it's cleaning stalls.  
          C.S. Lewis says that living in the present is the closest we will ever come to eternity during this lifetime.  Reflecting back on the times I have been in the present with my horse, I agree.  When I spend time with Sergio, I focus only on him, and the effect is meditative.  When I am done, I feel refreshed and ready to face the world again.
          How I get there is simple now, but it wasn't always easy.  The pressures of life and the long list of things to do always seemed to come between me and my joy.  By following these three steps, I am able to enjoy my time at the barn (most of the time).
1)  Give myself permission to spend all the time I need.
2)  Schedule this time and stick to it.
3)  Do not hurry, and follow a routine to prepare my mind for this time.
          Something about spending time with Sergio fills me with joy.  Time stretches out, and I am not hurrying anymore.  In the couple of hours it took me to ride and groom him, time seemed to be a friend.

Spending that many hours in the saddle gave a man plenty of time to think.  That's why so many cowboys fancied themselves Philosophers.  ~Charles M. Russell