The days following last weekend’s wreck of an event were spent in a bipolar state of emotions. I was bummed with Nixon (“Called to Serve”) for getting eliminated, proud of myself for at least attempting to compete, worried about a dear friend who had had a rough fall on XC day and had to take a trip to the hospital in the back of an ambulance, enraged by comments about the state of eventing after a horse passed away on course, and resolved to find a way to fix my own errors.

Several people reached out to me during this time to ask about my plan of attack. What would be my next show? My next event? My strategy to instantaneously fix my problems? I had no answers. It’s not that I didn’t want to compete again or that I didn’t acknowledge that I needed to, it’s that as a graduate student, I truly and honestly could not afford it.

The Monday following the event the boys got the day off. They also got their shoes reset, setting me back a few hundred dollars. During the visit my farrier noted that Nixon felt tight in his hind end, leading to an appointment with the chiropractor to adjust. My truck’s gas was refilled, and my board was paid. Groceries were bought and books on equine reproduction purchased. And with all of that, my bank account became null and void.

Uncertain of my future and how to fix my issues, I resolutely began hacking again. Playing with bits and tools I knew I had in my repertoire. I reread the story on ESPN that I come back to constantly, and remembered what had gotten this horse’s brain to come as far as it had come: meandering. So, trail ride we did.

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Then on Wednesday night I was contacted by a girl I used to board with, Daina Kaugars. She asked if I would be willing to fill a spot in her upcoming clinic with the one and only Sinead Halpin—a rider I have always looked up to and respect immensely. I stared at my bank account, juggling integers in my mind as I tried to figure out if I just scrapped the next show I wanted to do and maybe didn’t eat any protein for the next two months I could possibly, probably, maybe afford to clinic.

Sinead Halpin with Manoir at Rolex Kentucky 2014.

Sinead Halpin with Manoir de Carneville at Rolex Kentucky 2014.

 

So I signed up, said a prayer to the Horse Gods that she was as good a clinician as she was a rider, and penciled it in for Sunday at 8am.

I got placed in the novice group, because ya know, that’s what most people do after getting eliminated at beginner novice.

I showed up on Sunday with a churning stomach and trembling hands. I introduced Sinead to Nixon, letting her know of our previous issues—primarily how he transforms from chicken shit to freight train with a quick flip of a switch, and how I am usually unprepared for that moment.

We started small with a placement pole four strides into a bounce pole to a double crossrail. I forced myself to do something I have never done before—I asked Sinead to drop the second crossrail and let me just pop over one the first time. I explained to her how I had promised Nixon after one particularly bad warm up that I would become not just his rider, but his advocate.

There are many better riders than me, and certainly better horse trainers, but no one knows the inner workings of my horse’s brain like I do. I knew that seeing a strange crossrail oxer as his first fence—something he had never seen before—would not only perplex him, but possibly affect the rest of our ride. But I was pleased to see Sinead was happy to do exactly that, and we were able to begin our ride with a good start and a happy horse.

The exercise grew higher and higher, with Nixon stepping up to the plate each time, resulting in our jumping the largest fence he has ever seen.

Sinead commented on my crumpled left side, and my overreaction over fences, and I just had to laugh, acknowledging that I had been struggling with these two facets for probably 20 years. But she offered constructive criticism for each, and I felt myself stretching my right side and sitting a bit higher as the lesson went on. As she taught, I happily realized my horse had indeed showed up on this particular day, allowing me to work on myself and not just him.

Sinead looking on as we popped over a large oxer.

Sinead looking on as we popped over a large oxer.

 

As we moved onto coursework Nixon became more looky, stopping at a crossrail after having popped over a 3’3″ oxer like it was nothing. The perfectionist in me cringed, but the consummate student was pleased to find Sinead un-phased, and the fellow riders and auditors supportive. Nixon eventually reactivated his brain at the same time that I renewed my rider’s card, and we eventually popped over the coursework in sync; a feat I was quite thrilled with, seemingly fitting in with the other novice horses on my sweet baby of a horse.

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Walking back to my trailer I acknowledged that the lesson hadn’t gone perfectly, but was that ever the goal? We ride with these greats in order to fix our issues, not to brag on our accomplishments. Had Nixon been foot perfect the entire time the money I had scrounged up and the Ramen I had purchased for the next two weeks would have been for nothing. Instead, we both showed our insecurities and issues and Sinead walked us through with strategies, exercises and training tools to better them. And at the end of the 90 minutes, we weren’t perfect, but we were better.

Each training ride either improving or hindering our minds and bodies at the competitions. If I have learned anything, it is that practice doesn’t make perfect—practice makes permanent.

More importantly, I walked away with a smile. Daina of DK Equine organized a beautiful clinic, the key word being organized. It ran smoothly, it was on time, and the setting of Antebellum Farm was beautiful. The riders were kept informed throughout the process and it was a stress-free and encouraging environment.

I realize the money I spent will not help my record immediately. I didn’t win a $3 ribbon or earn a snazzy trophy. But I have realized that I don’t crave the same end goals as many others. Do I want to move up the levels? Sure. But schooling those levels is just as fun as competing at them.

Each singular effective lesson will impact hundreds of events down the road, each exercise building on the very ground in which we lay our training. Each training ride either improving or hindering our minds and bodies at the competitions. If I have learned anything, it is that practice doesn’t make perfect—practice makes permanent.

So let’s ride with the best and learn from the greats. Make permanent the good skills and remove the bad habits. Absorb every ounce of knowledge that we can. Because the most important thing that I have learned is not the ability to win, but the ability to improve; to become the best rider I can be. I hoped this lesson would get me one step closer to that, and to be honest, I think it did.

Read more at A Yankee in Paris.