July 15, 2016 
People often compare boat ownership with horse ownership, mostly because they are both money pits and time sinks. But I think the analogy extends even further than that. Here’s how Dictionary.com defines the ‘sea legs’ dilemma.
“The ability to adjust one’s sense of balance to the motion of a ship at sea.”
He stumbled about the deck for three days before getting his sea legs.
If you have followed my other posts, you might know that I have quite a long history with horses. The one I have now, Fezzik (my 17.2-hand Percheron-thoroughbred cross), was injured about six weeks after I brought him home two years ago. This is our first season together where there are no restrictions on work. I am not rehabbing, I’m riding.
Trick is, I have not actually ridden—fully, without restrictions— in three years. At the point I stopped having a fully functional horse, I had completed three events at Beginner Novice, showed in a couple dressage shows at First Level, and was schooling a little bit of Novice jumping. At the current moment, I’m having trouble cantering in the field, handling horse show warm ups (particularly jumping), and competing in stadium jumping, which is not actually a smooth process. I have to get my sea legs back!
We have made terrific progress rehabbing, and our flatwork is really coming along. Fezzik is gaining fitness and is a very balanced, even “uphill” ride on the flat. My stadium jumping lessons, when conducted in the indoor arena, are okay—on the cross country field, they are almost comical. Now mind you, we were not allowed to even walk on outdoor terrain for a long time, never mind trot and canter. We started to do a bit in the fall and then the footing was no good for that kind of work during the winter. I know that in his past, Fezzik has fox hunted… but he can’t seem to get his sea legs back either.
Let me tell you about our first cross-country course two weeks ago.
Fezzik and Laura Make Their Cross-Country Debut
(©Mary Lee Chen/Courtesy of the author)
We made our first attempt back at cross-country in Elementary, at our own farm, where we had been on the terrain before. The occasion was a derby cross. So the first thing I did was to make sure we would be going when there wasn’t really anyone else around since I was having trouble negotiating warm-ups, and other riders were a proven distraction for both of us.
I entered the startbox and got a decent, forward trot going… but the derby cross was very twisty turney to start, and the second and third jumps were downhill-facing, and sort of sideways on the fall line. After a sharp right turn, I saw my barn mate sitting on a jump filming, directly next to the obstacle we needed to go over. In retrospect, this was really cool—I got a video of the whole, comical run—but Fezzik spooked in his way, meaning he went sideways in slow motion. Then he stopped in front of the jump looking at her.
We clambered over the tiny pile of logs but we could not establish any forward motion to the third jump, a fairly fat log. Fezzik slowed to a walk and…walked over it. I got a canter out of him after that and we managed to keep it over the next couple obstacles. Unfortunately, when you do Elementary, one of the elements they often like to throw in is a halt. It works great to stop all the kids on ponies, but it’s the last thing my horse needs. I was able to trot the rest of the course, but the canter continued to elude us.
In summation, we made it around. Part of it was pretty good, but I definitely felt like we should have been able to canter the whole damned thing and that I should have been able to get a much more consistent and smooth ride out of my horse. On the positive side, we had our “first”, which is always anxiety provoking; nothing bad happened and I got that over with. Next up: our first, actual three-phase.
Fezzik and Laura Go to a Real Event
There was a horse trial at our farm the following week. The day was horribly hot and (full disclosure) I do not do well in heat and my horse doesn’t like it either. I prepared my ice-fill show shirt, my homemade Gatorade, and I checked my times the night before.
Dressage started quickly that morning, and by that I mean that despite planning everything out and getting to the warm-up ring 20 minutes before my time, I arrived and the steward said, “Okay, 103 is in the ring, and you are on deck.”
“What? No,” I said, “I ride in 20 minutes.”
“Not according to my lists,” said the steward.
I hopped on. Fezzik was positively jazzed—for him. “What are all these trailers doing parked in my paddock?” he probably wondered. “What are all these strange horses doing in my arena?”
He was very forward, so I just acquiesced to the steward and headed for the ring. We did ok, I didn’t get the engagement I wanted but I didn’t forget the test. On to stadium jumping.
I was feeling pretty confident about this phase, despite not having gone over more than five jumps at a time in a lesson. Unfortunately, I got into the ring and we had a stop at jump 2. I circled him, we got it, and went on. I couldn’t keep the canter 100 percent of the time, but we got around and I didn’t forget the course, even if it could have been a lot smoother. When I walked out of the ring, my trainer informed me that while good, this was not a true reflection of how I’ve been riding in my lessons.
“You mean besides getting tight, not letting him go, or going with him?” I replied.
“Yeah, that,” she said.
At this point, I decreed that I could not approach the cross-country course without a water break. Did I mention it was over 90 degrees and that I was wearing a black bulletproof vest in the middle of an open field?
(©Mary Lee Chen/Courtesy of the author)
While we were searching for water, we realized that Fezzik was slipping just walking over toward the start box. I promptly scratched cross-country, as I’m in no shape to handle him slipping out on the actual course. On the way back to the barn, I realize I am completely overheating—I have to get my vest and helmet off, get some water in and over me. A friend is saying that I have to sit down (she thinks I look like I might faint) and takes Fezzik for his rinse off. I mostly recover in about 15 minutes, thankful that I made the call to scratch cross-country, even though it was for a different reason than the weather.
Some Thoughts on Sea Legs
I feel a bit disappointed about all this. I’m very glad I did the cross-country derby previously, but I had really been hoping to get through all three phases.
The good news? I have a plan. And that plan involves clinics. I am already scheduled to ride in a two-day dressage clinic, followed by a three-day clinic with eventer Sharon White. Finally, while mulling this all over, I find out Sharon will also be hosting a clinic for the Green Mountain Horse Association (GMHA) before their show in August. Twenty minutes after receiving the notice, I sign up for all three days.
If what we need is exposure and mileage, then dagnabit, I am going to push for that. Part of getting your sea legs back, I think, is all about repeated experiences and muscle memory, and for me, forcing myself up against my comfort zone in terms of work load.
Stay tuned – I’ll let you know how it goes.
