Getting Acquainted

Bringing Wassachusetts home that crisp October day was, in my mind, a chance for new beginnings and an opportunity to have something just for me.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love being with my children and am grateful for having a wonderful family, but I was starting to feel a certain, unexplainable void in my life. 

I wasn’t sure what was causing me to feel unfulfilled.  Maybe it was the solitary feeling that seems to come with staying at home full time with little interaction with other adults or maybe it was the sobering thought of being in my 40s.  Regardless, I was losing a sense of my self-identity and it needed to be stopped.  

I thought about how taking on green horse would be a fantastic project where I would learn to be a better rider and after some hard work and perseverance, the end product of a well-trained horse would be a tangible reward.

Wassachusetts unloaded from the trailer that day like a pro and I proudly led my new horse to the barn ready to make those visions become a reality.  This was going to be great.  I could just feel it!

Yeah.  Well, not so fast.

Not only was Wassachusetts spastic over fences, but I soon discovered that he was a bolter and an occasional bucker.  I could logically understand the horse taking off after stinging his toes on a rail he’d pulled down or getting excited on the backside of a jump and letting out a little buck.   What I wasn’t prepared for was his spontaneous bolting or the times he would arch his back, tuck and wag his head like a mental patient then throw out a buck or threatening crow hop.  It was more than this 42-year old mother of two could take!  I’m nobody’s hero and, quite frankly, his behavior made me feel intimidated and afraid.

Deflated and feeling like a failure, I started to wonder how quickly I could sell him.

Amidst my whining and gnashing of teeth, in rode the cavalry.  My trainer, in her infinite wisdom, lent me helpful advice and the patience of a saint as Wassachusetts and I would careen around the ring at mock speed, the whites of his eyes flashing by in a virtual blur while his rider –that’s me - tried to curl up in the fetal position.   Over the sound of the blood pounding in my ears I would hear my trainer tell me to sit up or urge him forward or sometimes even a “Whee!” when there just wasn’t anything else to say. 

More than once, I had visions of abandoning riding and taking up tennis.  I also envisioned the huge glass of wine I would need at dinnertime later that night!

My trainer’s daughter, a woman I admire for her natural riding ability and fearlessness on horseback, picked up the reins – literally – and became Wassachusett’s private tutor. 

Surging forward and leaping upward, he would fight and test his new schoolmarm who would have none of his nonsense.  She took him to task each time until he begrudgingly submitted to her leadership.   She and her mother worked with him then worked with me.  

Most days, I tried to wear my big girl pants to ride, but there were times when I couldn’t hide my fear.  I was bitterly disappointed in myself for not being braver, for not being a better rider, for not having a bigger wallet to buy a more appropriate horse. 

Whine Whine Whine

Soon, the trees shed their flame-colored leaves and the gray skies of winter hung heavily over the farm.   My anxiety level started to rise as my trainer and her daughter packed up a few clients and headed to the horse shows in Florida. 

I’ll skip the winter – even though at the time it felt like it would never end.  In short, with the help of another sympathetic adult rider and a few sporadic visits home by my trainer, Wassachusetts and I muddled through the long cold season.   

With the spring thaw came the return of my snowbird trainer and her daughter.  Wassachusetts was a train wreck and I was a nervous wreck.   There were many days when he was just too much horse, and I would dismount with a lump in my throat and trudge back to the barn.

The summer was a little better but in spite of the ninety-degree weather, that horse of mine would find the energy to gallop with reckless abandon around the ring.  I found a little comfort in the fact that he would do this with the trainer’s daughter on occasion as well.  At least I didn’t have to take it personally.

By the end of the summer, I’d become more accustom to his bolting and was able to ride through a few episodes without feeling the need to vomit.  His brain didn’t switch off and go to the “dark place” as often, and he seemed to be more willing to face bigger training challenges.  One of our first big breakthroughs was jumping an oxer.  It wasn’t pretty, but he was brave and leapt over the questioningly positioned configuration of rails with little hesitation.

Not unlike giving birth, I’ve forgotten a lot of the pain and suffering that went into that first year of work.  I can tell you that Wassachusetts has blossomed into the horse I originally thought I was buying and, with the support of my trainer and her daughter – a dream team of immeasurable value – Wassachusetts and I debuted at our first horse show where not only did we put in a solid performance that we could be proud of, but we beat horses with better pedigrees and more training.

He hasn’t bucked or bolted for two months, and that’s saying something.  He’s also started jumping higher than I ever expected him to be capable.  He is attentive and really tries to complete whatever task or new exercise is presented to him. 

As we came to trust one another more, Wassachusetts started, slowly and cautiously, to let his personality poke through.  He’s proven himself to be smart and confident but also kind.  I could feel his anger and frustration subside this past fall.  He wasn’t nearly as, let’s say, opinionated in his efforts.  There’s no more rearing or head wagging when he gets frustrated or doesn’t want to perform a certain task like engaging from behind. 

We’ve both learned a lot over the past 16 months.  I’ve learned to be more patient with not only the horse but with myself.  It had been at least ten years since I’d worked with a green horse.  A lot had changed in my life over the past decade ranging from my home life to motherhood and other responsibilities, stresses and obligations that come with adulthood.  I also had changed physically.  I wasn’t going to be able to ride like I did when I was younger. 

Wassachusetts was being asked to change his way of thinking, too.  He had been trained to run so it seemed that whenever thing got difficult, confusing or scary, he escaped to his happy “go to” place and ran…and ran…and ran some more.   He also needed time for his muscles to develop in his back, hind-end, and neck for him to do his new job. 

 We stopped judging one another.  I had to stop thinking he wasn’t ever going to be as good as the warmbloods and other “fancier” horses and he had to stop thinking of me as a pushover.   Suddenly, I started to trust him more and, in turn, I was riding better.

But perhaps the most valuable lesson that first year was to give myself a break.  There were days when something was going on with the kids or I had too many things on my mind and I simply wasn’t focused enough to ride a green horse.  There were other days when Wassachusetts was in a foul mood – yes, even horses have bad days – so I needed to learn to slow down, breath and reevaluate the day’s lesson. 

Being at the barn strips me of my role as “mother” and “wife” and lets me just be “me.”  It’s the moment during the day when I remember who I am outside of those roles and, with a better sense of self, I can go home and be a better mom and wife.  The midlife crisis looms large, but I remind myself that a younger me would have been oblivious to the life lessons that have presented themselves during this time I’ve had working with Wassachusetts.  

My work with Wassachusetts is far from over.  No doubt I will have to remind myself of these earlier lessons as new experiences are layered on top of them.  But I think this just may be the ride of a lifetime.