Equine Back Data Collection Series

Saddle fitting has to be one of the most frustrating issues for any thoughtful equestrian.  From endurance riders whose horses must carry them thousands of miles in a year, to dressage riders whose mounts must be comfortable enough to round over their backs, to casual riders who simply care about the comfort and behavior of their horses, we all face the same questions:

How, and how much, is a horse’s back likely to change over time?  Do different body types change in different ways?  Could we learn to predict changes within types?  How much do bodyweight and level of fitness change a horse’s back over the course of a competative season?  Over years?  When is it safe to have a saddle fitted, or even custom-built, for an individual horse?

Right now, the answer is often:  Nobody knows.  Nobody has collected the data in a consistant format and documented their findings over time. 

Jackie Fenaroli, owner of Stonewall Saddles, and I have decided to change that.  Starting right here, at In the Night Farm, we’re going to collect data.  We’ll use the card-fitting system I’ve introduced here before, and we’ll follow most of my Barbs as they grow, age, and compete.  I’ll collect data monthly and create a chart to document our findings, and I’ll post periodic updates here at The Barb Wire.

NORTHWESTERNERS:  If you attend the same rides I do and would like to volunteer your horse in exchange for his or her measurements, let me know.  We’ll put your horse on a scaled-down version of the data collection program, measuring just a couple times annually, ideally at the beginning and end of the season.  Measuring only takes about 15 minutes.

CALIFORNIANS:  Stonewall Saddles will be at the Horse Expo in Pomona this weekend (Feb 2-4).  They’ll be offering an Engineered Saddle Fit presentation each day, and will be giving away free Boomerangle kits to anyone who fills out a quick survey regarding saddle features for trail riders.  I have one of these kits and it’s really handy for making quick assessments of whether a particular saddle is likely to fit a given horse.

 

Don’t Flinch

I’m reading a book called The Flinch.  It’s author, Julian Smith, has made electronic copies available for free through Amazon.  Although Smith’s writing is decent and his premise interesting, I’m not sure it takes 855 kilobytes to get his point across.  Pick up the book if you like, or content yourself with this synopsis:

We humans miss out on a broad range of beneficial experiences due to fear of events that haven’t happened yet.  The flinch is our natural reaction to pain; it is supposed to follow the unpleasant event.  Instead, we tend to flinch in anticipation of discomfort, and steer clear of perceived danger that, if faced, would promote personal growth.

In order to become tougher, better individuals, we ought to acquire a boxer’s ability to override the flinch reflex.  This is accomplished through repeated, intentional exposure to uncomfortable experiences (from cold showers to asking for raises), through which we learn that most of what we fear isn’t dangerous at all — and on the rare occasions when we actually are damaged, we bear our scars as badges of honor, as proof of our ability to survive.

Do you recognize the flinch?

I suspect I am not the only equestrian who faces it before every ride.  The twinge of reluctance.  The search for an excuse.  The reason not to go today.  Because once I boot up, saddle up, mount up…anything could happen.  I might get hurt. 

The flinch.  Every time, I push through it in order to get out the door.  And every time, once the horse is live in my hands, the fear evaporates.  The flinch is behind me, and the experience itself isn’t painful after all.  This is what I know, what I love, what I do.  It is familiar and easy and fun.  It sets me free.  It makes me better.

But to get there — get better — I have to grit through the flinch.  And really, it’s not so bad.

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You might also like:  Fear and What’s Stopping You?

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What’s Stopping You?

My day job requires me to make occasional visits to public schools around the state.  Usually, I’m there to discuss matters of data, finance, and governance, but I sometimes find myself observing classrooms in action.

During one such visit, a teacher asked me to share with her class of middle school students some advice for achieving success in life.  I had no time to prepare my mini-lesson; fortunately, I didn’t need it.  It’s the kind of thing I think about a lot.

I told the students about endurance riding.  I described it in terms of a marathon for horses and riders together, explained how completing a 50-mile ride begins years before you reach the finish line.  One must learn how to ride and care for an equine athlete.  Earn the money to purchase and maintain a horse.  Condition the animal and oneself.  In my case, I had to gentle and train the horse, too.

Riding endurance is a monumental task, I said.  So are many of the things you want to achieve in life.  Finish college, write a novel, reach the top of your field, retire at 50, compete in professonal athletics, raise a strong family, establish an inner-city garden, go to outer space…you name it.

No really, name it.  (This isn’t just for kids.  What do you want to do?)

The question is how to get from here to there.  The answer is obvious; everyone knows it:  Take one step at a time.

The kids agreed.  But here’s the thing, I said – most people don’t take the steps.  They know what the steps are.  They know they need to take them.  But they don’t.  The days slip by, and the dream slips away.

My advice, I said, is to identify what you want and move toward it today.  And tomorrow.  And the next day.  Every day, do something tangible that gets you closer to your goal.

Simple, right?  Maybe so, if you’re a 7th grader.  But what if you’re an adult desperately cupping an old dream like water in your hands.  You know what you want, but you aren’t any closer to getting it than you were 10 years ago.  Maybe you’re afraid you’ll never make it.  Guilt or fear or disappointment nags, but you shove it beneath busyness or momentary distraction — and tomorrow, it is farther away than ever.

Perhaps you are ignoring the key question that could unlock your progress:

What’s stopping you?

Really.  What is it?  Why aren’t you achieving what you say you want to do?  Can you identify the specific reason you didn’t take that daily step toward your goal?

Some possiblilties:

Fear — As with an addiction, the first step to dealing with fear is to acknowledge it.  Recognize it and confront it.  What if you try and fail?  Only you know the answer.  Personally, I’d rather love and lose than never love at all.

Season — Sometimes, lack of progress is ligitimate.  “Season” could be literal (you want to train that colt, but your round corral is under 3 feet of snow) or figurative (you’re finally ready to lose the excess bodyfat, but you’re pregnant).  Look for an alternate route; often, self-education is a good way to progress mentally before you’re able to physically.  Read relevant books.  Create your plan of action for when the season turns.

Circumstance — Maybe finances are tight and you’re working two jobs.  Caring for an elderly parent.  Rearing your grandchildren.  Maybe your health is an issue.  Something real stands between you and your dream.

When I first fell in love with endurance, I lived in the city and didn’t have horses.  I educated myself about the sport, saved money, and got involved with the Barbs, but for two years there wasn’t much I could do.  So, I lasered in on a different passion:  gardening.  Sometimes, it makes sense to walk toward a secondary goal while you maneuver into position to pursue the primary one.

Double-check yourself, though.  Are your circumstances really insurmountable?  Christopher Paul Curtis wrote his Newberry-winning novel in 15-minute bursts while working on an assembly line.  He just had to want it enough.

And if I had just gardened, I wouldn’t have an endurance horse today.

Lack of Focus — Ah, the bane of the passionate.  Some of us come with so many large goals that we scramble about, frantically addressing whatever seems most interesting (or, dare I say, easiest?) on a given day.  What if we honed in on the most important thing, and did that first?

This is a well-worn principle employed by successful people.  Mary Kay Ash made a daily list of her “5 most important things” and accomplished those before doing anything else.  If ever anyone achieved a dream, she did.

Improper Method / Incorrect Premise –  I see this one a lot among well-meaning, committed individuals.  They really want to achieve something, and they make an honest effort to do so, but they’re spinning their wheels.  This is the co-worker who has been trying for years to lose that same 20 pounds.  It’s the guy down the road who can’t seem to get a halter on that mustang, no matter how many buckets of oats he shares.  Maybe the co-worker is following bad nutritional advice.  Maybe bribes aren’t enough to overcome cunning or fear.  Maybe it’s time to question your assumptions. 

Distraction — There’s always something easier than taking that daily step.  You could cook a healthful meal, but it’s quicker to stop for pizza.  You could saddle up that mare, but your favorite reality show is coming on.  You could write another chapter, but it’s easier to read one instead.  There’s always tomorrow, right? 

Except that someday, there won’t be.

So, what’s stopping you?

Now, you stop it.

Wish

May you count your blessings, one by one ~ And when totaled by the lot,
May you find all you’ve been given ~ To be more than what you sought. ~ Ruth Kephart

Merry Christmas from the whole herd at In the Night Farm!

Non-Negotiable

Well, that was depressing.

Earlier this week, I redeemed a voucher for an hour’s massage.  I was hoping to get some relief from the lower back pain that I reluctantly admit has been more or less constant since my first 2-day ride of the year.  Which was Pink Flamingo.  Which was in early August.

Time flies when you’re having Advil for breakfast.  And sleeping on a heating pad.  And letting yourself believe that it’s just muscle tension, because wouldn’t that be nicer than an actual injury?

You might recall that the lower back pain – which actually dates back at least to my high school era – became a real issue on multi-day rides.  The stiffness of a single endurance ride transformed into gasping pain by Day 2.  Trotting downhill was agony.  My lower back was by far the worst, but my upper back wasn’t all sugarplums and roses, either.

I rode anyway.  Sucked it up.  Gutted it out.  This is *endurance* after all.  We’ve all seen each other out there with colds and flus and sprained ankles and bruised ribs and broken arms and cheery grimaces that say “Hell, yes, I’m riding today!”  A little pain never stopped us.

(Except Ashley of Go Pony, who recently wrote:  “[T]he bottom line is, I don’t really feel like giving myself permanent damage for the sake of a hobby, something I’m supposed to be doing for fun.”  Which I’m pretty sure proves she’s smarter than I am.)

Anyway, my massage came with a detailed chiropractic evaluation.  The good news is that my body composition is excellent (low-normal bodyfat, high-normal lean mass, ideal hydration, etc.).  The bad news is that my back pain diagnosis looks like this:

• Cervical Kyphosis
• Severe Pelvic Unleveling
• Convexity – Lumbars
• Lumbar Hypolordosis
• L5 Disc Degeneration
• Plantor Fascia Collapse

Oh.  Right.  That explains it.

The doctor didn’t ask me to ride less.  He works with too many athletes to try something that stupid. 

Just in case, I made my message clear: “The riding is non-negotiable.  It’s what I do.”

Don’t get between me and my passion.

He says I’m fixable.  More or less.  In exchange for an ungodly quantity of money and time, the good doctor should be able to restore me to painless function.  After that, we’ll come up with some kind of maintainence regime.  I’ll probably have to drop by his office after endurance weekends for mitigation of the acute banging-up I’ve incurred. 

I won’t deny that I went home and sulked for two days.  I cried some.  Angry, mostly, because I feel betrayed.  I am so healthy, so strong, and now this?  I didn’t ask to have orthopedically challenged feet, which apparently precipitated most of the problems.  I give my body more nutrition, exercise, and sleep than just about anyone I know — which, as the doc points out, is probably why my inflammation has remained under control and allowed me to get this far.  Hmph.

When it comes right down to it, though, I reckon I’m lucky.  The damage isn’t going to stop me from riding.  I’m not that far gone.  But I might have been, had I ignored this for another year.  Even strong, well-nourished bodies can’t take a structural beating forever and come out unscathed.

And so, here’s my scrap of advice to all you other tough riders out there: 

Quit being so tough.  If you hurt, find out why.  Do everything you can to heal.    Your ability to keep riding is worth more than a boatload of cash.  Find a way.

It’s non-negotiable.

Flashback Friday

Sometimes, on Fridays, I dredge up old favorites for new readers.  This one was originally published on December 18, 2010.  It snowed that day.  This December is sunny and dry, but the cold still whips up ponies and memories and cocoa with cream.  Enjoy.

Windsong

Winter has come to town.  Her hostess gift is a coverlet of snow cast unevenly over the remains of our Thanksgiving storm, disguising ankle-twisting craters of ice.  She is borne on the east wind, which here is cruel and clawed.

She woke me with a clatter of hail and scratch of snow on the skylights.  She stopped the hounds, solid as a brick wall to their faces, when I opened the door for them to race outside.

I leaned into her stinging darkness, muffled in a rabbit-skin cap, hustling through morning chores.  The barn cats padded resolutely after, their delicate tracks obliterated like ghosts beneath the swirling snow.

And the horses!  Oh, they pretended to hate the wind that wound their tails like vines about their hocks.  They pinned their ears and thrust their muzzles at the sky.  They chased her about their paddocks like an impertinent filly.

Secretly, whimsically, I wished to take them all back to my living room.  They could curl beneath the Christmas tree, a bizarre nativity, and I would serve them gingerbread and cider and sing them carols.

Instead, I threw them extra hay.  Even the cats  talked me out of extra breakfast.  Now, I am back beneath the domed roof of my farmhouse, sipping coffee, surrounded by sleeping dogs, and daydreaming, childlike, of horses in the snow.

Looking Back and Going Forward

Last January, I wrote this post about the upcoming year.  It’s pretty good, if I say so myself.  I almost sound as if I know what I’m talking about.  It was all about enjoying the journey.  I put it this way:

The real heart of horsemanship is not at the crowded start, nor on the trail with twenty miles behind and thirty to go, nor among friends at the award dinner come evening.  It is at home, in the round corral, amid the dust and sweat and sun.  It is in the glassy eye melted black with trust, the rush of breath and lowered head, the silent conversation that magics us from two to one. 

Endurance is a thrill, but icing is nothing without the cake.

I’ll buy that.  In the same post, however, I included some musings on where my 2011 trail might lead.  Now I can entertain myself by comparing conjecture to reality:

1.  Explore some new rides on Consolation.  I was hoping to get to Utah or Oregon, or maybe bump up to a 75.  Neither happened, but I’m still quite pleased by what we accomplished:

We completed 505 endurance miles together (I did another 100 on a borrowed horse), bringing Consolation’s total up to 825.  We also started doing multi-days, a goal I neglected to mention last January but have tried for years to reach.

We also expanded our regular conditioning area to include some hilly land just across the state line, which contributed nicely to Consolation’s mental and physical fitness.

2.  Put miles on Acey.  Mission accomplished.  We didn’t actually condition for a ride (not least because I still haven’t found hoof boots that fit her), but we put in enough arena work and trail miles that I feel quite confident she’ll be ready for her first 50 in 2012. 

Have I mentioned how fun Acey is to ride?  She is So. Fun. To. Ride.  I feel sorry for all the people who aren’t lucky enough to be of small stature, because they’ll never get to ride this little bay fireball.

3.  Train the babies.  This didn’t go so well.  I spent a fair amount of time with Ripple Effect, but not nearly as much as I’d have liked.  She’s now (generally) comfortable with leaving the farm in-hand.  She handles traffic beautifully.  She ground-drives and deals with having all sorts of peculiar objects dangled from her tack.  And yet, I haven’t ridden her.  I’ve backed her a couple more times, but I just get the feeling that she isn’t ready.  I worked with her yesterday, though, and she does feel much closer than she did in July.  She just needs more time than I’ve given her.

What about Crackerjack?  I really need to get going on this guy, because he looks like this:

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I did put in some lessons with Incognito (2009 Insider x Sandstorm filly), establishing some basic training.  For now, her main job is to grow up.  She’s sharing a winter paddock with Acey and Ripple, who are schooling her in the ways of the world.

4.  Buy and build stuff.  This could scarcely have gone better.  Not only did I manage to acquire a much-needed horse trailer upgrade, but Ironman built a new run-in and I bought a truck-bed camper that makes ridecamp exponentially more comfortable, especially in cold weather.

Now, we just need to finish the perimeter fence, repair mare paddocks, bury water and electric lines out to the horse compound…

In summary, I’m pretty happy with the year.  My biggest regret is not making more progress with the youngsters, but there’s only so much time to go around.  I kept my priorities in order:  Consolation’s fitness, Acey’s miles, baby training, other.  That list was helpful in directing my choices regarding what to do on a given day. 

Now What?

So, 2012!  It’s going to be a crazy year, what with flying to Mexico to get married in June, attending a family reunion, and squeezing in rafting and rides and such, but there are a few things I’d like to make happen:

1.  Cover lots of AERC miles with Consolation.  Which miles?  How many?  That remains to be seen.  If all goes well, we’ll do a bunch of multi-days.  I’d also like to try a 75 or 100.  I still want to take her to some Oregon or Utah rides, but given the time and expense of all that other travel, this may not be the year.

2.  Start Acey on the endurance trail.  I am so happy to have a second horse to ride!  Now, I just have to figure out how to keep two horses fit.  I hope to do at least a couple 50′s on this mare.

3.  Get Ripple comfortable under saddle and on the trail.  ‘Nough said.

4.  Start Crackerjack under saddle.

5.  Finish perimeter fence and mare paddock upgrades.

It’s 15 degrees out, but the sun is up.  I think I’ll start today.

In Which I Find a Use for Full-Seat Breeches

A couple years ago, I ordered a pair of Tuff Rider full-seat, winter breeches from an online vendor.  Five days later, they arrived.  I tried them on and was disappointed to discover that they felt like an ill-fitted wetsuit from 1984:  bulky all over, stiff and diaper-like through the leather patches, and a really boring shade of navy.

Because I’d bought them on clearance, returning them wasn’t an option.  They went into my closet, folded neatly on a top shelf.  And there they sat…until last week.

I’ve decided to give Consolation some winter vacation while her new Stonewall is built.  We’ll do things other than condition.  We’ll dance in the round corral, go for long walks on dark evenings, handgraze on grasses leftover from summer.  And, we’ll hack out bareback.

So it was that I found myself looking around for something warm to wear for a little ride without getting my good winter breeches covered in dirt and hair.  Up there in the closet, patiently waiting, were the Tuff Riders.  Hmm, I thought.  Might as well try them.  We’re only going a few miles.

They were still bulky.  Still clingy.  Still navy.  And they were perfect.  That dratted full-seat patch not only made Consolation’s back a bit less slick, but it protected my legs from the itchy, dusty sweat that usually gives me a rash after riding bareback.  (Somebody tell me I’m not the only one who experiences that.  Please?)

Really, I couldn’t have asked for better bareback pants.  I’ve used them for exactly that, several times since.  Even now, their full-seat sports a whitish crescent of dried sweat from yesterday’s 4-mile trot — but I dismounted clean and dry.  Lovely.

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It Doesn’t Look That Much Like Christmas

Southwestern Idaho is enjoying the most amazing winter.  It’s cold, but the days are mostly sunny and dry.  My round corral isn’t slick.  The trails aren’t icy.  My biggest problem is tightening a western-style cinch without pulling on the horses’ thick coats.

The horses are full of holiday cheer.  They tear about their paddocks at feeding time, bucking and snorting clouds of steam, skidding to halt just before they crash into the fences.  I’ve taken to free lunging Acey and Consolation a bit before riding, lest they bounce me to the moon out of sheer enthusiasm.

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For the first time in memory, I’ve actually been able to maintain semi-regular training sessions with the younger horses.  Normally, inclement weather shuts me down sometime in November, but this year I find myself still sacking out and ground driving in mid-December.

It’s enough to make me want to start setting goals for 2012.  I’m big on goals.  Sometimes TOO big.  I used to have a habit of establishing such lofty ambitions that I could scarcely help but be disappointed by my failure to meet them.  In recent years, I’ve (mostly) learned to edit myself.

Still, it’s in my nature to strive, and striving is useless without a sense of direction.  Maybe I’ll consider some general goals.  Ambitious but realistic ones.  (And then I’ll cross my fingers against a massive snowstorm.)

One Sunday in Winter

Acey and I went out today.  We left in mid-morning, while frost still clung in the furrows of barren fields.  We wandered the roads around home, waved to Sunday drivers in farm trucks and shirts and ties.

We watched our shadow flow along the frozen ditch ~ just one shadow, shared between us.  We paused to study other horses in their pastures, ducked the whir of pheasants passing overhead, stopped where we found bunches of grass left green by fall. 

Our trek of seven miles took two hours.  But who cared?  Trotting felt like too much work; worse, as though it would pound out the silence of our winter day, which rang bright and ephemeral as a church bell half the town away.

These are the days for easy rides, for walking if we please, to prolong the miles and soak the sun through our many layers of coats and mane and gloves.  The farmland is shorn to shades of brown.  There is nothing, and everything, to see.

The world curls around herself, catlike, set to sleep through Christmas and the New Year.  She’ll awake around Valentine’s Day, blushing and moody.  We’ll smile while she bobs slowly into consciousness, having watched her all this while, and wondered.

Perhaps we are what she dreams about.

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