Believe

There are times when the only one who believes in you....is you.

Growing up, I was blessed to have two parents who solidly stood by me as I made my way through Growing Up Land. When, klutzy me, decided to play softball, my parents cheered at every game. Even the ones where I tripped rounding the bases. Or when I caught a fly ball....with the side of my face. (And I made sure that NEVER happened again!!)

When I came home one day from college, and announced that I was going to be a journalist, both of my parents supported me. Despite the visions they had of my living in a cardboard box, they were both pleased as punch at graduation (and I proved I knew what I was doing: I earned a few awards, an editorship at my college, and a top level reporting job at the local paper).

And most importantly, they stood by me while I suffered through a bad relationship, and cheered me on when I declared I had enough. Something they were not sure I could do on my own.....and one of the main decisions I made that confirmed they had raised a woman.

I could list a lot more, but you get the idea. :) My parents have the firm belief in me that when I make a decision, it will be a good one.

But as an adult, I am finding that less people believe in you. People will try to knock you down. Make you feel inadequate. Make you question your life decisions. It is a new minefield for me: I have always had a support system that knew I would always do right by myself.

The biggest "belief" crisis that I am facing at the moment is that of motherhood. Neither of my parents ever pressured me about marriage or children. Never did they watch me turn 23, 24, 25 and question my sanity. Why didn't I settle down? Start a family? My 20s were fast coming to an end! Again, they firmly believed I would do what was best for me. And I did. I lived the single life that I wanted, traveled, worked hard....and then, at 26 (which is still very young), I met my husband. Had I jumped into marriage, like a lot of young women do, I would never have married Mark. I probably would have married the bad relationship guy, and spend a lifetime in misery. (Divorce is not an option.)

But now, at 29, the questions come again. Babies, babies, babies. Why haven't I tried yet? I'm getting older! Mark is older! The whole point of marriage is babies! What am I waiting for?!?!

Well, I am waiting because it's what's right for me. Because I want a strong marriage first. I want to enjoy being with my husband: eating on the couch watching our shows with Smokey winding around our legs, traveling around the country, driving to the cabin. Because my horse classes are a sort of therapy for me, and its hard to imagine nine months away from the barn right now. Because I want to be ready. I want to dive in with happiness, not regret that I had a baby because others told me to.

And because I have the belief in myself that I am doing what is right. And I haven't yet been wrong when it comes down to the final word.

Also, I have the belief, despite what some others say, that I will always have my Derby parties, always write, always ride horses and NEVER forget who Michelle is, regardless of a name or a title change. Because some people say that when you marry; when you have children, that who you are before all of it disappears. True, some does, but not the important things. As long as you have the belief in yourself that you ARE who you ARE.

Be the person you believe you can be. Follow your own path. Because Belief is about what you think is right, and who you know you are.

That is my final word. Believe it or not. :)

Connected

It's been a crazy few weeks getting going on my new freelance gig, so the blog has suffered a bit. Sorry, readers!

Last week I rode Clinton for the first time in a while. I rode Guinness until he left to be with his mom at Auburn, and then spent one lesson with a new horse, named Classy.

So when Stephanie told me to grab Clinton, I was both excited and nervous. Would I still have trouble getting him on the bit? Would we canter without his stumbling, and my nervous tension?

We got in the ring, and.....ahhhhh. Best. Lesson. EVER.

Clinton was on the bit 98% of the lesson. Why? Because after riding G, who needs a ton of muscle on the reins, I was able to keep Clinton on the bit. My hands stayed mostly steady, my legs didn't clinch, and we were able to do trot/walk drills without frustration on my part, and head-flinging on his. And when we cantered....it was like that moment when you know that boy is the right one.

We just clicked. Connected, we looked, moved and felt great. It was the most collected and controlled canter. Horse and rider, as one.

Clinton got extra hugs, pats and treats that night. I sang the whole way home. Sailing into the house, I excitedly told my husband how great the lesson was, how perfect Clinton acted, how I finally found the dressage rider inside. It was one of those nights when you are in the groove. Like when a baseball player hits the ball right in that sweet spot and the ball goes over the fence. That. Good.

Sure, it may not have been Grand Prix, but it was a big step in the right direction. Clinton needs so much more from his rider than my first lesson horse, Sonnet, needs, and it threw me off, made me nervous.

But being on a tiger like Guinness, I was forced to be the best that I could try to be...so he wouldn't fall on his face. And I took all that I learned on G, applied it to Clinton, and it worked.

So tonight is lesson night with Mary. And I am hoping that Clinton and I can perform as lovely as we did Wednesday night.

Because this is my theory: once you know how good it can be; you never want to let that feeling go.

That warm, fuzzy "nickery" feeling

To begin my Kentucky Derby postings, I'd like to tell you a little bit about why this time of year holds so much charm for me. You see, I'm not in it to win big bucks; to collect on a trifecta. I don't circle horses in the Daily Racing Form like they are simply a means to an end, nor do I get excited for the Derby just because of a big hat and a new dress.

I'm in it for the warm fuzzies.

And Derby time is the biggest, brightest sun in racing's universe. The Derby is the one race everyone wants to win, because to wear Roses on the first Saturday in May is to stamp yourself in immortality. Long after we forget who won the big Thoroughbred races, we remember the Derby winners. We remember the day a 50-1 longshot named Mine That Bird skipped along the inside rail to shock a crowd. We remember when a schoolbus full of middle class owners rolled into Churchill Downs and won with a scrappy gelding named Funny Cide. We remember a horse named Secretariat, because as he crossed the wire first, we knew we had seen the beginning of a remarkable journey.

The Derby is not about who is bred the most impressively. Or the one owned by the richest men and women. The winner of the Derby is not decided by mere mortals, but by the heavens. You can be the favorite; you can be the longshot. When it is decided that your moment of glory is now, it is you crossing the wire first.

My first real memory of the Derby was in 1988, when a roan filly named Winning Colors shocked the crowd and won. She was the third and last filly to win the Derby. I remember sitting on our couch in the family room, in awed silence of the powerful filly as she was adorned by the blanket of roses. I remember the excitement I felt, jumping up and down on the couch as the race unfolded, and knowing that I had begun a journey of fanship that I still have today.

I remember the very first time I stood in front of the famed Spires of Churchill Downs. How my heart raced with happiness and the reverence I felt. The moment I saw the flash of horses through the throngs of the infield, and the excitement. The screaming my friend and I did when we won $20 on Smarty Jones. How I never cashed the ticket, because I wanted that piece of history forever. And I remember the first time I had a seat at the Derby. As the first strains of "My Old Kentucky Home" washed over me, I closed my eyes, holding onto my hat, and tried to let the whole experience wash over me. I remember watching Calvin Borel celebrate on Street Sense. Even though I bet on Nobiz Like Showbiz, I shouted and waved at him in congratulations, tears threatening to fall, even as I watched Borel's stream down his cheeks.

The Derby is an experience unlike any other.

I hope, as I write about the horses on the Derby trail, that you will find yourself rooting for one on May 1st. They all have stories. Some are about privilege, owned by sheiks. Others are grassroots horses, bought for thousands by the everyman. Still others are trying to fulfill the destiny of a famed father or brother, taken too soon. They will all spend the next three months trying to win as many races as they can to gain both the experience and purse earnings to gain one of 20 spots in the Derby starting gates.

The Derby Trail is the beginning of these young colts' stories; the Derby itself will determine who among them is the greatest.

Are you starting to get excited yet? :)

ARRGH!!

Don't you just hate it when everything is not going right?!?! You just want to scream, but, when it comes to screaming on a horse....NOT the brightest idea. :)

Last night I rode Guinness (YAY) for the fourth time. I had been progressing slowly on G, but had made it to a point that cantering with heels down and hands tight was becoming more natural. So on Wednesday, my final (for real) ride on G was going to be money.

Ha.

Cantering was a nightmare. So was trotting. G kept tripping because my hands were not tight, nor steady enough. He shied at some unknown thing in the ring. He bucked a few times. When we cantered, it was on the wrong lead. And he figured out that if he pulled on the bit hard enough, the reins would give in my hands. Not to mention, the whip kept slipping from my grasp, because I wouldn't/couldn't keep my fingers closed. And with every mistake, my frustration and misery grew, until at one point, I almost jumped off in a huff. Angry at him for not doing what I wanted, but angrier still at myself for not asking G for the right things at the right time.

So I asked G for a halt and rolled my shoulders back. I took a breath, and closed my eyes for a second, sending out positive vibes. And started all over again. This time, we were able to get a canter on the correct lead, and trotted twice around the ring with nary a trip, on the bit, and in tune. So we stopped there for the night. I was still angry at myself for having a so-so lesson, but happy that I didn't give up.

It's so hard not to get frustrated when dealing with horses. They are wonderful creatures, and I love them. But, they have a mind of their own, and quirks. It's not Guinness' fault that he needs a steady hand and a firm leg to move forward. It's mine, for not committing myself to being firm. He knows what he knows, and anything less than that, well, that's not his problem to deal with. He's not being bad or mean. He's being a good dressage horse. But when your mind is yelling CANTER! and your body is saying, "um, well....canter?" it breeds frustration at yourself for not being on point, and frustration at the horse for not reading your mind.

While I'm still chiding myself for being so blasé last night, I am pumping myself up for Monday night's lesson. I will take what I learned on G, and be a better rider on Clinton. And I will put last night's frustrations away. Clinton, here I come!

A Pint (or 70) of Guinness

I know you looked at that title and thought, "is she an alcoholic?"

Don't worry. Guinness is a horse. :)

My past two lessons, I have had the privilege of being able to ride one of the barn's superstars. Owned by the co-owner of the barn, Guinness is showing at a 3rd or 4th Training level. And when you are offered the chance to ride a horse like that, you do NOT say no.

I'm sure that G is a warm blood, but what kind, I'm not sure. He's very tall, probably about 17 or 18 hands, dark brown/almost black. And he's a total gentleman and sweetheart. On our first night, he started licking my arm, like a dog. It was hysterical. And he has a way of tilting his head like he's telling you a joke that you're going to burst into giggles over. Besides his great personality, G is an incredible mover. Smooth and quick, his strides eat up the ground, never choppy, never jostling. It's easy to get lost in the moment with him.

I have been taking lessons consecutively for a year and some change now. I am considerably better than I used to be, but I am not at that level in Dressage. I still have trouble keeping my body from pitching forward when I change gaits, and getting a horse to stay on the bit still eludes me at times. Clinton is not thrilled when I mess up on him, but he still continues to trot or canter on. With Guinness, there is no room for error. The slightest wrong movement, and G stops. He will not trot or canter unless your hands are connected with his mouth, your legs applying the correct pressure. While it can be frustrating (Wednesday's lessons consisted of a lot of stopping), it has been a way to see what I need to work on, and what a real Dressage horse needs in a rider.

Another thing I'm hoping my time with G will teach me is to be more confident. One of the worst issues I have riding a new horse is doubt. I doubt that I can control such a horse. I doubt that I will stay on. When my instructor asks me to canter on a new horse, I always feel my stomach hit my feet. And I'm sure the horse feels it too. With G, there is no room for fear. While he thinks he's cantering slowly, you feel like you are zooming around the ring. The first time I tried to canter, it was a mess. G needs you to hold the reins tight, and your seat has to be deep and back. You pitch forward, and he stops. You loosen the reins even a tiny bit, he stops. Quickly. To top it all, he always gives a little kick when he starts his canter. Very minor, but if you don't expect it, it's different.

But Saturday, when I rode him for the second time, while it took me a while to get going, I felt very comfortable at the canter. He was feeling his oats, and we were flying, but he felt so good, and I felt that I was right there with him. Clinton isn't nearly as big or fast, so the lingering canter fears I have with him? If I can do it on G, Clinton will be a piece of cake. And I'm sure he'll appreciate my seat and hands more.

I have really enjoyed my time on G. I may get one more chance to ride him, and I will eat up every second. I love Clinton, don't get me wrong, but riding Guinness is teaching me how to ride Clinton better. My hope is that once I'm riding him again, I will be more comfortable, more confident, and more able.

So I have to give a lot of thanks to G, and to Mary (my instructor) for letting me ride him. Because Clinton is going to see a better rider next week, I hope. And because I think I grew into my Dressage boots just a little bit more. :)

Peace, love and reins...DG