HotToTrot
Well-Known Member
Persuade father to come to house and participate in baby-wrangling, set off late for Aston, encounter large signs warning of impending road closure, adopt normal approach to things I don't like and ignore completely. See further, more urgent, signs reiterating same, continue blindly on, arrive, predictably, at closed road. Engage trailer in three-point turn, set back off down open part of closed road, wander aimlessly through lanes of Northamptonshire, consult atlas, mentally defend refusal to invest in sat-nav, ring husband to establish whether lost, confirm that am indeed lost, wander round some more, arrive at Aston. RUN to secretary, grab number, borrow bridle number from neighbouring lorry, hop round semi-naked in bare feet, leg it to dressage, trot one lap of warm up, canter in at A, make no attempt whatsoever to even do at least two of the moves in the test, mooch back to trailer. Indulge in coffee and over-sized cheesy chips, persuade Giovanni Ugglotti to store horse on his lorry, unhitch trailer, drive off into Banbury (not via closed road). Retrieve husband from station, purchase fags for Giovanni Ugglotti, return to Aston, swap horse for fags, walk showjumping.
Die of shock.
Lose husband to beer tent.
Look at showjumping again. Discover resuscitation not available. Still dead from shock.
Tack horse up. Query whether self now revived. Self still dead from shock.
Persuade dead-from-shock self to get on horse and jump warm up fence. Discover husband (also dead from shock) in warm up, clutching beer. Jump some fences. Voice intention to "leave it there". Husband back from dead briefly enough to take massive swig of beer. Looks at showjumping again. Dies instantly from shock again. Having died of shock, persuades self that self should jump ridiculously massive huge enormous gigantic great warm up fence. Self concludes that, as self already dead from shock, self has nothing to lose. May as well jump fence. Horse (not remotely shocked) and self jump fence.
People ask me this a lot. People who ride, but who don't event. "How big's Novice XC?" they'll say. "1.10m", I say. "How big's Intermediate XC?" they say. 1.15m" I say. "Oh", they say, disappointed. "Only 5 cm bigger?" And I still haven't found the right words to explain it. I try. I tell them that size doesn't matter, that 5cm isn't technically very big, but I say that you have to consider that you'll need to do it on all sorts of odd angles, that you'll be doing it faster, doing it more times, that you'll have to do it up to four times in quick succession. That it may well be really really wide, as well as 5cm bigger, and that the sheer width of the thing can make it really quite daunting. I tell them that it often looks and feels as if it's a lot more than 5cm bigger and that the bigger it gets, the more you realise that you don't want to go down on it.
But I had fallen into this very trap. Because Advanced showjumping is only 5cm bigger than Int. But when I walked the course at Aston that day, I slowly began to understand that this course meant business and that I had to mean it too. I've got this new motto. It is, like me, pretty simple, and it's as follows: "Ride like you know you can." Because I knew that I could do it, but I also knew that I could very easily just completely screw it all up. In the days before Aston, as the doubts crept in, I said it over and over. "Ride like you know you can."
So the bell went, I revved up the canter, and I rode down to my very first, ever, Advanced fence. I've been pleased with our SJ this year. I wouldn't say I've "cracked it" but I'd say I'm comfortable with it. I know what sort of canter I want and I know how to generate the power and then contain it. Now, though, I asked for more, and boy, oh boy, did my horse answer. He has a whole new gear and I've only just discovered it.
Keep the front end up, up, up, rev the canter, hold it, contain it, and we flew the first. Sit UP. Sit up, up, up, power in the canter, power, power, we turned to a huge upright white gate and bounded over. Turn now, power, power, power, front end up, hold it, hold it, big, big, big oxer now at three, sit up, up, leg, leg, leg, ride him, ride, down the distance to four. He landed on the wrong leg and, as the dressage judge will confirm, we don't do changes, so we stayed in counter canter. Too wide, too slow, time faults, hurry up, no, doesn't matter, get your canter, big, wide, square, oxer at 5. Balance, power, hold on, hold ON, double of uprights at 6. Turn, turn, oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph I was coming down to 7 and I saw no stride at all. But here's where I'm really quite glad that I am rubbish. I've been rubbish enough times, now, that I know what to do when I'm rubbish. I don't always do it, of course, but now I sat. I sat up, I sat still, I kept the power. I got him there on a misser, but I neither killed the canter, nor chased him onto his forehand, and my gallant little horse chipped in, came to the bottom of this huge fence, and sprang over it. And even as we'd taken off, the instincts kicked in. Here's where all my many, many errors that I've made in the past came into play, and I knew what to do. When you get a jump like that, you lose your canter on landing. Four strides ahead lay an upright and I had to fix this, right now. Land, power, POWER, KICK and hold on, hold on, hold on and we flew 8. Turn, ride the turn, ride the turn, leg, leg, sit up, front end up, UP, HUGE, HUGE oxer at 9 and dog leg now to ten. Hold on. Rev it up, rev it up. Balance. Hold through your core, Sit UP and then a thought flashed unbidden through my mind. Could it be? Could we be en route to clear in our first Advanced? No - NO... Dangerous, Viv, dangerous, don't think it. Ahead of me, it was true, there lay just one fence now, but this fence was a treble. A big, uncompromising treble. Oxer in, one long stride between each element. I've struggled with trebles in the past. I've sat on Vito's ears as he's jumped me out of the mess I put him in. Not now. Couldn't do that now. Had to be right. Focus. FOCUS. Ride like you know you can. I steadied him a fraction too much and he was a bit quiet in, but again, for the thousandth time, I was glad to be so good at being bad. Because if there's a mistake that can be made in the showjumping, then you can bet your bottom dollar I've made it at some point, and I knew how to deal with this. Land, leg, but balance, leg but balance, front end UP. He lengthened his stride and flew the second part and then the third and we were home. I'd actually had one down and picked up three time faults, but I was ecstatic, slightly reeling from the sheer power that I'd just unleashed, and no longer dead from shock.
Though on looking at these, I did die from shock again briefly:
http://s1362.photobucket.com/user/VivianePendleton/media/FPB_6722_zpsxoxdgue2.jpg.html
http://s1362.photobucket.com/user/VivianePendleton/media/FPB_6726_zpsvfmz6rti.jpg.html
The whole day had been surreal. The long, long wait between phases, the huge, huge SJ track, the 8pm XC. Now it got more surreal still. Aoife Clarke bubbled away, recounting the course. Old Townsend wandered in, face red from the still-hot sun. Sam Griffiths and Tim Price shot the breeze as they walked side by side on Paulank Brockagh and Ringwood Sky Boy. Olympic riders, Rio-bound horses. Not one person there whose name and face I did not know, hadn't seen at the very top events in the world. And me.
The Irish commentator was rapturous as Paulank Brackish set out on course. "A foine Oirish hoirse we hoive on da croiss cointry. Boi the groit Oirish spoirts soire, Touchdoin, so Oi tell ya." I smiled as I walked down to the start, ready to set out after Parrot's half-sister, Paulank Brockagh. Oh yes. bred quite in the purple, my little ginger pony. The commentator didn't miss his cue. "ANUDDER one boi Touchdoin!!" He shouted. "Ladies and Gentleman, we hoive TWO Hoirses on da course, TWO Oirish hoirses both o'dem, so I tell ya, potatoes, potatoes, Guinness, leprechauns, Guinness, leprechauns, top o'da morning to ya, now we hoive Kates Toich and Paulank Brockagh, both o'dem boo Touchdoin."
Then it went quiet, because all that mattered was the horse I rode and the fences that lay ahead. Ride like you know you can.
Big. Big. Technical, and big. And clear - right up until the second last. And at the second last, I let him come too fast. Let him charge at a combination of bounce steps up to a rail. Maybe it would be ok, I thought, as I failed to slow him for the turn. It wasn't. He tripped up the second step and I fell off over his head. I'd have remounted and completed, just two more to go, but he'd half-pulled a shoe and all I could do was loosen his girth and wait for the farrier to come and rescue us. Within sight of the finish line, my Advanced round was over.
So I'm gutted. So near, yet so far, so stupid. I'm relieved; thank goodness he's ok. I'm amused, because what else can we expect from me, other than that I should fall off at the second last?! I'm delighted; we did all of the showjumping and almost, almost all of the XC. It's one of my most bitter "almosts", but who here reading this doesn't have their own, personal, great big "almost"? And - I'm pragmatic. Because isn't this what I said all along? I knew I could do it. I also knew I could totally screw up. So I'll "drop back down to Intermediate". (Since when did that become something I say??!!) And then, then I'll try again. Ride Advanced. Ride like I know I can.
http://s1362.photobucket.com/user/VivianePendleton/media/FMN_9905_zpscdrdslnv.jpg.html
Die of shock.
Lose husband to beer tent.
Look at showjumping again. Discover resuscitation not available. Still dead from shock.
Tack horse up. Query whether self now revived. Self still dead from shock.
Persuade dead-from-shock self to get on horse and jump warm up fence. Discover husband (also dead from shock) in warm up, clutching beer. Jump some fences. Voice intention to "leave it there". Husband back from dead briefly enough to take massive swig of beer. Looks at showjumping again. Dies instantly from shock again. Having died of shock, persuades self that self should jump ridiculously massive huge enormous gigantic great warm up fence. Self concludes that, as self already dead from shock, self has nothing to lose. May as well jump fence. Horse (not remotely shocked) and self jump fence.
People ask me this a lot. People who ride, but who don't event. "How big's Novice XC?" they'll say. "1.10m", I say. "How big's Intermediate XC?" they say. 1.15m" I say. "Oh", they say, disappointed. "Only 5 cm bigger?" And I still haven't found the right words to explain it. I try. I tell them that size doesn't matter, that 5cm isn't technically very big, but I say that you have to consider that you'll need to do it on all sorts of odd angles, that you'll be doing it faster, doing it more times, that you'll have to do it up to four times in quick succession. That it may well be really really wide, as well as 5cm bigger, and that the sheer width of the thing can make it really quite daunting. I tell them that it often looks and feels as if it's a lot more than 5cm bigger and that the bigger it gets, the more you realise that you don't want to go down on it.
But I had fallen into this very trap. Because Advanced showjumping is only 5cm bigger than Int. But when I walked the course at Aston that day, I slowly began to understand that this course meant business and that I had to mean it too. I've got this new motto. It is, like me, pretty simple, and it's as follows: "Ride like you know you can." Because I knew that I could do it, but I also knew that I could very easily just completely screw it all up. In the days before Aston, as the doubts crept in, I said it over and over. "Ride like you know you can."
So the bell went, I revved up the canter, and I rode down to my very first, ever, Advanced fence. I've been pleased with our SJ this year. I wouldn't say I've "cracked it" but I'd say I'm comfortable with it. I know what sort of canter I want and I know how to generate the power and then contain it. Now, though, I asked for more, and boy, oh boy, did my horse answer. He has a whole new gear and I've only just discovered it.
Keep the front end up, up, up, rev the canter, hold it, contain it, and we flew the first. Sit UP. Sit up, up, up, power in the canter, power, power, we turned to a huge upright white gate and bounded over. Turn now, power, power, power, front end up, hold it, hold it, big, big, big oxer now at three, sit up, up, leg, leg, leg, ride him, ride, down the distance to four. He landed on the wrong leg and, as the dressage judge will confirm, we don't do changes, so we stayed in counter canter. Too wide, too slow, time faults, hurry up, no, doesn't matter, get your canter, big, wide, square, oxer at 5. Balance, power, hold on, hold ON, double of uprights at 6. Turn, turn, oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph I was coming down to 7 and I saw no stride at all. But here's where I'm really quite glad that I am rubbish. I've been rubbish enough times, now, that I know what to do when I'm rubbish. I don't always do it, of course, but now I sat. I sat up, I sat still, I kept the power. I got him there on a misser, but I neither killed the canter, nor chased him onto his forehand, and my gallant little horse chipped in, came to the bottom of this huge fence, and sprang over it. And even as we'd taken off, the instincts kicked in. Here's where all my many, many errors that I've made in the past came into play, and I knew what to do. When you get a jump like that, you lose your canter on landing. Four strides ahead lay an upright and I had to fix this, right now. Land, power, POWER, KICK and hold on, hold on, hold on and we flew 8. Turn, ride the turn, ride the turn, leg, leg, sit up, front end up, UP, HUGE, HUGE oxer at 9 and dog leg now to ten. Hold on. Rev it up, rev it up. Balance. Hold through your core, Sit UP and then a thought flashed unbidden through my mind. Could it be? Could we be en route to clear in our first Advanced? No - NO... Dangerous, Viv, dangerous, don't think it. Ahead of me, it was true, there lay just one fence now, but this fence was a treble. A big, uncompromising treble. Oxer in, one long stride between each element. I've struggled with trebles in the past. I've sat on Vito's ears as he's jumped me out of the mess I put him in. Not now. Couldn't do that now. Had to be right. Focus. FOCUS. Ride like you know you can. I steadied him a fraction too much and he was a bit quiet in, but again, for the thousandth time, I was glad to be so good at being bad. Because if there's a mistake that can be made in the showjumping, then you can bet your bottom dollar I've made it at some point, and I knew how to deal with this. Land, leg, but balance, leg but balance, front end UP. He lengthened his stride and flew the second part and then the third and we were home. I'd actually had one down and picked up three time faults, but I was ecstatic, slightly reeling from the sheer power that I'd just unleashed, and no longer dead from shock.
Though on looking at these, I did die from shock again briefly:
http://s1362.photobucket.com/user/VivianePendleton/media/FPB_6722_zpsxoxdgue2.jpg.html
http://s1362.photobucket.com/user/VivianePendleton/media/FPB_6726_zpsvfmz6rti.jpg.html
The whole day had been surreal. The long, long wait between phases, the huge, huge SJ track, the 8pm XC. Now it got more surreal still. Aoife Clarke bubbled away, recounting the course. Old Townsend wandered in, face red from the still-hot sun. Sam Griffiths and Tim Price shot the breeze as they walked side by side on Paulank Brockagh and Ringwood Sky Boy. Olympic riders, Rio-bound horses. Not one person there whose name and face I did not know, hadn't seen at the very top events in the world. And me.
The Irish commentator was rapturous as Paulank Brackish set out on course. "A foine Oirish hoirse we hoive on da croiss cointry. Boi the groit Oirish spoirts soire, Touchdoin, so Oi tell ya." I smiled as I walked down to the start, ready to set out after Parrot's half-sister, Paulank Brockagh. Oh yes. bred quite in the purple, my little ginger pony. The commentator didn't miss his cue. "ANUDDER one boi Touchdoin!!" He shouted. "Ladies and Gentleman, we hoive TWO Hoirses on da course, TWO Oirish hoirses both o'dem, so I tell ya, potatoes, potatoes, Guinness, leprechauns, Guinness, leprechauns, top o'da morning to ya, now we hoive Kates Toich and Paulank Brockagh, both o'dem boo Touchdoin."
Then it went quiet, because all that mattered was the horse I rode and the fences that lay ahead. Ride like you know you can.
Big. Big. Technical, and big. And clear - right up until the second last. And at the second last, I let him come too fast. Let him charge at a combination of bounce steps up to a rail. Maybe it would be ok, I thought, as I failed to slow him for the turn. It wasn't. He tripped up the second step and I fell off over his head. I'd have remounted and completed, just two more to go, but he'd half-pulled a shoe and all I could do was loosen his girth and wait for the farrier to come and rescue us. Within sight of the finish line, my Advanced round was over.
So I'm gutted. So near, yet so far, so stupid. I'm relieved; thank goodness he's ok. I'm amused, because what else can we expect from me, other than that I should fall off at the second last?! I'm delighted; we did all of the showjumping and almost, almost all of the XC. It's one of my most bitter "almosts", but who here reading this doesn't have their own, personal, great big "almost"? And - I'm pragmatic. Because isn't this what I said all along? I knew I could do it. I also knew I could totally screw up. So I'll "drop back down to Intermediate". (Since when did that become something I say??!!) And then, then I'll try again. Ride Advanced. Ride like I know I can.
http://s1362.photobucket.com/user/VivianePendleton/media/FMN_9905_zpscdrdslnv.jpg.html
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