HotToTrot
Well-Known Member
So we all know the story, don't we? Horse meets girl, horse and girl get to Intermediate, girl has baby, girl falls off on head a lot, girl has existential crisis, horse and girl do a few more Intermediates, girl has a second baby for good measure, and nobody ever really knew whether any of the Intermediates were flukes of nature or ever likely to be repeated. And now here we were, ready to step up to Intermediate once again. My preparation for Aston had been textbook. Flawless. At about 8 am the day before, I was given a parking ticket. For parking outside my house. The good London Borough of Islington sees fit, in its wisdom, to charge its residents FIVE HUNDRED of your finest Sterling pounds, per English earth year, to park their car (singular, strictly one car per household, we are a Labour constituency, after all) in its fiefdom. For this outlandish sum, one is entitled to park not in a state-of-the-art, diamond encrusted, car-spa-retreat with gilded walls, fibre optic broadband and an all-you-can-drink mini bar. No, not even in a secure car park with any form of guaranteed parking space. Instead, I am granted, in return for this king's ransom, the monumental privilege of attempting to ram my mouldy old Chelsea tractor into any unsuspecting parking space that has the misfortune to be free at that particular time. A parking space so small that, if I have managed to park next to a mini or a micro scooter, I may just about be able to open one door by five inches.
So I'd forgotten to hand over an amount roughly equal to two thirds of the 2015 budget deficit to renew my permit and now here I was, being ticketed. I then proceeded to be pulled over for an unrelated motoring offence, to be given three points on my licence, a massive fine and a caution. I returned home to lock myself out of the house with nothing but two small cold children (and a conspicuous absence of nappies or warm clothing) to my name and was forced to retreat to the local library until a friend finished work and came round with a spare key. At this point, it dawned upon me that I still had not got any cash for my start fee, so I gave up on the world and trudged off to the Co-op wearing nothing but a screaming baby and my pyjamas, but then, this being approximately 11pm on the Caledonian Road, I was the most normal-looking person in the place by a country mile.
So the dressage happened, the showjumping happened, the dressage was terrible, the showjumping was terrifying, we gained a million penalties in the dressage and only four in the showjumping, and then we were being counted down in the XC start box.
The first five fences on the XC were nice enough and we had some good forward shots. Then we came to the first question; a log on top of mound followed by a corner, downhill on four left-handed curving strides. We'd watched one come through when we walked the course. She'd jumped in too big landed at the bottom of the mound and sailed straight past the corner. Then the next one came in too quietly, changed its mind on take off and put its front legs down on the landing side with its back legs still on the floor no the take off side. It floundered about, stuck momentarily on top of the fence, before finally scrabbling clear and carrying on. So, I thought, this should be easy. Don't come in too quickly, and don't come in too slowly. Back at the trailer, my husband, knowing that this combination was The One, asked me how I was going to ride it. I thought about this for a while. What, I asked myself, What Would Jesus Do? Well Jesus, I decided, could probably be prevailed upon to turn the water jump into wine. I could then drink the wine in the water jump and likely be far less concerned about the corner as a result. As soon as I'd thought of this, though, I realised that my plan simply wasn't practical. The water jump was after the corner, so in this instance, it just wasn't going to work.
Jesus being of limited use on this occasion, I turned instead to an alternative deity of downhill corners and awkward lines, my XC trainer, Little Downham's Tina Ure. Rewording the question, I asked myself, What Would Tina Say? "Well", I answered my husband, "the canter's really important. I need to create a bouncy coffin canter by bringing my chest up, then I need to squash Vito so we have a super-round canter. I have to keep him really straight and not allow him to fall out to the right as I turn left, so I want my outside aids firmly in place. As soon as I come to the first element, I have to be on my line, so that's that tree over there. Then once I've taken off, I'm lining up on the next tree, beyond the corner, and I'm trying to get myself onto that line, so I take off on the line and land on the line." I paused, realising that thus far, my entire plan could be credited to Jesus, Tina and the water jump full of wine. Desperate to take some credit for original thought myself, I cast about in my mind. "And," I continued, lamely, "And I need to be balanced. Keep the balance."
"That's a lot to think about" said my husband, slowly. "And it's going to come up very quickly. What are the three key things you're going to have in your head as you approach the fence?" "Um," I replied, "canter. Bouncy canter. That's so important. And outside aids, to keep him straight and not let him fall out. And the line. I need to look up at the trees that mark my line." "So bounce, outside, tree", said my husband. "Yes," I replied weakly, distilling The Hardest Fence On The Course into three meagre words. "Bounce, outside, tree."
So up we came to the first element and I got my bouncy canter. I squashed my horse and then I squashed him harder. And by the time I'd finished squashing him, I could have fitted him onto the surface area of a first class postage stamp. I straightened him, lined him squarely up on my tree and he put in the smallest, most economical of pops over the log. Keeping my outside rein and leg on, I turned for the corner and squeezed him very slightly, just to keep the power and to get his back legs right underneath him. He took in the corner, stayed straight and popped neatly out over it. Relief flooded through me. We'd done it, and we'd done it as well as we could possibly have hoped. Patting him, I cantered on through the next two fences and then we came to the water jump full of wine. This was also a tricky question. There was a big wide skinny log in, a left curve through the water up to a mound, a jump on top of the mound, then a right curve to a big wide skinny log downhill.
On the way to the XC, I'd quizzed returning riders about this one. My instinct was that it wanted to be ridden positively, faster than one might think, and from what people were saying, this seemed to be the case for them, too. So we came in in a powerful canter and Vito had a look at the log. We got deep (but not close) and landed in balance in the water. I turned immediately for the mound up and kicked. He jumped over the log on the mound really nicely, and, for reasons not entirely known to me (but known, perhaps, to Jesus, Tina and the water jump full of wine) I lost my right stirrup as we cleared the log. In a fraction of a nap-second, three options flashed through my peas-sized mind. 1. There's a huge log three strides ahead. Pull up, get stirrup back, take the 20 penalties. 2. Attempt to get stirrup back on way to downhill log and attempt to jump log anyway (but risk unbalancing/distracting horse by not focussing on line and approach). 3. You don't need two stirrups to jump the D element of a complex Intermediate water jump, just keep that horse on your line and look up. Well of course, jumping over whacking great solid obstacles on downhill approaches with one paltry stirrup to my name is an entirely sensible course of action, so I sent up a quiet prayer to Jesus, Tina and the water jump full of wine, hoped like mad that I wouldn't fall off on my head, and carried on to jump out over the log before regaining the errant stirrup.
The corner and the water jump were the only two that had really bothered me when I walked the course, but, as I came to the penultimate fence, two brushes on either side of a mound, I realised that my evaluation of the difficulty of the course had been badly off the mark. he was far too close to the first and I rebalanced for the second, getting a better jump. But then I realised, with a sinking feeling, that I was about to be held accountable for not knowing my own weaknesses well enough, for not compensating for my natural flaws and for not having a plan in place when I needed one the most. And now it was too late. I could see it coming, but I could do nothing about it.
So I'd forgotten to hand over an amount roughly equal to two thirds of the 2015 budget deficit to renew my permit and now here I was, being ticketed. I then proceeded to be pulled over for an unrelated motoring offence, to be given three points on my licence, a massive fine and a caution. I returned home to lock myself out of the house with nothing but two small cold children (and a conspicuous absence of nappies or warm clothing) to my name and was forced to retreat to the local library until a friend finished work and came round with a spare key. At this point, it dawned upon me that I still had not got any cash for my start fee, so I gave up on the world and trudged off to the Co-op wearing nothing but a screaming baby and my pyjamas, but then, this being approximately 11pm on the Caledonian Road, I was the most normal-looking person in the place by a country mile.
So the dressage happened, the showjumping happened, the dressage was terrible, the showjumping was terrifying, we gained a million penalties in the dressage and only four in the showjumping, and then we were being counted down in the XC start box.
The first five fences on the XC were nice enough and we had some good forward shots. Then we came to the first question; a log on top of mound followed by a corner, downhill on four left-handed curving strides. We'd watched one come through when we walked the course. She'd jumped in too big landed at the bottom of the mound and sailed straight past the corner. Then the next one came in too quietly, changed its mind on take off and put its front legs down on the landing side with its back legs still on the floor no the take off side. It floundered about, stuck momentarily on top of the fence, before finally scrabbling clear and carrying on. So, I thought, this should be easy. Don't come in too quickly, and don't come in too slowly. Back at the trailer, my husband, knowing that this combination was The One, asked me how I was going to ride it. I thought about this for a while. What, I asked myself, What Would Jesus Do? Well Jesus, I decided, could probably be prevailed upon to turn the water jump into wine. I could then drink the wine in the water jump and likely be far less concerned about the corner as a result. As soon as I'd thought of this, though, I realised that my plan simply wasn't practical. The water jump was after the corner, so in this instance, it just wasn't going to work.
Jesus being of limited use on this occasion, I turned instead to an alternative deity of downhill corners and awkward lines, my XC trainer, Little Downham's Tina Ure. Rewording the question, I asked myself, What Would Tina Say? "Well", I answered my husband, "the canter's really important. I need to create a bouncy coffin canter by bringing my chest up, then I need to squash Vito so we have a super-round canter. I have to keep him really straight and not allow him to fall out to the right as I turn left, so I want my outside aids firmly in place. As soon as I come to the first element, I have to be on my line, so that's that tree over there. Then once I've taken off, I'm lining up on the next tree, beyond the corner, and I'm trying to get myself onto that line, so I take off on the line and land on the line." I paused, realising that thus far, my entire plan could be credited to Jesus, Tina and the water jump full of wine. Desperate to take some credit for original thought myself, I cast about in my mind. "And," I continued, lamely, "And I need to be balanced. Keep the balance."
"That's a lot to think about" said my husband, slowly. "And it's going to come up very quickly. What are the three key things you're going to have in your head as you approach the fence?" "Um," I replied, "canter. Bouncy canter. That's so important. And outside aids, to keep him straight and not let him fall out. And the line. I need to look up at the trees that mark my line." "So bounce, outside, tree", said my husband. "Yes," I replied weakly, distilling The Hardest Fence On The Course into three meagre words. "Bounce, outside, tree."
So up we came to the first element and I got my bouncy canter. I squashed my horse and then I squashed him harder. And by the time I'd finished squashing him, I could have fitted him onto the surface area of a first class postage stamp. I straightened him, lined him squarely up on my tree and he put in the smallest, most economical of pops over the log. Keeping my outside rein and leg on, I turned for the corner and squeezed him very slightly, just to keep the power and to get his back legs right underneath him. He took in the corner, stayed straight and popped neatly out over it. Relief flooded through me. We'd done it, and we'd done it as well as we could possibly have hoped. Patting him, I cantered on through the next two fences and then we came to the water jump full of wine. This was also a tricky question. There was a big wide skinny log in, a left curve through the water up to a mound, a jump on top of the mound, then a right curve to a big wide skinny log downhill.
On the way to the XC, I'd quizzed returning riders about this one. My instinct was that it wanted to be ridden positively, faster than one might think, and from what people were saying, this seemed to be the case for them, too. So we came in in a powerful canter and Vito had a look at the log. We got deep (but not close) and landed in balance in the water. I turned immediately for the mound up and kicked. He jumped over the log on the mound really nicely, and, for reasons not entirely known to me (but known, perhaps, to Jesus, Tina and the water jump full of wine) I lost my right stirrup as we cleared the log. In a fraction of a nap-second, three options flashed through my peas-sized mind. 1. There's a huge log three strides ahead. Pull up, get stirrup back, take the 20 penalties. 2. Attempt to get stirrup back on way to downhill log and attempt to jump log anyway (but risk unbalancing/distracting horse by not focussing on line and approach). 3. You don't need two stirrups to jump the D element of a complex Intermediate water jump, just keep that horse on your line and look up. Well of course, jumping over whacking great solid obstacles on downhill approaches with one paltry stirrup to my name is an entirely sensible course of action, so I sent up a quiet prayer to Jesus, Tina and the water jump full of wine, hoped like mad that I wouldn't fall off on my head, and carried on to jump out over the log before regaining the errant stirrup.
The corner and the water jump were the only two that had really bothered me when I walked the course, but, as I came to the penultimate fence, two brushes on either side of a mound, I realised that my evaluation of the difficulty of the course had been badly off the mark. he was far too close to the first and I rebalanced for the second, getting a better jump. But then I realised, with a sinking feeling, that I was about to be held accountable for not knowing my own weaknesses well enough, for not compensating for my natural flaws and for not having a plan in place when I needed one the most. And now it was too late. I could see it coming, but I could do nothing about it.
my mum has the same lack of a sense of direction maybe children cause it?
