Why do we do it? Put ourselves through it? As I’ve been asked to ponder before…are horses a sport, an art form, or are they mainly a lifestyle? I think they are all three, but where they all intersect is different on each day, and with each horse and human, I’d guess.
Sometimes, I get ready for a horse show and am stressed just riding at Training Level in dressage. And I think, ‘Why in the world do we even do this…?’ I can enjoy the training journey with my pony without this extra component of being judged. I can get feedback without riding in front of everyone else and without having someone at the venue asking, “Who is riding this adorable pony that you’re leading?” and me saying, “It’s me…” and them saying, “Oh isn’t that so nice….”
For me, there is some stress simply in getting in the mindset for a show. Riding accurately, having the show-ring-ready ride versus the ride that is purely for training…it’s all so different. And usually, when I’m getting strained in the lead-up to a show or hating that I must wash the pony’s white-ish tail with whitening shampoo again, I think, ‘Do I even like this? What is the point of putting myself through this?’ Plus, I think about Phineas and wonder if the tension he will deal with will be worth it all.
Then we go to the show, and everything is different. The tests don’t feel beautiful, perfect, or like clockwork yet, but I can look at the tests over the season and see improvement. I see improvement in our posture in the videos—less tension and more fluid movement for us both. I see comments from judges that help inform where we take the training. “Slow the tempo…”—it was a great comment to read because we learned how to slow it down by talking to my coach about it after the show and working on that in our lessons. I have enjoyed the ringcraft—even though we have a long way to go, there are so many small pieces working together for a nice test, like accuracy, steady rhythm, and lack of nagging….
But the way I feel and perceive Phineas feels after I ride a couple of tests at a horse show is the real reason we do this. I feel empowered and proud. I’m proud of my horse and myself for making all the “not fun” parts happen so we can get to the show. I’m proud of all the parts I did alone—the training rides, bathing, tack cleaning, test memorizing, etc., and the parts I still need help with—trailer loading and unloading, warm-up help, etc., because all this stuff is beyond my comfort zone, but we did it. I may avoid all this if given the choice because it’s hard, but having a show on the horizon makes it take priority. These are all small wins, but they stack up to feel like huge wins. The ribbons are nice, too, but this accumulation of small wins takes most of my attention. I know now, based on experience, that the warm-up on this pony will be a good ride on most days. Sometimes, it is better than the test by far, but in a way, that’s also ok because it’s a success for me to enjoy those warm-up rides that I used to be nervous about. Seeing and feeling him take all the different pieces in and have some confidence in those spaces means the world to me for progress. He’s only six and still has much of the world to see and experience.
Seeing other people out there who are putting themselves through the same weird little pressure cooker also builds a camaraderie for me. I don’t eyeball the other riders in the warm-up, wondering who I’m riding against. We’re usually saying seemingly bland but sincere things about how cute each other’s horses are or some piece of tack as we ride by each other, and always telling whoever is coming after us into the ring to have a nice ride. As an Adult Amatuer, I genuinely appreciate all the people who are in the warm-up, because they feel like my people. I know they’ve put in a lot of time and energy to be there, just like I have.
And horse showing really isn’t about showing off, as many people think. Dressage at the upper levels looks like a dance. I haven’t ridden at those levels yet, so I can’t say if it is eventually like that. But I can say that the basics within the lower levels don’t feel like dancing. However, they do feel like essential communication. Riding a test feels like being told the script of a play, learning the lines, and then trying to actually say the lines and make it to your marks the way that your brain intends for them to come out and in front of an audience. This sounds pretty simple—like all it takes is practice. But it’s a juggling act just getting one body to do that and a different type of planning and synchronicity to get a horse to do it with you in a fluid, relaxed, and authentic manner. So, everyone who says watching dressage is boring: I can assure you that the riders are so busy trying to get it right that they cannot spare any brainpower towards entertaining your attention… there is no more room for thoughts!
I think test riding, though difficult, increases clarity of communication. It also increases vulnerability because you see what is coming together and what isn’t. Once I got the idea that it’s not about how perfect I can be but about having some goals for Phineas and myself and then trying to improve towards those goals, that’s where showing seems to be a different marker in time for us. If my mindset isn’t, “I hope this judge likes us,” and is more, “I hope we can slow the tempo, lessen the tension, and get more power in the canter…” etc., that’s a more significant measure of success. Because the goal isn’t to be fluffed up; it’s to get better and eventually ride the upper levels.
Having recently closed out the 2024 season with the NCDCTA Dressage Championships, I’m grateful. Our start to this season wasn’t prompt—it was June, and that is because it wasn’t until April/May that my coach and I felt Phineas could canter balanced and rhythmically in a dressage test. We decided to try it, and he exceeded all of my expectations. He can be a worrier, so I knew he needed to feel that he could do what I asked him of him with his body easily, or it would make him feel overfaced. So, the main objective of this year was to go out and do some Training Level tests and give him (and me) a good experience.
We had a fun season, and as we were at our last ride at the Championships on Sunday, I was shocked to be in a spot where if we performed well, we might be in contention for Reserve Champion in the Training Level Division. That messed with my head for a bit honestly, because none of the season had been focused on being highly competitive and winning—just getting good experiences at Training Level. Some of this is because I can get super hard on myself, and I needed some measures of success that didn’t lead me down that path. I could feel myself morphing into that mindset of winning-focus, and I could feel myself getting disconnected and nervous. I was in the warm-up for longer that morning because I felt Phineas needed a long walk before we started working, and I was rolling all of this over in my mind. I knew that getting nervous would not help him, and I also knew that I didn’t know how to address the nerves for both of us in that short time in a productive way. I fully admit that I get butterflies in my stomach before I compete, but I also try to focus on helping them fly in formation. That probably gives Phineas a weird vibe from me, but I am trying, and I know he is too.
So, as I grappled with that weird winning-focus, I finally told myself that this is not what we started this show season for—it’s to execute well but not with the emphasis only to win. It’s to have a good experience—and if my mind was going to pump out tension to him, then it wasn’t a good experience. I decided to focus on the fact that this was my last ride for the season and that I’d like to close it out with a good one. It was in a different arena from the previous two rides, and I thought I’d like him to have a good experience in that space. When I entered at “A” my mind said, “I love you, Phineas,” and we proceeded to ride our test with that thought. I thought it was a nice ride, all things considered. It didn’t get us Reserve Champion, and that’s ok! It was an incredible learning moment for me, and I hope an excellent cherry-on-the-top experience for the end of our season for Phineas. We hadn’t done Training 3 until the weekend of the Championships, so I was happy to end with that progression and that test feeling so lovely.
I have a lot to be thankful for, and a lot of my gratitude comes from the fact that Phineas and I are both stretching ourselves and learning. We aren’t doing it perfectly—and sometimes, we don’t love every single moment of the journey in real life. But I am so happy because this experience has grown our relationship even more. Instead of testing our partnership and Phineas deciding he’s not so sure he should trust me, I am honored because I keep seeing moments where he’s choosing to trust me and my judgment. He may startle at new environments, but he checks in immediately after; he gets worried about different footing, but he doesn’t decide it’s all lava (lol) but agrees to continue moving forward even if he is a bit unsure. He sighs and breathes faster than he used to—he even did it in that last test at the stretch circle, and that made my heart so happy! And once we get home, he is still the same Phineas. He nickers when he sees me, follows me around, and finds me in his turnout when I come to get him for a ride.
All of this is a true joy for me. So, I must thank this pony for being on this adventure with me. And I thank my village for being there every step of the way, even in spirit when I’m washing a tail for what feels like the 100th time. And I thank the horse show organizers and this lifestyle in general, because it’s helping us to find the best in ourselves even when it’s not easy…
So cheers to everyone who has stretched themselves and tested their skills and relationships with their horses—may we always become better for it, if not immediately, then eventually! I applaud each and every one of us for our bravery and vulnerability. It’s beautiful, and I think it makes us better people for our horses. And I realize that THIS is why we horse show.
