Doing the Impossible

I've always appreciated bloggers who tell it like it is and don't sugar coat things.  And I have to think all of the abject positivity from this blog this summer has to be a little annoying.

I promise I will always tell it like it is, and I am.  Things are just good.

We are doing things that were impossible six months ago.  Repeating exercises that made me cry last winter like they are no big deal.

Like last night.  When he was good and on my aids, we did 3 strides counter canter, 1 stride trot, 3 strides canter, 1 stride trot, 3 strides counter canter, 1 stride trot, rinse and repeat all the way down the quarter line - entirely with my seat.  No pulling on the reins at all, just a nice consistent contact.

We were so close to figuring things out at Pony Cup, but still missing a few pieces.

Last winter my trainer had me do something similar, and I cried.  I didn't know that I wasn't able to bring my horse down from the canter because I couldn't get the "stop" message across to him when I was clamping down on him with my thighs, inadvertently sending him forward into my hands, and thinking he was  "running through me."  Now I know - he never was running through me.  Or if it felt like he was, he never wanted to be.

August of 2013.

You couldn't have explained that to me before this summer.  I would have listened, but I couldn't have understood, because riding felt one way to me and I didn't know anything different.

This blog has been up since 2009.  Way before I got Connor, way after I started riding, and there's been a whole lot of telling it like it is, brutal honesty, struggles, thinking I knew what was wrong, not being right, being right but forgetting the answer two rides later, and trying things before we were ready.

I should do a post on all the strange things I've catch ridden while visiting Austen over the years...
(The first riding photo of me on this blog, Bella the Wonder Pony, January 2010).

We are never going to stop struggling, I will certainly think I'm right and actually be wrong in the future, and I will always be a slow learner, but for the first time I feel like the doors are open to future progress and I'm leaving the barn with a giant smile on my face every. single. ride.

And most importantly, my horse is happier than he's ever been, and annoyingly positive or not, that's what matters.