Surya and I have had some time between the last show and our intended fall show schedule. We were planning to compete five times this fall- the first three at Beginner Novice, and the last two at Novice.
Four weeks ago, on Thursday, I started to warm up Surya for our jump lesson, and she felt off on her right fore. I got off, did a hoof test (negative), lunged her (confirmed she was feeling ouchy), and put her back out in her field. Naturally, on Friday I fell off my bike and broke my wrist to make sure I couldn’t ride and to make sure I gave her a lot of time off to resolve a minor problem.
She felt 100% on Saturday. I did not. Surya was very sweet about my arm. She kept trying to groom it.
I tend to become completely wrapped up in whatever we are working on. I am excellent at drilling. Give me a schedule and an agenda, and it will be done until my will is done, on earth as it is in heaven. With such an attitude it is easy to lose legereté. It is easy to lose willingness to experiment.
As my wrist broke, my schedule disappeared. The experience was surreal. My first thought after I picked myself up off the street was ‘why aren’t I more scraped up?’ My wrist hurt, but it certainly wasn’t broken. I got back on my bike and continued with my day. My head felt woozy and my wrist announced its condition with throbbing shooting pain through the afternoon and night. I just…waited. Waited for it to get better. This was apart from my life.
Surya and I had been stuck in dressage for a little while. If I rode her long enough, she would eventually become steadier in the bridle and stop emptying the right rein quite so much. But, she still would lean into the bridle for three strides, and then back off for another two. Corrections, no matter the subtlety, were instinctually met with nose-flinging before relaxation. We were making great strides in our trot work, but only laterally. To improve, Surya needed to take, and keep, the bit.
When the cast was put on my arm, there was a certain relief. My wrist could no longer move, and so it no longer hurt. I was no longer afraid of injuring it worse. I stopped carrying it protectively next to my chest and expanded my arms in a stretch. The next week, after fielding the inquiries of all curious parties at work, I sat down at my computer. As I struggled with the frustration of one-handed typing, I became uncomfortably aware of the cast around my forearm, wrist, and hand. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t remove it. I couldn’t move. My breath hitched as my brain leapt into a quiet panic. I gained a better appreciation of horses’ submission to tack.
The first two weeks post-break, my trainer and ARF rode her a few times. Neither could correct her unsteadiness in the bridle. My trainer declared that since we were no longer concentrating on upcoming competitions, we would try bits. The first day back in the saddle, I rode in the regular Baucher and Surya was a relaxed angel. We didn’t work very hard; we trotted long and low around the ring. The second day, I tried a loose ring French link on her. She abhorred it, and took off when I asked her to canter. This resulted in me shrieking “If you break the other arm, you bitch, I will END you!”
After three weeks of being casted in a green monstrosity, I was thrilled to visit the doctor for a follow-up. All I wanted was to get the cast off for five minutes, close my fist, and wash my arm. The doctor told me I didn’t have to have it removed. I begged. They removed it, and I experienced satisfaction with a degree of completeness that approached the Oxford English Dictionary. The new cast was smaller, lighter, and tighter. It hugs my arm more closely than the previous cast, and it doesn’t move around my arm. I have dexterity in my fingers. Despite it conforming more closely to my arm, it is comfortable, and I don’t have the claustrophobia that the previous one induced.
Surya and I went back to the Baucher and tried a flash. She went marginally better. My trainer suggested we try a Micklem bridle on her, with the same French link Baucher bit. The result…was quiet acceptance of the bit and bridle. She took contact in both reins and reached through with her neck and back. Her canter was round and rhythmic; her trot was floaty. Her ears flopped over. She stopped fussing with her face, with the bit, and with the reins.
“The dance is the cage in which one learns to fly.” The trick is creating a cage that guides and comforts, rather than confines.
I think the break was good for us.
