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Reflections on equestrian journey from the sand in the center of the arena.

The Bathtub Theory: Balancing Skill, Confidence, and Challenge

It started with two previously timid teens approaching me. "Miss Amanda," they asked, "is it possible to show at the next height?"

Contrast that with a conversation I had recently with a client and her new horse: "Let's slow everything down, take it back a few notches, and work our way up from there."

In my years as an instructor and trainer, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned what to do when things go south and exactly what not to do when they stay there. I’ve learned how to approach different riders, horses, parents, and even the barn cats. I’ve learned what costs a fortune and what I can DIY.

On a personal level, I’ve realized how much an evening at the barn with "horse friends" lifts my soul, and how a compliment from a respected professional can keep me on cloud nine for a week. Most importantly, I’ve learned the power of my own words as a professional.

But in terms of the riding and training program itself, I’ve found that there are three levers that must operate at the same velocity: Skill, Confidence, and Challenge.

1. Skill

This is the physical ability of the rider and the horse. Can they actually do what is being asked? Can the rider steer with accuracy straight across the diagonal or through a serpentine? If they can’t, asking them to ride a full course is just setting them up to fail.

The same applies to the horse. Does he know how to yield to the leg, balance on his hocks, or bend? If not, he won’t change leads or jump with any consistency or relaxation. We must teach ourselves, our riders, and our horses to master simple skills in isolation before we can apply them to the task at hand.

2. Confidence

Does the team believe they can do it? Fear, doubt, and stress play massive roles in riding for both horse and human. If a horse is anxious or distracted, even a simple trot along a "scary" rail might feel impossible. If a rider is doubting themselves, a simple crossrail can look like a mammoth task. Confidence is built slowly, brick by brick, even if the breakthrough feels like it happens all of once.

3. Challenge

In education, we call this the ZPD (Zone of Proximal Development). Is the task within reach, or is it lightyears away?

If I ask a nine-year-old beginner to memorize an exercise involving three jumps, eight poles, two changes of direction, and a halt—can they actually retain all that? If we take a green horse to big fences and tight turns, can they stay balanced and calm? What we ask of ourselves and our students should be a challenge, but never so far out of reach that confidence suffers and skills break down.

The Bathtub Effect

I’ve noticed that these three elements are like boats in a bathtub. For the "ride" to be successful, the water has to rise evenly. If the Challenge is a tidal wave but the Skill is just a trickle, the boat sinks. To get to that "next height" the girls asked about, we have to make sure the water level is rising under all three boats at once.

"I realized I was leaning forward, so I did something to fix it."

This from the mouth of a 1st grade rider, on an ornrey pony, at a show, on the coming-home line.

Blonde braids bouncing wildly to the rhythm of the posting trot; pony legs swishing to the beat of his own drum; a crossrail looming in the (not so far) distance. ...

Every trainer has surely felt it--or at the very least SEEN it: the moment the pony goes from cute, OMG adorable, doing the up-down job like a pro, to, well...spawn of the devil, "hold my carrot mash," ornrey-glint-in-the-eye craziness. And no feeling of helplessness is greater than a trainer on one side of the rail looking at the pony being a turd in the arena with a little rider holding on for dear life.

This was the moment. The moment in the arena when the pony decides to be a good little pony and do his job, or give everyone that teeth gritting, hand-over-the-mouth, stop-what-you're-doing and gasp-at-the-train wreck feeling.

But oh, no. Not today.

Because in a moment of sheer brilliance, his little 8 year old rider made a decision: heels down and sit back. This triggered the universe--and the pony--to right itself enough that thoughts of insanity fade into the netherworld.

Self-awareness is a curious, elusive--and humbling--thing. If we are willing to tap into the wisdom around us, and peer at the proverbial mirror, we will find that, no, we are not perfect (obviously), but that where we see error and frailty, is also ownership and possibility. Without an honest examination, we miss the potential to grow, to see, to rise above whatever we are currently feeling and experiencing.

And while the journey might be a little bumpy, the end is always sweet--smiles and peppermints kind of sweet.

Giving up the Old. Embracing the New.

I recently made the call to buy some new boots. I know, SUPER tough decision--I guess I'll find myself a pretty pair of lovely tall boots and walk around feeling like a princess or a boss or queen bee.

But actually, it really did take me a few months to commit to the purchase, and for several reasons.

They cost MONEY. And I have trained myself to ONLY look for deals, ONLY buy on sale, ONLY buy used and save a buck. So looking at NEW boots felt extreme, superfluous, excessive, gluttonous (insert shaming adjective here). Also, as a horse person, I don't have a lot of EXTRA, so I tend to spend money on things like HAY and GRAIN.
I knew they were going to start very uncomfortable. Anyone who grew up pre-magical-italian leather products we are so privileged to have today knows what I'm talking about. You got a saddle and spent the first several months dumping gallons of oil on that thing, riding on a slip-and-slide until it's finally sticky. Or, also pre 2000s, you bought tall boots only to have to take out a loan for band-aids until those things dropped around your ankles. We were tough, let me tell you.
I didn't know. I didn't know what brands to look at; I didn't know what would fit; I didn't know what was popular or cool or best for me. I don't make any decision lightly, and I wanted to be informed.
I also pretty much never splurge on myself. So this felt totally selfish.

Yes, we are still talking about BOOTS. I am a perpetual overthinker.

But then I got to thinking:

My old boots were falling apart. Cracking, faded leather. I mean, if I REALLY tried I could get them to shine a little.
I'm a professional. While I don't need to have all the trendy, fancy stuff, I should at least present myself in a way that even the horses won't snicker at me.
They aren't going to be my "forever" boots. Hopefully I can get a few years out of them before I can try something different, so it's not like it's a lifelong commitment.
I could buy and then return if I didn't like them.
They would only be stiff for a short time. Suck it up. This is not 1995.

And I realized, it's not really about the boots. It's about valuing myself. It's about being proud of what I've accomplished.

Now, I'm not advocating that you go out and buy all the fancy new things. But if you want to take that class, start that hobby, open that business--go for it--with optimism, grace, some solid information.

Release. Soften. Give. Trust.

There's an incredibly important tension between pressure and release. Why? Because that's the language horses speak. Need to move them over? Push--move--release. Need to go forward? Squeeze--move--release. Need to whoa? Squeeze--respond--release.

But I would suggest that the response and the release MUST happen simultaneously. Or even in the opposite order: Squeeze--release--respond.

Why?

Well, we humans tend to cling and hold too tightly for too long. We hang on to, cling to, grasp to anything that gives us a sense of control. We spend so much time, money, and emotion to keep a sense of power in our lives in general. We rarely, if ever, actually RELEASE.

With our prey-minded equines, who give us 100% of their heart and soul, I believe there is something said in that moment of release: I TRUST you. I find that when riding, when I slightly lift and shift my hands to turn, whether a big looping turn or tight roll-back type turn, it is in the GIVE when the horse can actually process and obey that command.

When we give, soften, release that tension, even if only a fraction of an inch, we are communicating opportunity, faith, and trust. This is true also in riding. (See what I did there???)

So in whatever arena you find yourself in--one with sand and jumps, or one with work and kids--remind yourself to soften your grip. You'll communicate peace and faith and everyone, including yourself, will benefit.

Watch the siphoning.

This here is a tank of water.

But it wouldn't hold water. Fill it up. Less than 24 hours later, bone dry. Fill it up again. Repeat. Insert frustration.

This particular tank was just moved to a new pasture. I was concerned that it would not hold water well, but figured I I would give it a shot.

Filled it up. Came back later, dry. Well, crap. I guess I have to find time to go spend too much $ to buy another one.

Water is a significant source. Of life. Of stress. All year long, it is essential for keeping horses healthy. Even in winter, keeping water thawed is a constant battle, and in summer, it is a perpetual chore to keep it available when these massive creatures keep sucking it down to stay cool.

So I was especially irritated that this trough was giving me problems outside of those particular seasons. But then I realized something. I had left the hose in it for the day—the hose had siphoned the water out. There was actually NOTHING wrong with this tank.

How often is that me, us? We get to the end of the day, week, month, year, only to find that we have run dry of our energy, enthusiasm, and passion.

And we are shocked.

But we shouldn’t be. There are things in our life that secretly (or not so secretly) siphon what fills us up. And they can be good things or bad things. The tasks, paperwork, people, or activities that are draining us without even realizing it.

Of course, some things HAVE to be done. There is paperwork that must be completed, activities that have to be attended, and people that we are obligated to assist: however, there are some things we allow and have choices over that steal our joy.

So, be aware of what fills you up, and what drains you. Take care to balance so that you don’t run dry.

Heels Down.

The most basic and significant advice I give to all my riders. If I ask them, "what's the most important thing?" Their response better be: "heels down."

Why is it so important? I mean, it's such a tiny part of your body. There's 1000 pounds of opinionated animal beneath you. The world is whizzing by. It's pretty bumpy up there. Shouldn't it be my hands that I need to worry about: those are what keeps me in control of this creature, right?

All those objections may be valid, and while the hands, balance, and control of the horse are vitally important, heels down still reigns supreme.

Your heels provide you with a foundation, a direction for the weight of your body to go. The lower your center of gravity, the more likely you are to stay atop the horse. The more you press lower with your heels, the more supple and relaxed your ankle can be, to absorb the shock of the movement of the horse. Heels down allows you to keep your weight back, with your horse, waiting for the horse to do his thing.

If your heels are down, you get ahead of your horse's movement; throw yourself (and your horse) off balance, lift your center of gravity so you are almost floating above your horse; and makes riding the rhythm very difficult. Security is compromised dramatically.

Heels down, while riding, is important, and I think this is true for us as people as well. We need a solid foundation. We need to press in and find our balance. We need to sink deep into what is important. We need a way to absorb the bumps life throws at us. We need to sit back and pay attention, not rush ahead and anticipate. Now, more than ever, we need to mentally and emotionally put our "heels down": find balance between work and family, care of others and care for ourselves, not rush to conclusions or quick retorts, but sit back and just pay attention. So often we lack a solid foundation in what we deem important or why we do what we do that we end up floating around, flaking out, or feeling off-kilter.

So find what grounds you, what gives you peace, and press into that. And the next time life gets a bit bumpy, just think: "heels down."

"No, it's not perfect, but you did it."

I have several students, and all with such different personalities. Some are happy just being in the saddle, zero concerns or goals, other than lofty ones like, "I want to ride a unicorn." Others are quiet, kind, never pushy, and learn and grow gradually. And then there are others, who are driven, goal-oriented, perfectionists, who are in a hurry to get to the next phase in riding.

No matter their approach, they are all such a pleasure and joy and challenge to work with, in the best of ways. It's awesome coaching kiddos to the "next level" whatever that may look like for them.

Recently, a student of mine has made some HUGE leaps forward (quite literally, actually). Jumping higher than she ever has before. She's been pretty nervous, had some bumps and spills along the way, so it's very exciting to have her attain this goal. We decided to try a jump that she had never done before, a gate that was a significant height for her.

I could tell she was nervous. She told me she was nervous. But as we set it up, we discussed several important factors for trying something new and difficult:

Yes, it's bigger, but not by much. The jump really wasn't huge, just looked more serious and solid. So while it had an intimidating look, it was a reasonable goal.
We had just jumped the previous height hundreds of times, so she had the skills necessary to do this one. The only difference was a few inches.
Ride to the jump well, and then trust the horse to do the rest.

It was awesome to see her gather her reins, take a deep breath, and look some thing scary in the face, and go. And she did it! It wasn't perfect, and I told her that, but how awesome that SHE DID IT. So we did it again, and again, and before long, she joined me in the middle of the arena and said, "You know, that really isn't that bad." Proud coach moment.

Not all of the new things and next steps go that well. Other students fall off instead of sailing over the first time, but the point is that they get back on and keep trying. As a perfectionist myself, I've tried to steer my students away from the pursuit of perfection. Instead, pursuing PROGRESS. Every little step matters. And even when it doesn't look perfect, you can definitely say that you're doing that hard thing. And that's worth plenty, too.

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