Following the Vermont 100 and Sarge’s non-completion, I was quickly formulating an action plan. This is just what I do. Analytical to a fault.

Two 100 mile ride attempts with Sarge. One pull as a result of just plain bad luck. Second pull from an odd lameness that COULD be associated with the cruddy luck of the first pull (torqued shoe at 56 or so miles). NQR appetite with no significant change despite a course of Gastrogard. Loss of bounce in the trot.

This was a no brainer.

Sarge was going to see Dr. Ron Genovese at the Cleveland Equine Clinic.

Ace, who was sound as could be, was going also. He’d had some fill behind and below his left knee for several rides, not changing much, but combined with his calf-kneed conformation, I wanted an ultrasound of those front legs.

Ron is an amazing doctor. He’s 75-ish years old, sharp as a tack, amazingly physically fit (when he sits on this tiny stepstool 6 inches from the floor and does ultrasounds on lower legs with absolutely no discernible discomfort I am convinced he must practice a great deal of yoga during his downtime) and all he does all day long, in and out, for several decades now, is look at and diagnose lame horses, almost lame horses and horses whose owners are fretting they could be going lame.

As we drove the four hours to Doc’s new clinic, I made my predictions to Rich about what he would find. For Sarge, I imagined arthritic hocks and some changes in his right front sesamoid since he was initially x-rayed five years ago after two “iffy” BC trot outs. For Ace, I hoped and prayed for nothing. Just some anecdotal fill to watch out for during the years to come.

Boy, was I close.

Sarge had absolutely no changes in his RF x-ray and flexed sound on both front legs. Both hind legs were marginally off after flexion and Doc injected his hocks without x-raying them. “Why waste your money?” he asked. I worried over injecting him and keeping him going along if we should be slowing down, but Doc assured me this was the best thing to do for Sarge’s long term soundness and comfort.

Ace’s tendons were essentially normal, but the RF tendon was thickened more than the left despite more fill in the left front. Go figure. No real diagnosis but we called it a mild left front strain below the knee and the recommendations were for icing/cold hosing/bute after hard rides, to watch for deep footing, and shorten his toes when shoeing him/frequent resets (something we’d already been working on for quite some time).

Sarge finished out his stall rest and handwalking days mostly with grace and self control. His recovery was timed coincidentally with Rich’s clearance to ride following his hernia surgery. Apparently Sarge was feeling VERY good after his hock injections and gave Rich quite the ride and a near ejection when they made the turn on to the trail where we typically do galloping sets up a hill.

We elected to test Sarge by taking him to Maine for the multi-day ride with both Ned and Ace for company. Goal: Ride as much as possible, have a good time, laugh.

Goal accomplished. Sarge, two 30s with Rich, one 50 with Pam Karner. Ned, one 50 with Rachel, and one 30 with me. Ace, one 50 with me, one 30 with Pam. Much laughter. Good times.

Ace and me crossing the Saco River / Photo by Rene Mersereau

Rare photo of my husband relaxing at Western Maine

What was most remarkable, however, was Sarge’s appetite. We didn’t have to lay out the Sarge Smorgasboard. At all. He ate like crazy. Whatever was placed in front of him. At every hold, all of the time. Ceaselessly. All I can figure is that his hocks were sore enough, and equally so, that when he’d been coming in to vet checks and ‘letting down’ he just felt uncomfortable enough to affect his appetite. Poor kid. If only we’d known …

You will note that I did not ride Sarge at all in Maine, so it was a couple of weeks after we got home that I got to tack him up to go for a spin. To say that he feels different after having his hocks done would be an understatement. Not only was his bounce back, but I noticed that he immediately settled into a big strided walk after I climbed on, where he had typically been doing a sort of jigging, shorter-strided walk while warming up pre-injection.

With him looking and feeling so great, and so very fit, Rich let me borrow him away for one more try at a 100. Seouls Corners in eastern Ontario, Labor Day weekend.

The 100 was not to be, unfortunately. A cold front coming in to our area slowed way down, meaning the weather would be beastly hot and ridiculously humid, so I opted to downgrade (or as Stan Alkemade said, “wuss out”) to the 75. I wasn’t heat conditioned, Sarge wasn’t heat conditioned, and I’d had a couple of hellishly difficult weeks with family health things the previous couple of weeks, and all I wanted to do was have fun and get around. The 100 wasn’t sounding fun and I was seriously concerned that with the heat we would not, in fact, get around.

My friend Nathalie and her husband, Jeff, who live near Ottawa, were coming to the ride with their 14 year old son, Yannick. Natty to crew for me, bless her. Jeff to run 50 miles in preparation for a 100 mile race he is running in two weeks, bless his crazy self. Yannick because his Mom thought it best for him to be chaperoned for the weekend, bless his teenaged self.

The ride consisted of three loops — one 19 mile loop, all of it repeated and a bonus five mile loop added for the next 25 mile loop, and a final 31 mile loop. The first two loops had significant chunks of rocky and technical trail. The final loop included 10 miles of that, but then the last 21 miles of the ride were on almost exclusively gravel road and the TransCanada railbed multi-use trail.

There were holds away and at camp and Nathalie crewed the hell out of us. Between doing so, she checked up on Jeff and left him little love notes here and there at camp for when he checked in to restock supplies (he was running the 25 mile loop twice, just like the 50 mile horses). I’m dealing with some heel spur/plantar fasciitis thing so it was a tremendous blessing to have someone trot Sarge out for me.

To say it was humid would be a wicked understatement. I was horrified to find there was a MIRROR in the porta-potty at the away hold and announced loudly when exiting that that was something I really did not to see, my uber tomato face when the humidex was outrageous. I don’t know what it was in Celsius but the translation from Canadian to American was something like “$(*&#( hot!”

There were only three in the 75, and I think three in the 100 as well, which was disappointing, I know, to the ride management. This is not an “easy” ride but it was a very doable and lovely ride, especially with the flat and easy final miles.

I “bonked” in the second half of the ride. Jeff and Natty (read more about them on my blog post from last year entitled something like “Now THESE people are crazy!”) invited their personal trainer friend, Bruce Hamelin, to join us at the ride for Jeff’s training run, and he was a lifesaver to me. At mile 67 he met me at the Sharbot Lake vet check and while Nat doted on Sarge, he sat me down and forced me to eat some uber-calorie, fiber and protein-filled cookie, explaining that I was running at a deficit and that was why I was feeling so lousy. I was hydrated, I was electrolyting, I just wasn’t taking in enough calories for my expenditure during the ride. It feels ridiculous to write about a calorie deficit when I am always struggling with or lamenting about losing weight, but there you go.

The last eight miles in the dark were, as always, magical. The trail had been glowsticked and I met John and Rob, the official GlowStickers on my way out of the hold, so knew the corners were marked on the way back to camp.

The TransCanada trail between Sharbot Lake and base camp travels primarily through what looked (dimly) and sounded like swamp territory. The critters I heard calling and splashing in to the water were remarkable and I can tell you that more than once I thanked the gods that I had chosen to ride the horse who rarely spooks. At anything.

He was starving (hallelujah!) and also anxious to get back to camp, so we alternated doing the big trot and stopping for what seemed endless periods of time to graze. As night riders know, the horses see fine despite our tragically limited human night vision, so Sarge would be flying along and then would suddenly spot a succulent patch of grass, screech to a halt and resume chow time. I knew he was metabolically fantastic, every single footfall all day and all night was perfectly even, and so I simply enjoyed the ride.

My favorite moment was as we passed, or rather tried to pass, an apple tree that we’d found the day prior just a bit off the marked trail on the way back to camp. When we got to that point, I tried to turn Sarge off the trail as the glowstick indicated and he simply stopped. I urged him on. He backed up a few steps, when I suddenly remembered EXACTLY where we were and I headed him off trail in the direction of the tree. He was grabbing apples from the branches as I was picking them to give to him. (I did threaten to kill him if he opted to choke on one.)

Did I mention how hungry he was??

As we approached camp at about 9 p.m., the skies opened. First a sprinkle, then a rain, then something that pretty well resembled a downpour. Sarge vetted through beautifully. It was wonderful to be vetted by Stan Alkemade as he is a dear friend and vetted our Shut Up and Ride for years, and he’s had a bitch of a year with health concerns; it was so nice just to be around him again. Sarge’s CRI was 12/12 and he was all As.

Since we were first to finish and I knew he looked dynamite, I deigned to take my tack over to weigh in. Due to my 80# saddle and my saddlepad soaked with rain water, I’m sure my ride weight was just a little heavier than what I know everyone anticipated was Lightweight status. I threatened bodily harm to any fool stupid enough to announce my weight aloud. Best Condition judging was to be at 8 a.m. the next morning and in order to present, you have to weigh in. (Damn it.)

Headed back to the trailer, shoved wet tack into it, made sure Sarge had a huge pile of hay and was covered with a rain sheet (thanks Nat!), promised to join my friends in their EZUp tent just as soon as I smelled better and immediately showered. I was force-fed (kindly) some awful liquid called Recoverite and cold pizza while we all laughed about the day’s events, Jeff’s successful training run, Bruce’s theories on sports nutrition, and just what a terrific day it had been.

And then I was suddenly exhausted. I took my entire 3 oz of celebratory Merlot and hit the sack, waking at midnight, thirsty as heck and hungry for Pringles, which I ate.

Nat presented Sarge for BC the next morning and I knew it was going to be good. We warmed him up and I showed her how he presents (this was not Sarge’s first time trotting for BC; he’s won several with my husband Richard) and he was looking fantastic. Stan was also very impressed.

Was sad to hear that Monica, who was in 2nd behind me in the ride pulled at Sharbot Lake. Like me, she was riding a Morgan/Arab (hers a stallion!) and while I was tickled to win, I was hoping all three of us starting would make it around.

So Sarge was the winner, BC, High Vet Score (780, which is absolutely nothing to sneeze at), Top Ten, and also Turtle. He won a load of loot and I’m not even sure I’ve gone through everything in the bag just yet.

Uneventful trip home, even with the international crossing and holiday traffic, and I was so physically and mentally exhausted that I was entirely distracted from everything other than riding that wonderful horse down that trail on that day and taking care of him as best I could. It was exactly the weekend that I needed.

It was hot, it was miserable, it was tough and I have sore bits as I sit and write this, but the jigsaw puzzle has totally taken shape, and I am so incredibly relieved that we have finally figured Sarge out. The last piece just fell into place; we simply needed to re-arrange a few things and look at them in a different way.

Life is good. On to planning for the Allegany SUAR on October 1st. Did you get your entry in yet?

And then, hopefully, God and sound horses willing, the Spook Run 100 in Indiana on October 28th. Which horse(s)? Well, we’ll just have to see.

Anyone care to join me?

When I looked in the direction of the heavens in late December, when we found our Dodge truck on a sales lot, and told the powers-that-be that I needed more consulting work, I had no idea how quickly and in what volume that prayer would be answered.

Old clients, new clients and one BIG new client means that squeezing in riding has been a challenge.  Never mind housework.  Forget relaxation like reading or writing or watching reality TV of questionable taste.

Around the same time, I agreed to pick up chairing of the AERC Ride Managers’ Committee, which means, at a minimum, a monthly column for Endurance News.  These between new rules and discussions and any ride manager drama.  I’ve managed to fly under the radar screen on drama and did manage to get my first article submitted.  On time.  Just barely.

So you’ll pardon the lack of blogging, I hope.

The boys are well, fit and ready for the Bare Bones 50 in Vermont this coming Sunday.  Rachel is riding Ned and we will have to figure out how to either keep up with Rich and Sarge, or send them on their way and lag behind.

First ride of the season, way late for us, but such is life.

First 100 next month, we hope.

Life is good, just too busy to write about recently!

–Patti

Not too long ago, a friend and I were talking about the upcoming WEG ride.

She remarked to me about “the level of horsemanship” it takes to compete at this level, and I must admit that I found myself cocking my head and biting my lip about the (likely unintended) implication in that statement.

Did it mean that FEI riders display a level of horsemanship that exceeds those of us competing at the grassroots level of endurance?

To me, FEI success does not in any way, shape or form equate to superior horsemanship.  Clearly the two are not mutually exclusive either.

Lest anyone believe me to be anti-FEI, I have friends I greatly respect who were, or are, or aspire to be FEI-level competitors, both in dressage and endurance, and I do not begrudge them that level of opportunity or competition in the least.

But to me, success in our sport lies more in the horsemanship than in “winning.”  And one of the beautiful things about AERC riding is that, as my friend Randy Eiland likes to say, it is a huge umbrella under which we can all enjoy our sport.

To me, success is longevity.  It is a horse that, despite its limitations –for I haven’t seen a perfect specimen yet and certainly have never owned one– continues to compete year after year.  It is a rider that, despite their inadequacies (I have a laundry list of them) continues to seek to improve, to be a better and more knowledgeable horseperson, to be an outstanding steward for their horse.  It is riding within one’s own means, no faster or more often than the horse is capable of, and knowing, on a given bad day, when to say when.  It is giving the horse a rest from competition and conditioning, and erring on the side of caution, rather than attempting to eke out one more ride.  It is not about the completion rate or the number of Top Tens or Best Conditions, but about the grace with which one competes and cares for their horse.

To me, that is horsemanship.  To me, that is success.

So what separates riders competing at the grass roots level from those competing in FEI?  Without being an FEI competitor, I think I still have adequate insight to surmise what some of those qualities might be.

One is resources.  Not everyone has the financial freedom to obtain a passport for their horse and compete in far-off places to qualify, nor to secure a crew willing to assist in such a daunting endeavor.  Not everyone can take the time from work, or a business, or their family or farm to to be gone for the periods of time required to compete.  Not everyone has the horse, or the means to obtain a horse, with the physical ability to compete at a high rate of speed over a 100 mile course. 

Another is passion.  Riders competing at the FEI level have a passion for the sport that goes beyond just AERC’s motto of ”to finish is to win.”  In FEI, to win is to win, and I don’t think that message should be lost.  If your goal is simply to get around the course with all As on your vet card, regardless of time, clearly FEI competition is not in your immediate future.  That passion may extend to the desire to compete on the behalf of one’s country, to represent “the best of the best.”

In July, a friend and I took my two horses to Ontario to compete as open riders in the Canadian National Championship 100 Mile Ride.  This was an FEI ride, and there were riders from as far away as Texas and competing for nearly a dozen different countries at this ride.  We were in a tiny minority there, having traveled a mere four hours, simply wanting to finish the course without a tangible goal with regard to our completion time; most riders were there to achieve a COC (Certificate of Completion; currently 13 hours and 20 minutes).

While I have not completed dozens and dozens of 100 mile rides, I have completed seven, and this was, by far, the easiest 100 mile ride I’ve ridden to date.   A forgiving course with a variety of very manageable terrain, well-marked, even at night, cool (but not cold) temperatures and low humidity; I could not have been more tickled with the conditions.  Both of my horses completed at around midnight with all As and CRIs in the neighborhood of 52/48 all day long.  We kept a pace of 8 – 9 mph all day long, without any significant change in speed until nighttime fell.  For us, it was the perfect ride.

And yet all day long we were chided about “getting our money’s worth” from the trail.  Not by the veterinary staff or the volunteers, who I think were delighted to see two horses cheerfully competing well within their abilities and with plenty of gas left in the tank, but by other riders, who seemed stymied by our slowness and did not seem to appreciate that a riding time of 15 hours and change was a rather respectable time for a horse completing its first 100 mile ride, and that AERC allows an entire 24 hours for completion.

But we had achieved our goal of “to finish is to win” and I couldn’t have been more proud.  For me, it was the culmination of more than one item on my Bucket List.

Only 9 of 21 FEI horses completed that ride, if I recall the numbers correctly from the awards ceremony.

You can draw your own implications, as I have, about what can change when the motto is “to win is to win” rather than “to finish is to win.”    

Over an easy course on a lovely day.

Do I think that passion and resources equate to horsemanship?  Not even a little bit.

Do I think that passion and resources AND horsemanship make the ideal FEI level competitor?  Absolutely.

But it is a fine-line balancing act that I have no desire to attempt to walk.

Happy trails.

–Patti

We had a weekend visit from Natty, a friend from Canada (and a “booger” for those of you who know the reference) and her new husband, Jeff, as they were interested to come to our home conditioning trails at Allegany State Park to do a conditioning RUN (yes, on their own appendages) for an upcoming 50 mile RUN in Hell, Michigan. 

(Do not think that the location of this RUN has escaped me.  Me, who would find a place to HIDE before she would RUN from an axe murderer.  Hell?  Really?   Um, yeah.)

Natty is an eventing and dressage rider from way back, and we’ve been internet friends for years, but only get to see one another in person on rare occasions, so getting to see her and to meet Jeff was fantastic!  I owed Natty for coming to a Canadian 100 to crew for me and Ned, so marking a measly 30 miles of trail for them to RUN seemed small re-payment.  (So I fed them too.)

As luck would have it, Ace succumbed to a stone bruise turned abscess (yes, his second one from the ride in WV, this on the other front foot) and I have learned the Life Lesson about Padding Ace For Rocky Rides deeply and truly well.  I think it will stick.  He would not be accompanying the RUNNERS.

Ned was still proudly wearing the shoes from his 100 on July 1st.  Proudly, I say, because he’d managed to keep three of four on as we waited for him to grow foot at his usual glacial pace, but one cursory look at his four feet made it obvious to me that he was not up to doing 30 miles or anywhere close to it with the RUNNERS.  Nope, not on those balding, out-of-alignment tires.  No way.

Which left me borrowing Sarge, my husband’s horse, for the task.  And leaving Richard at home, no doubt secretly gleeful he could work himself into a puddle on some yet-unnamed household/yard project.

While the trails at Allegany are officially “marked” it doesn’t take much to get one off-course on a non-designated trail or to miss a turn, or not realize that two trails that appear to intersect on the Park map really are, in fact, a good 1/4 mile from one another, so I planned to mark some critical corners for Natty and Jeff while doing our own 15-16 mile conditioning ride.  At no point did I have any plans to hop off Sarge and RUN.  You know, voluntarily.

I explained to Natty and Jeff that I had no intention to even RIDE Sarge 30 miles.  He was coming off a tough 50 mile ride two weeks prior, and a couple of hours of riding 15 miles at Allegany are challenging enough to equal several miles or hours more on a more standard trail with more forgiving elevation changes and kinder footing.

This is the sort of thing, however, that one must experience for themselves to appreciate, not unlike “lake effect snow.”  Something else we somehow manage to survive.

So I headed off on Sarge, yellow/black surveyor tape in our pommel pack, just a few minutes before Natty and Jeff set off on foot behind me, with their salted and boiled potatoes, PB&J sandwiches and overnight survival kit on their persons.  (I guess they were somewhat suspicious of my trail marking skills.)

I got the first several miles of the first of their two loops marked, and as I rode, up and down, and up and down, started thinking about what might be a more “forgiving” second loop for the runners.  I worked it all out in my head, calculated in my head the best way to mark that loop without actually riding all of the miles and was pleased to see Natty and Jeff, looking fresh and moving along at a healthy pace shortly after I turned back toward camp.

I told them of my plans, mentioned that I was “certain they’d get their money’s worth” out of RUNNING this trail, and set forth on the amended course, hustling a little bit in the hopes that I’d meet them in camp with the trail totally marked as they came in from the first of their loops.  (They were riding an entire section that I skipped, and which I believed was pretty clearly marked.)

Of all three of our competing horses, Sarge is the one who is the least attached to going home.  He actually pouted a bit when I turned back away from the loop that Natty and Jeff were to run, and happily turned AWAY from camp to mark the new second loop of trail.  That was not to say that he did not pout as we climbed what I like to call the “gnarly climb” from ASP 2 to Trail #2 near Thunder Rocks, nor is it to say that he didn’t get a happy fart-buck in when I let him gallop the last section of Trail #2 back to the Summit.  But it was pleasant to ride a horse solo who neither spooks (I thank the Morgan half for that attribute) nor seems to have an internal odometer that tells me when I am getting close to running out of the requisite quarters to continue the ride.

We’d all left camp about 9:15, and I completed what I figured to be ~15-16 miles (with lots of trail marking stops) at shortly after noon.  That was a nice ECTRA-paced conditioning ride on tough trail, a good final ride for Sarge before the VT CTR on Labor Day.  I cooled him out, let him graze and kept glancing toward the trail where Natty and Jeff would be returning from their 17 mile loop.  I’d figured a 12:30 return time, but when they hadn’t returned by 1 p.m. I left the note and map I’d highlighted for their new loop tied to their Subaru with surveyor tape and hit the road for home with Sarge.

Natty and Jeff arrived back at our house at roughly 4 p.m. and all smiles, looking as though they’d just gone to lunch and had a little antiquing excursion.  Honest to goodness, they looked fresh as daisies.  Turns out that they too decided 30 miles was more than enough conditioning at Allegany, so settled for climbing the BIG hill out of camp upon their return, then called it a day.  Ah, common ground!  Knowing to quit when you’re still having fun!

We immediately cracked open red wine (more in common!) , started in on chips and homemade salsa, and compared various notes about carb-loading, electrolyting, resting, BCAAs, tapering, chafing, and a new favorite rule that I am going to adopt from now on –

“If there was no eye contact, it didn’t happen.”

Critical stuff for people who spend a lot of time exerting oneself together out in the wilderness and have to deal with all manner of bodily function at one time or another.

It’s a keeper.  Bumper stickers, anyone?

Or maybe as a replacement for the politically-incorrect WTF bracelets that I wanted to manufacture to supplement the WWJD bracelets so many wear?

Rich, finished toiling away on the farm for the day, joined us on the porch with a cocktail.  Like us, he smelled bad.

Natty and Jeff, no strangers to idiosyncratic animals, put up with our — 1.) drooly and profoundly hairy, 2.) ancient and howling rather randomly, and 3.) black hole of need — canines as we sat on the porch, showing off bruises, past injuries (missing toenails, anyone?) and bragged in an entirely self-effacing way about the stupidest things we’d done “out there.”

I got my first experience using the little massage balls that Jeff swears by, rolling them under my feet and finding exquisitely tight and painful connective tissues that I didn’t even know I had!

More food, more red wine, and Natty and I had a good laugh (and a great photo) when Jeff headed for the guest bedroom at a rollicking 8:30 p.m. and fell into a deep open-mouthed slumber.

Jeff savors slumber after his conditioning run, a pound or six of pulled pork and wee bit of vino

Natty was visibly disappointed when my camera battery was too dead to capture a close-up of Jeff’s open gob, or the tragically funny moment where Echo (see above re: #3 “black hole of need” canine) discovered that we’d left the guest room door ajar and before we could stop him (no, really, we tried VERY VERY HARD) kissed Jeff with great enthusiasm on said open mouth.  (Jeff, the next morning, recalled none of these events, but Natty and I swear they happened.)

Natty and I managed to stay awake until 9 p.m., thus preserving bragging rights to our husbands that we were in fact the tougher and more ruthlessly partying better halves.

In the morning, more food plus COFFEE (mmmm!), more dog wrangling and horse observation from the porch, and I got to see the slide shows from Natty and Jeff’s trip to Cambodia, where they RAN and raised money for a well in one of the villages they passed through:

http://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/One-Filter-One-Family/

Since most of my herd was retired, gimpy or operating on fewer shoes than actually required for a ride, we skipped our planned hack and Natty and Jeff headed back off to Oh Canada.  We did check to make sure they hadn’t smuggled Echo with them.

I’m pretty sure that it was the kiss that made Jeff fall in love.

So much in common with these other endurance sport fanatics.

But THEY are CRAZY!

Happy trails.

Non-endurance riding friends, especially my dressage friends, marvel at the fact that I was able to get two horses fit for a hundred mile ride this season.

Now, I will concede that in many ways, I am blessed with the perfect career, the perfect farm, and a workaholic husband who makes many things possible, and also competes.  However, I also contend that it is far easier to KEEP a horse fit for endurance riding than one might imagine.

The hard part is the training, not the conditioning (and yes, there is a difference) and in bringing a young or inexperienced horse through their first year or so of becoming an endurance horse.   That is where the real investment lies.

I was fortunate to have a friend purchase a barely started green 6 year old mare the same year as I purchased Ace, then a recently backed 5 year old with no power steering, little in the way of power brakes and a somewhat perplexing and curious response to a request to any rein contact with a snaffle bit; he simply twisted his head and neck in the opposite direction and pulled.

5 y.o. neon greenbean Ace comes to Iris Hill Farm

That meant quality time in the area of training.  Training to give to pressure, to travel forward from a lightly asked leg aid without rushing, to halt from a settling of the seat and a drop of the heels rather than less than subtle pressure on his mouth.  Training to learn to bend his body on a curved line, and to move his hindquarters away from pressure well behind the girth, as well as balance his own body when he traveled rather than to simply fall onto his forehand.

Yep, we call that basic dressage, and to me, it is essential to having a pleasant and safe ride down the trail. 

[This is not to say that Ace is a dressage horse.  That was Ned's first career, but Ace is a different character altogether, and with some kind of physical goings-on that we've never quite been able to resolve involving his mouth, jaw and nuchal ligament, he'll never get a good score on even a training level dressage test.  He has two neck postures -- upright and curled, and we've finally had to sadly conclude that like a person who cannot walk and chew gum, Ace just doesn't have what it takes to stretch his neck and open his throatlatch on a steady contact.  It is one of the things that makes Ace uniquely Ace, and I am convinced he came in to my life to prove to me that not all horses were meant to do dressage competitively.  So I simply ride him in a running martingale, and compromise the posture of the part of the horse in front of me, and focus on a body and limbs that are traveling straight and balanced.  The ultimate lesson in riding back to front and simply making concessions on the front.

Ace is not a dressage horse, and wouldn't be cast as one on TV

But I digress … ]

Other training becomes critical in these young horses.  Trailer loading and trailer hauling, and how to camp in a paddock or on a hi-tie, leading down the trail without searching out phantom mountain lions in every blown down leaf or tree stump, and following without encroaching upon the space of the horse in front.  Standing still to be mounted, regardless of the strange spot selected by a vertically-challenged rider.

Learning to stand tied quietly for long periods of time, regardless of whether horses come or go.  Ace was a slow learner on this one, and spent hours tied to a sturdy tree outside of our riding ring while I rode another horse, or did chores, or just sat on the porch watching him work out his dramatic energy and learning that simply standing still was the best of his options.

This.  This training is the hard part of bringing along a distance horse.  Lots of peppermints and pats and praise and lots of starting over again when the progress goes along at the rate of one step forward, two steps back.

As Benjamin Franklin said, “Make Haste Slowly.”

The conditioning, relative to the training, is easy, but the same rules apply.

Long, slow miles where the horse learns to balance and keep a steady pace, navigating ups and down and challenging footing.  I remember days and hours of riding along with my friend Carla on her green horse, simply going along at a steady pace, slowing to a walk when either horse became unbalanced or frazzled or spooky or rushed. 

Long, slow miles where the horse learns to trust that the rider is his partner and is there to guide the way and that certain requests are not optional.

Long, slow miles where the horse is eventually trusted, to some degree, to decide how to pick along a trail, how to trip without falling, how to navigate the fear of a new obstacle without refusing, how to take care of himself and stop for a snack or a long sip of water or accept being sponged in a creek to cool down his body.

Pennies in a jar, I once told a friend, pennies in a jar.  Adding pennies of trust and easy requests, layered with more difficult questions, and occasionally losing ground and asking too much and withdrawing a few pennies, only to add more.  Never ever allowing the jar to become empty, asking more than you’ve invested.

Long, slow miles where tendons and ligaments harden and you learn if you have a downhill horse, or if he’ll be ouchy on rocks, and whether he prefers cool, clear running water or a mucky puddle.  If his saddle fits and if the farrier made his toes short enough for him to travel at his best, and if you’d best hold on for dear life when he sees cows or bicycles or babies in a stroller.  This time does not make the horse perfect — no, no, no — I have three competing horses in my barn full of foibles to prove that; it simply ensures they are fairly predictable and rideable.

All the hard work is done, or should be done –as I’ve seen plenty of evidence of riders who seem to skip so many of these steps, forgetting to invest pennies before they withdraw them– before you ever reach your first competition.

So many riders seem to focus on heart rates and cardiac recovery, but these are the first to develop (and also the first to go when a horse has extended time off).   Or worry about the horse being fast rather than whether the horse has what it takes to reliably get around the course.

It is the time, months and even years, that builds the bone, the connective tissues, the metabolic ability to go for a long distance and then repeat the effort, the muscle, the topline and the most important organ, and the brain.  Until the remarkable day comes that a rider can sit back and smile a contented smile knowing that their horse has “a base.”

It took Carla and I easily a year with our two young horses before we could say they had a base.  All that training, all that conditioning, a few CTRs or LDs and a slow 50 or two under their belt.  It was then that we knew we had the hard part done.

One of my all-time favorite photos of me and Ace at one of his first LD rides. I'm happy as a lark because he was letting me control the MPH. What do you mean he doesn't look like a dressage horse? Photo credit Kate Rogers.

Ah, a horse with a base.  Hundreds and hundreds of carefully planned miles, carefully planned rest (for more on that, see my Endurance News article about Rest under ”Articles”), lots and lots of carrots and trailering sessions and camping with one eye constantly on the horse to make sure he was eating, drinking, peeing and pooping, not pacing his paddock or escaping into the night or caught like a goat in a piggin’ rope in his HiTie. 

With three horses with a solid base, life becomes much, much easier.  One plans their rides around competitions, enjoys what seems like a very little bit of conditioning to bring the horse back into competition fitness, using competitions as the way to gain fitness needed for a tougher challenge, a longer distance.  And if you’re like me, one plans tons of fun and non-horsey activities in the week or weeks that follow a ride, knowing the horse will be enjoying a mental and physical rest, easily brought back for the next ride.  Or enjoying the sheer laziness that is a western New York winter, with the horses’ shoes pulled, their coats long and woolly, assuring yourself that this is not sloth, that this is a pre-planned and critical rest period for the horses.  So you bake Christmas cookies, and hibernate and take care of the myriad of indoor projects you neglected while throwing yourself into the joy and obsession that is riding season.

Ace enjoys a romp in the riding ring during winter vacation

Everyone needs a little down time to re-charge their batteries.

With my own business, I’m grateful to be able to plan my own schedule to some degree.  My clients do not know that when I say I’m already booked for a particular date, that it may mean I am booked with the farrier, or booked to be driving to some distant state to compete.  But work I must, and if it means I am gone for a week, well then, I plan a long conditioning ride for the days right before I hit the road, reassuring myself that my horse is spending my away time resting and recovering and knitting together the tissues we challenged on the conditioning ride.

And thus, getting two horses ready for a hundred, not such a big deal.  Fun little conditioning rides, slow at first, then increasing the speed or the distance or the elevation changes (but not more than one on the same day).  Planning ahead about when we’ll schedule the toughest conditioning, how we’ll taper, when to have the farrier reset shoes.  Asking enough, but never too much.  Pennies in a jar.

The culmination of pennies in a car. Photo credit Wendy Webb, Canadian National Championship 100

Lending pennies from your jar. Rachel Lodder and Ned. Photo credit Wendy Webb. Canadian National Championship 100.

Life is good, indeed, having three horses with a base in the barn.  Two hundred-mile horses and one more who I am just jonesing to enter in a 100, with my husband’s permission.  Maybe at the end of the season.

But there is a little part of me itching again.  Itching to find another young horse with very little in terms of training but tons of potential.  Another horse to teach me how to do this thing all over again, a little differently, a little smarter, a new jigsaw puzzle to solve.

Careful, Rich — if you’re smart, you’ll never build that fifth stall!

 … “it’s always SOMETHING!”

I probably jinxed my horses’ ongoing welfare when lamenting the rocks at last Saturday’s ride and miserably noting the likelihood that someone would get a stone bruise.

While he finished absolutely sound, Ace was dead lame on Tuesday morning.  There is nothing quite like trying to do a lay-horseperson’s lameness diagnosis on a horse with absolutely no sense of stoic.    Whose barn name is “Twitchy.”

[On an aside, this horse got a rope burn during an unfortunate hi-tie incident at a CTR last season.  Of course, being a nurturer and a guilt-ridden former Catholic who allowed this incident to occur, I wanted to keep the wound clean and gooped up with any one of seventeen soothing ointments.   Ace, entirely uninterested in my foibles, was absolutely adamant that I.Should.Not.Touch.His.Pastern. 

I would not believe this story if someone relayed it about their own horse, but I swear that if I looked at his pastern, if I dared as to so much pause during grooming and bend over to gaze at its crusty ugliness, he would hold it up as though my gaze had elicited stabbing pain to the wound.  Then limp off, crippled. 

I finally made a pact with Ace that I would not look at the wound, much less clean or dress it, and he would not limp.  I continued to condition him through mud and allowed him to be turned out in all matter of disgusting horse-related slop, and the wound healed absolutely unventfully.

I vow that I will one day own a horse who does not qualify for Special Needs status.]

Okay, so Tuesday morning, I began Semi-Competent Equine Lameness Analysis.

Easy enough to pick the leg.  Right front.

Some general slight fill and heat from knee to fetlock, but also some fill in the pastern.

General unwillingness to weight the heels — so was it a heel bruise or a ligament/tendon injury?

Pick up the leg, flex the toe back toward the elbow to “test” the suspensory.  Flinch.

Pinch the tendons/ligaments along the back of the cannon.  High up?  Flinch.  Lower down the cannon?  Flinch.  Suspensory branches?  Flinch, flinch.

With a hoof pick, and then my thumbs, test for sensitivity on the sole.  Actually, this was negative.  Who knew?  Exhausted from flinching, is what I surmise. 

Inside heel bulb?  Flinch.  Outside heel bulb?  Flinch.

Repeat all of the above.  Similar results.

Bang head against wall in cross tie area.

Cold hose the leg.  Apply Surpass.  Shake head in frustration.  Feed a bunch of hay in the sacrifice paddock to limit any silly galloping up and down to the big pasture.  (Locking Ace in a stall would result in him climbing said stall walls.  Not typically considered therapeutic.)  Head out of town for an overnight trip, asking husband to keep up the same regimen with Ace.

Our farrier was scheduled to be out yesterday afternoon, so I hoped we’d find a smoking gun.  Like me, he got the same reactions on the leg, but when he pressed on the outside heel bulb (flinch), poof, a little bubble of pus squirted out at the hairline.  Eureka!

Epsom soak salt, wrapped Ace in an ichthammol slathered diaper/duct tape boot for the night, and this morning, he is sound, sound, sound!   Hooray!   The abscess point looks clean, but that heel bulb is still definitely tender to the touch.

So Twitchy gets a little more vacation time on R&R so we can make sure there’s nothing else going on.  And I’m slathering Surpass on those tendons/ligaments just in case.

Three weeks until the VT 100 CTR! 

For years now, my horses and I have been getting myofascial release treatments from Doris Halstead, who wrote the book Symmetry in Motion and has also written Release the Potential and released a DVD.  Lucky for us, Doris has been a local gal, a physical therapist who found the myofascial release technique and then began applying it to horses as well as humans.

You can read more about the technique at www.myofascialrelease.com but the general idea is that the fascia are the guy wires that hold muscles and tendons and hard tissue together, and manipulating the fascia and releasing the connective tissue can help address body asymmetries and associated dysfunction and pain.

I am a crooked girl, largely due to a bad fall I took from Ned when he was 4, and subsequent crooked habits that I honed for years following.  In general, I tend to ride a straight horse as though it is heading toward 10 o’clock, so work from Doris and diligent practice in pretending I am riding a horse that is going toward 2 o’clock get me somewhere near straight.  Most of the time.  Unless I spend too much time on the computer, or in the car, or indulging bad habits like always crossing one leg over the other, etc.

Doris arrived to work on me and two (human) friends of mine.  Joan, who has had neck surgery resulting from a car accident over a decade ago, and Carla, who is a fellow endurance rider but also an aesthetician, a career which creates all sorts of opportunity for body pain!

Doris worked first on the equine boys.  Ace needed some work on his tongue and face, and  you could actually see how one of his cheekbones was set higher and further forward than the other.  Or, as I told Doris, I could see it AFTER she pointed it out to me!  Likewise, he had one shoulder that wanted to stay forward of the other. 

Doris worked on Ace for quite a while, asking him to lower his head and neck and open his throatlatch (something we’ve also been working on with him in his dressage lessons and just in general while being ridden) and as simple as it seems, he really struggles. 

The most amazing thing about Ace is in watching his eyes as he’s being worked on.   Half Arabian and half Saddlebred, he’s one firecracker of a hot little horse, but kind and earnest and very honest.  He’s a worrier too, and as Doris asked him to lower his head, you could see the little wrinkles of worry appear over his eyes.  Once she talked him into it, and told him how brilliant he was for working with her, his eyes softened and got dreamy.  Such an expressive child!

Ace is just plain not sure he wants to lower his head

Oh well then, all right ...

Ned got the equivalent of what Doris called a “well baby check.”  He came out, he was healthy and well and symmetrical, so mostly a myofascial thumbs-up from Doris. 

She did find a little bit of a gelding scar which needed some work.  Anyone who knows Ned knows that he is a rather penis-centric horse, so of course he found this wonderfully enjoyable.

Okay, for those of you who might be grossed out, let me explain the gelding scar thing a bit.  Some geldings get scar adhesions from their castration surgery; in fact, Rich’s older gelding, years ago, always seemed to be swishing and kicking at “phantom” flies at his belly.  It would be the dead of winter, and he’d be kicking and carrying on as though being swarmed.

Turns out that the pulling and discomfort of the adhesions were what was causing the behavior.  So the idea is to slowly draw on the skin of the sheath (essentially it feels like holding the excess skin in a fist) to allow the adhesions to release.  It takes some time, but what a marked difference in the comfort of the horse!  (Maybe I should have mares … )

The fun of having the adhesion worked on was second only to a good belly-scratching, which brought on the ecstatic wiggle lips.

Joan and Carla arrived, so we moved on to the humans.

Doris has a little massage table which she set up in the living room, and Joan was the first victim.  Joan has a long history of back, neck and shoulder issues and there was a lot of work for Doris to do, and a lot for Joan to learn about how to sit, walk, stand and work to address her body imbalances. 

Joan post-release work:

Carla’s shoulder blade asymmetry before being worked on:

After work:

Then it was my turn.  I’ve been feeling pretty good, pretty symmetrical, but have had a couple of neck issues since my overly exuberant shoulder stand in yoga a few weeks ago.  And of course the omnipresent tendency to have tight and sore psoas.

There’s something painfully wonderful about being worked on.  My joke is that Doris will find a sore spot, stick her thumb in it and leave it there for a year or two.  My response is often to hold my breath in response to the discomfort, so I’d get an occasional affectionate thump on the shoulder with the command to “Breathe!”

When Doris was done, I got up from the table feeling as though someone had shifted my entire pelvis to the right.  As crooked as it feels, I know my body is lying to me and that THIS is straight! 

So my job is to not lose that straightness a moment sooner than I have to!

Updated to add:  Doris is in the process of moving down to the Greensboro, NC, area.  She was up in WNY this weekend to pack her horses up and take them to her new home, and we were thrilled that she was willing to take the time to spend the day with us yesterday.  If you’re an endurance or dressage rider in NC, or the surrounding area, Doris is a gem.  If you’re interested in scheduling treatment or a clinic with her, drop me a line and I’ll help you get in touch with her.

Forecast is getting better and better for Thursday.  A lovely cold front coming through and hanging around, and it means I’ll be able to save some money on ice for cooling the boys down!  Hooray!

… for various items needed for next week.  Gatorade jelly beans, and electrolyte tablets and glowsticks and such.  And wine, of course.  For AFTER the ride.  Was tempted to buy champagne but thought it might jinx us.

The biggest news, however, is the weather, which is calling (as of this very moment) for a high of 70 on ride day, with lows in the mid 50s and a 10% chance of rain.  Uber Ned friendly.  And Patti friendly for that matter.

<fingers crossed>

Farrier on his way presently to reset Ace.  Must remember to ask for a couple of spare shoes for the boys to pack in the dreaded “100 mile box.”

Sent Rachel my “ridiculous to do list” which made her laugh.

 … like I always do when I’m prepping for a 100.

This morning I was wide awake at 4 a.m., making mental lists and thinking of the dozens of things I have to do before and during that ride.

I believe firmly that the difference between riding 50 miles and riding 100 miles is almost purely mental.  And not an insignificant chunk of that is mental preparation, practicing in one’s mind’s eye all that needs to be done, all the possible snafus that could complicate the day, foresee all that one might need in order to get themselves and their horse through the ride.

And since I am a compulsive list-maker I already put on my to-do list, and I am not kidding, “start making 100 mile lists.”  Lists of groceries to buy, drugs to buy and pack, items for the away hold, things to pack, little things to do for the horses before we leave.

On the day I perish, I’m confident that I will have written on my to-do list, “take last breath.”

After haying on Sunday, I decided I deserved a little fun time, so whipped up some paperwork for a client, then headed to my brother and sister-in-law’s pool to hang out and spend some time with my nieces, two of whom had a half day during this last week of school.

Sun, pool, a magazine, a novel, and a bottle of frozen water — ah, this is living.

At some point I realized I’d had enough sun, so got dressed and headed to the Amherst Bike Path for a three mile walk.  I’m trying to get some time in exercising in the heat and humidity to stay as acclimated as possible, and plan to ride each of the boys tomorrow morning, when it is expected to be hot and muggy.

Like the insane person I am, I’m already checking the 10 day forecast for the ride.  I know these things are notoriously inaccurate, but it will give me something to fret/celebrate/add to my packing list over each day between now and when we leave for the ride next Wednesday.

The boys are looking great.  Ace’s eye looks almost equine again, with the little blue stitches the only sign of his Frankensteinesque look of a week or so ago. 

Still no crew, so I am mentally preparing for that as well! 

Can’t wait for the ride!

Hello, hello!  <knocking>  Is anyone out there?

The last few days have been crazy busy and I’ve neglected posting. 

Ace’s eyelid is finally starting to look less traumatized.  My vet told me to keep riding him, so that’s what I’m doing.

I decided to take Ned out for a happy little hack on the property on Thursday and he dumped me as adeptly as ever.  One moment, we were trotting along (and yes, he was “up”).  In the next moment he was backing up at Mach 2, and I neatly went over his shoulder.  Thunk.  Yes.  I’m embarrassed.

Friday saw me meeting Carla, Nicole and Helen at Allegany State Park with Ace, and enjoying a lovely 11 mile ride, my favorite conditioning loop, up and around and back up and down Mount Irving.  We did spy a bear in the distance but he was long gone by the time we passed the area where we spied him.  (No complaints there.)

On Sunday night, Rachel joined us for dinner and to scheme over both the upcoming Canadian 100 and her new barn plans.  Poor thing, she had her barn drawing all finished up, and Richard made all kinds of suggestions, which no doubt left her more confused than ever about exactly how to configure the barn.  (He meant well.)

Monday morning saw us heading off to the Park early, delayed only by Ned getting stung IN the trailer, me debating whether or not to take him out (and whether he’d get back in), and deciding to hit the road.  No thrashing or crashing to indicate any additional bees (and stings) in the trailer, but we did find a nice little hornet’s nest tucked up above the interior light.  Before heading home, I contemplated the hornet-killing-capacity of various products I had on hand in the trailer, and ended up knocking the thing down and stomping on it vigorously.  Then loaded the boys and snuck out before the escaping hornets could return to the interior of the trailer.

We joined Helen on her Appaloosa, Opi, who is theoretically “not fit” but who kept up very handily with Ace and Ned on our roughly 18 mile conditioning ride.  It was ridiculously muggy and I was pleased about how both boys handled it.

I’m traveling for work for a couple of days but back home to at least do a couple of day rides at Allegany as our friend Jan is in town and it is therefore “Girls’ Weekend!”

We are still crewless for Canada but no worries.  I told Rachel that anal-retentive me will have lists and lists and lots of our crew stuff pre-packed, and I’ve been promised that ride management will get our stuff out to the two away holds.  (God bless the Ride Managers!)

More riding than hiking or biking the last several days, but I cleaned my house like a madwoman on Sunday, and think that counts as a workout!    Trying to eat healthfully and feeling good.