http://enduranceridestuff.com/aercdecadeteams/2012/02/patti-stedman-breezewood-nevarre/

Let me preface this blog post by saying that I realize how wildly blessed I am to be faced with this dilemma!

It’s ten days out from the Pine Tree 100 endurance ride in North Waterford, Maine, and I am working hard at NOT trying to speculate as to which two of the three horses Rachel and I should take to ride.

I’m open for votes, but have decided that I will not make the final call (thank you, Tom Hutchinson, Ride Manager, for being kind and patient about horse changes) until this Saturday or until I can compare all three boys on equal footing, literally.

Here’s the details:

Ned, 17 this year, and a veteran of 7 100 mile rides, has come back into fitness like the slow, steady gifted athlete that he’s proven himself to be over 12 seasons of competition.    He has blessed us with scattered moments of overt enthusisam, and has also shown Rachel, for the first time really, Pouty Ned.   One must always tread lightly on Ned’s attitude and sizeable ego, and Rachel has a unique gift for cajoling the big boy into otherwise unexpected cheerfulness.  I tease her that it’s because she’s a tiny little sprite of a person (comparatively, anyway — when I climb on Ned these days he looks back and says “one at a time please”) but I think it is more her appreciation for his cranky quirkiness and gruff exterior which indeed houses a generous and kind soul.

That said, Ned does not really owe me any more 100s in the heat.   Heck, he doesn’t owe me any 100s at all.  But the big guy proves over and over again that he is up to the task, albeit not at a blistering pace.   And not in ridiculous heat and humidity.  And not over a super-poundy or rocky course.

Ned gets to stay home if the forecast shows a Ned Unfavorable Forecast.

On to Ace.

Ace is 11 this year, and proved himself a 100 mile horse last July, handily finishing the Canadian National Championship 100 in 15-ish hours, accompanied by Ned, all As and piaffeing with nervous energy even at the finish.  Physically, this sport is easy for Ace.  We’ve got his feet balanced the best we have in years (an ongoing challenge), he can go faster, he can go slower, he eats and takes good metabolic care for himself despite the fact that he sometimes finds it absolutely impossible to simply be still.

Anxiety oozes from every pore of Ace unless he is moving.  When he’s on the brink of meltdown he will suspend himself in space in an earnest effort to behave (Ace is nothing if not earnest) but trot in place, a  move dressage folks call “piaffe.”  The part that makes me giggle is that, a former dressage-only person, I’ve finally landed a horse with a gift for the movement, and it’s not even, technically, a good piaffe.  (Heavy sigh.)   When reprimanded to keep all four feet planted, the anxiety leaks out of his face, causing him to yaw his mouth and twist his head and neck around, eyes wide.   (I have a gift for collecting the Special Needs Ones, I know.)

Despite Ace’s General Anxiety Disorder, he’s competed quite nicely.  He manages to pulse down handily, even in the heat, while looking like he’s on the edge of a nervous breakdown, eats with nervous reckless abandon, frantically checking to see who is watching, coming, going. 

The issue with Ace was that my hope was to save him for VT100 on July 16th, my absolute favorite 100, and just a wee bit too close to Pine Tree, time-wise, to make me comfortably plan on both with him.  The good news is that, accompanied by Ned, Ace would do a slower-than-he’s capable 100 at Pine Tree, leaving him with plenty of gas in the tank at the finish and hopefully the capacity to go back out and compete three weeks later.

Sarge is the wild card in all of this.  He’s my husband’s horse, a complete rock star of an Arab/Morgan – just ask him.   He’s 13 this season and despite a bunch of Top Ten finishes and BCs with my husband in 50s, he’s never done a one-day 100.  Last fall, Rich offered him to me for the VT 3 Day 100 CTR when Ace was suffering a series of abscess from a rocky ride, and he handily finished, proving to me that he’s ready for a one-day.

Sarge’s issue is that he’s just not seeming quite “right” to me this season.  He had a vaccination reaction, then Rich pulled him from the Bare Bones 50 in VT in May at the halfway point because he had a cut that seemed to be bothering him, sore and with more underlying trauma than we realized when we took him to the ride.  He got a bit colicky once more  at home  after that, prompting me to try the expensive experiment of a 28-day course of Gastrogard to see if perhaps ulcers were the root cause of some of this.   He’s always been a fussy eater at rides and part of me hopes that doing a one day 100 will, in fact, make him a better eater on 50s.

Two weeks in to the Gastrogard, this is looking like it was an expensive way to find out that, no, Sarge does not have ulcers, as I’ve seen no great changes in Sarge, but his symptoms are so subtle that the actual 100 mile ride would probably be the test.

I also believe that Sarge’s hocks are getting a wee bit arthritic, necessitating a conservative ride (not Sarge’s favorite) where rather than doing his big, huge trot and over-taxing those hocks, I ask him to step under and straight and far less extravagantly.  We’ve not made the move to inject the hocks, but that may be in Sarge’s future too.

Last weekend, Sarge decided to further muddy the waters by getting a nice laceration on the front surface of his hind cannon bone and then pulling his right front shoe, pad and all, and taking a nice chunk of hoof wall with it.  Not shockingly,  he seemed NQR behind on the day after our last conditioning ride.  I’m waiting on a call from our busier-than-busy farrier to call in yet another favor and ask him to come out sooner than our Monday re-set appointment because Sarge refuses to keep an easyboot on as he gallops up and down the muddy lane to our pasture.   (The good news is that it’s really not rocky or hard in the pasture, so hopefully no more damage to that hoof wall or a stone bruise.)

Sarge will go to Pine Tree only if he seems 100% right on when that shoe gets reset.  Hocks and all.

The other twist in this equation is Rich.  He agreed to let me steal Sarge away for this 100, and then recently discovered he has a hernia, necessitating (day) surgery and a 30 day no riding/no lifting recovery, which will mean that he will, if following his surgeon’s orders (always optional in Rich’s mind), miss the VT Moonlight 50 with Sarge, his favorite ride.  Disappointing for both of us.

It also means that I will be abandoning Rich a couple of days out from his surgery, possibly packing up his horse and another and heading off for a 12 hour haul a few states away to ride 100 miles.  For fun.

I’m the first to admit I’m a control freak.  Having so many uncertain factors, so many balls being juggled in the air, makes me terribly uncomfortable.  I have learned, finally, that I cannot control the weather.  Despite checking the ten day forecast for a ride about fifteen days in advance.   And praying.

So I am considering this another life lesson.

Wait for a call for the farrier. 

Wait to see how Sarge looks.

Wait to see how the weather forecast is shaping up.

Wait to see how Rich comes through his surgery.

And then decide. 

A life lesson in patience and making the best choice possible with a trio of animals who do not say outloud how they feel about my plans for them (although honestly Ned can be read like a book), and a husband who will say that he is fine, just fine, for me to leave, rather than tell me to stay home from a ride.

I’m blessed.  I get it.  Here’s to hoping that I get this one right …

Happy trails.

–Patti

Who’s in?

There’s a rather active discussion on the AERC Member’s Forum at the moment, about the decrease in 100 mile riders in our sport, and whether or not it’s real or imagined and whether it’s fixable or not, and how.

As I stated in my response, I think the best we can do, as an organization, and as individuals, is to ENCOURAGE riders who are toying with the idea of riding a 100 to just.do.it.  (Sorry, Nike.)

Last year, my goal was to get my younger horse, Ace, through his first one day 100.  Done.

I also had a side goal to get Ned, my veteran guy, through a 100, assuming all the jigsaw puzzle pieces fell in place.  Done.

For 2011, I want to add my husband’s horse, Sarge, to the 100 mile pack.  In a last minute sound horse switcharoo, I borrowed him for the VT 3 Day 100 mile CTR.  He handily finished, and my husband, who has no desire to ride 100 miles, is willing to let me borrow him again.

I’ve got a few other riders in mind to help us accomplish all of this, and we’ll see how it goes.

One ride at a time and all of that.

So I am looking out my office window at what could only be described as seriously winter weather, which will leave me plenty of time to focus on the planning, focus on my own fitness, and share my plans with all of you.

Anyone else in?

Some days can only be saved by a good ride.

There are a number of things lately that have left me in a state of kerfuffle, as I like to say.  Out of sorts might be a better way of putting it.

We put an elderly horse down last week, rather than see him face another ruthless winter.  Was it the right thing to do?  Boy, I hope so, because it certainly wasn’t easy.

Work, for me, has been stressful.  My husband has been facing a variety of health issues, which weighs on my mind.  The ride we were to attend got blown out of the water at the last minute when we found our hauling vehicle had shredded a fan belt.  (The truck in general causes me angina on a fairly routine basis.)   I got some surprising news about someone I thought I used to know that was a bit disturbing and some of my friends have been going through a rough time too.

I find myself wound up, tense, unable to focus and just generally discombobulated when life gets this way.  Today the weather is perfect.  A gorgeous autumn day, the leaves just about at peak, and me finding irritation at every turn — from the grocery store to my crotchety computer to the federal government’s ineptitude.   Everyone has plotted to piss me off today.

Finally this afternoon I decided to ride.

A genius move, if I do say so myself.

I’m plotting to steal my husband’s horse, Sarge.  I borrowed him for last month’s GMHA 100 Mile CTR, but today, since he was the one rideable horse up at the barn when I went down with breeches and boots on, he was the mount of choice.

Rarely do I school Sarge in dressage.  He is my husband’s horse, and while I “tune him up” on occasion, my husband and I have mostly thought of this as “installing the buttons.”  You know, the sideways button, the canter button, etc.

Sarge is a complex ride.   Like every horse I have ever known, he requires that his rider shake up the formula a bit for dressage success. 

Riding back to front has been drilled into my head forever, but with Sarge, one cannot, in any way, shape or form, drive the hind end into any sort of fixed hand.  In fact, I find that my Germanic instinct to do so is best cured by the mantra “front to back” while riding him.

He loathes any holding.  Hold a steady contact without the essence of softening, he will lock his jaw, find his underneck and brace against you for all he is worth.  Grip with a leg, and the hock on that side drops off into neverneverland, such that he actually feels grossly uneven behind.  Hold with your seat and endure a temper tantrum of epic proportion.   He’s a feisty little bastard.

The beauty of Sarge is his brilliance.  He is smart as a whip, and truth be told, I am well aware that he knows he is smarter than me.  Certainly he knows far more about being a horse. 

When I find myself able to get my act together to his satisfaction, it is absolutely gratifying.  The amazing thing is that it requires so little, physically.  Sitting still, but not too still, a soft contact but never without the squeeze or release of a ring finger on one side or the other, the brush of an inner calf and then off again.  By the end of our ride, I called out to Rich — “watch this!”  (Yes, just like the kid on the bike — “Look Mom!  No hands!”)

We crossed the short side, soft and through and absolutely boinging in a medium trot (because I know this horse can trot!) and across the diagonal with the sensation of his withers coming up and up and up and his back as soft and receiving as warm butter.  Good boy!

Of course, within a stride or two of reaching the corner I’d tightened something, or held something, or braced a part in a way Sarge found offensive, so we were back to a not-so-pretty moment, but no matter …    

He’d made my day and I asked for some swinging, marching walk, re-newing his faith in my competence and me in his brilliance.

A good day, after all.

No one was more shocked than me when my husband, Richard, and I sat down to talk about which rides we’ll try to hit for the remainder of the season.

Certainly the WV ride on August 7th is a no-brainer.  Not too terribly far from home (~7 hours), lots of friends attending, and Sarge’s type of course — hilly and rocky.  So we’re there.

When he told me, however, that he wanted to go to the GMHA CTR in Vermont, well, I almost fell out of my chair. 

Of course, endurance and competitive trail riding are both distance riding sports, but endurance is the libertarian, laissez faire, loosey-goosey wild west sort of make-your-own-rules sort of sport, whereas CTR, and particularly CTR at Vermont where there is a long and rich tradition, there are RULES.  Written rules and unwritten rules.

It is the 75th Anniversary of the GMHA 100, and we know most of the written rules.  Minimum and maximum pace on trail.  No interference boots.  No “substances” to be used, like desitin or Body Glide — two of my favorites (for the horse, that is; no one has gone so far as to create a drug rule for the riders yet, thank heaven).   No artificially cooled water.  No help from a crew.

And then there are some additional rules at GMHA.   Some about parking and camping and stabling.  Others about riding THROUGH the big white arena as you come in from each day’s segment of the ride.  Mounted awards ceremony.  And last but absolutely certainly not least, PINNIES.  <shudder>

I reminded Richard of all these rules, and still, he wants to go.  I’m excited to have his company but concerned he will have deep regrets about his decision to compete.  Rich is not a rules sort of guy.

So today we headed to Allegany for a hilly conditioning ride, to loosen up Ace and check that he’s firing on all cylinders, and to off load some ballast from Sarge, known recently and very affectionately as ”the Staypuff Marshmallow Man.. ”

The heat and humidity have decreased dramatically in WNY in the last 36 hours so it was in the high 50s as we set off and not a cloud in the sky.

However, the deer flies were a force to be reckoned with, and apparently they are being bred faster these days to keep up with demand, so we did the 12 miles as fast as we could, largely to avoid their swarms.  Managed to spot a Baltimore Oriole along the trail, and no bears.  Good news on both fronts.

All systems go, the boys felt grand, the truck seems to be running just fine, so we’ll be sending in our entries!

I’m the sort of girl, I’ve been told, who needs a project. 

I was pleasantly surprised to have a couple of friends tell me they’d been checking in on the blog and were surprised to see I hadn’t been posting.

Getting two horses through a 100 mile ride = project.  That kept my wheels spinning and my mind churning and my talent for worry occupied right up until the point that the horses were home – safe, sound and well — and the mission was accomplished.

And then there was the lull period.

So I’ve spent lots of time scratching horses and whispering to each one that they are, in fact, my favorite.   Lots of time unpacking and doing laundry, and catching up with friends who had been neglected as I worked on the 100 mile mission.  Lots of eating of all the leftover goodies packed in the trailer in case they’d tickled my taste buds at 84 miles or so.  (I think the mini-Snickers were the best.) 

Our delightful truck deciding to develop an acute need for a new clutch just before the Vermont endurance ride meant skipping my absolute favorite ride of the season, a disappointment that was tempered by a terribly hot and humid forecast and the knowledge that a 50 miler just three weeks shy of finishing his first 100 was probably pushing it a bit for Ace.

This period corresponded with a heat wave in our neck of the woods, so I also dedicated a good portion of my down time to “catching up with my nieces” who are 10, 12 and almost 14, and just happen to live in a house with a pool.

Add the usual summer chores of harvesting stuff from the garden, putting up hay, and I’ve had an enjoyable period of industriousness and utter laziness in just the right mix.

But in the last several days, I’ve found a new project tickling the edges of my gray matter.

It’s fascinating how certain people come into your life, or certain books or TV programs, or magazine articles or lengthy email chats with like-minded friends happen in such a way that they seem orchestrated, in retrospect, to prompt you to take action.

A husband with a fairly recent (and rare) diagnosis of Type 1 diabetes, which has meant shifting of an already pretty-healthy diet and added a feverish counting of carbs and a new consciousness about what we’re consuming.

A garden coming to fruition that not only changed my tastebuds for food that is truly fresh, truly local, truly nutritious, but a desire for more of the same without actually turning our entire property into a vegetable or free-range chicken farm.

Time spent, on line or in real life, with friends for whom nutrition and food production has become a way of life — one with a business producing whole food supplements for horses, another sharing the efforts to produce organic grains/hay/straw with her partner, another who has gone vegetarian in recent months and finds herself seeking much the same produce and products, locally, that I am.

Time spent reading or re-reading various books and articles by Michael Pollan, or Barbara Kingsolver, or watching the HBO movie (finally, it’s been on the DVR for months) about Temple Grandin.

Time spent perfecting recipes for my husband and tasting what can only be described as SUPERLATIVE homemade pizza crust, made with the organic flour harvested by our friends, and accompanied by a salad which was picked just moments before from just outside our front door.  Literally.

One lunch conversation led to a couple of emails which led to a bit of reading and then the usual contemplative time spent mucking stalls and tossing hay, to another conversation and another email, and an idea.

Why not start a local farmers’ market in our area?

Not a huge, massive affair, but a small, intimate gathering of farmers we know or get to know, on perhaps a monthly basis, with a network of consumers who pre-orders produce or eggs or free-range chickens or organic flour, then browses for additional products from the farmers on site that evening.

The wheels are turning, I’m asking lots of questions, brainstorming with the husband, talking with Anita and Rachel and Tigger, and just letting the idea grow and develop, and we’ll go from there.

It may turn into nothing, it may be too much trouble, too much risk and too much time for a woman with a full time job (Anita) and another with a small consulting business to run.  But we’ll let the idea run it’s course and see what comes of it.  We are doing our best to keep it low-effort, low-labor, low-BS and just a way of introducing farmers to people who appreciate what they’re producing on a local level.

Have ideas?  Suggestions?  Advice?

Drop me a line and let me know.

(Sorry I’ve been away for so long!)

–Patti

PS  Next endurance ride, assuming the truck runs, the weather is not ridiculously hot/humid and we aren’t getting a hay delivery — Ride Between The Rivers on August 7th near Elkin, WV.  Taking Sarge and Ace for the 50.  Can’t wait!

Hit the road at 4:20 a.m. on Wednesday after a mostly sleepless night. Rich got up with me and fed the boys while I showered AND he found me some cash (forgot to stop at the bank) so all I had to do was load Ace and go.

Despite some road work, I got to my client’s compressor station right on time at 9:30 to do their safety meeting. They all enjoyed visiting with Ace, who stood patiently in the trailer for nearly three hours, eating and enjoying pepperming Lifesavers the guys fed him during the break in training.

Arrived at GMHA (VT) at about 6 p.m. to find I had no stall assignment and no one around to give me one. So I just parked Ace in the vacant stall next to my friend Gene, settled him in, parked, unhitched and leveled the rig all by myself and headed off to the Rojek’s Welcome Party, a fun affair with the bar located in the middle of their pond, such that you had to walk over rocks to get a glass of Merlot. I braved the trip once in high heeled mules, slugged down the red wine (I was wearing a white blouse) and made my way back to the dining tables. Sent the kids over for my drinks after that, only imagining the stories to be told about me falling in the pond, and knowing that I would never live it down.

Didn’t last long at the party, given the need for some ZZZZs, but got to catch up with folks and could tell it was going to be a good time by the folks at the party. I was warned by folks that the calcium chloride that the Vermonters use on the roads in great volumes was hell on the horses’ skin, and that horses often ended up with severely irritated pasterns and armpits from the salt/sweat/moving skin. Note to self: lots of sponging off of salt.

Thursday was vet-in day, and I should note here that this was a CTR (competitive trail ride), not an endurance ride. While an endurance ride is essentially a vet-controlled race over a measured course, a CTR is a judged competition with scoring pre- and post-ride (a measured distance with minimum and maximum times). This course is a three day 100, with 40 miles ridden the first two days at about 7 mph, and the third day of 20 miles ridden at just over 8 mph.

So the vetting takes a bit of time, with the judges noting every scrape, bump, bruise, and interference mark, so that at the end of the ride, they can compare the horse to how it started, thus determining scores and a winner. It also involves a trot out with circles in each direction, and the trick here is to have your horse do the vet-in trot out calmly, and then look energized and fresh AFTER the ride.

Ace has the unique gift of being slightly crazy. He’s twitchy and “up” and wide-eyed and looky, and ALWAYS has his ears up. This makes it tough to have a calm initial trot out, but he did okay.

Robin Groves, the lay judge, and I had a good laugh over the fact that National Show Horses (Arabian/Saddlebred crosses) are not bred for their brains. Art King, a vet from Canada that I’ve known forever, was the vet judge.

Spent the early evening prepping for the first 40 miles, packing up a crew bag, checking tack, gossiping and laughing with my barnmates Gene and Mel, then headed out to the Banquet, where Larry Geoghegan was honored (he’s been riding the VT 100 CTR since the 60s), and Denny Emerson kept us in stitches with his stories.

Ace was pretty “up” for the start the next morning. We left toward the end of the pack, with horses going out in pairs every 2 minutes or so. We had 6:50 to 7:20 to ride the 40 miles, including a 20 minute hold mid-way.

The course on Day One was especially gorgeous, which is notable, because Vermont is the most gorgeous place I’ve ridden, hands-down. This trail took us through Woodstock and a river, and a park with the most lovely pine needle covered trails, and a huge pond with the trees reflected in it in the morning light, which is where Ace and I parted ways briefly.

I’d made it my plan to do my best to ride Ace solo. He gets amped up in company, especially high-energy company, and pays little attention to where he puts his feet, whether or not he is hungry/thirsty/needs a walk break, and so, while I rode with several people for a brief mile or two, we did 90% of the 100 miles all by our lonesome.

As we left the pond to head through a field, there was a pile of freshly cut logs hidden in tall grass on the right. Spook left with rider slightly discombobulated. Pile of freshly cut logs on the left. Spook right. Exit rider, off to the left. Since Ace has been known to abandon me (the two times previous I came off him), I held onto the reins as I fell on my ample center of gravity (aka ass), scrambled right up and used the evil log piles as a mounting block. Since Ace hates being syringed, I considered giving him electrolytes to punish him for his insolence, but decided against it, as I am a kind and gentle horsewoman.

Before the hold, we had to ride through a paved area with cows in a pasture alongside the road (Billings Farm, I believe). Ace was especially not fond of the cows who chased him along the fence. I reminded him that cows were herbivores, but that did little to comfort him.

At the hold, I was reminded how unfamiliar I’ve become with CTR rules, mostly riding endurance the last few years. There is a 10 minute pulse check, and a brief vetting (metabolic and an out and back trot); you must stay at the hold for 20 minutes (which is not a long rest/eat period on a 40 mile trail). I’d made such good time on the first half of the trail that I planned to stay several extra minutes to make sure Ace got plenty to eat. I got my little time slip, asked where the line was (for pulse/respiration), got directed to the vet line, and managed to completely skip getting his pulse taken waiting for the vet.

When I realized my error (“Hmm, do the vets take pulses here?” I asked someone standing in line near me), I found a P/R person pronto immediamente at exactly the same time that Ace realized he could see the horses LEAVING the hold and heading back out on trail. Just as they tried to take his pulse, he started whirling and twirling and dancing, inconsolable about all of these BRAND NEW BEST FRIENDS FOREVER leaving him. Armed with just a lead line, I had little to no leverage to get his attention and ended up shanking him two handed as firmly as I could while snarling “KNOCK IT OFF!” from between clenched teeth.

Say goodbye to the horsemanship/sportsmanship awards, dope.

I got some meager semblance of control, his pulse was taken (40, astoundingly) and Robin and Art, the judges, laughed at the fact that I’d decided to ride the Saddlebred half of Ace that day.

Hahahaha. What fun.

Did I mention I was wearing a pinnie with my number on it? I do so love the fashion statement that a pinnie makes. <rolling eyes>

I stayed several extra minutes while Ace alternately danced about and slung slurpies hither and thither, managing to gulp down a V-8 before heading back out.

Oddly, none of the volunteers seemed anxious to hold Ace while I took a potty break. <laughing>

The most notable section of trail on the way back to camp involved a massive covered bridge which took you directly to Route 4, the main drag in Woodstock, where traffic flew past.

Ace, solo of course, marched right over the bridge, all pie-eyed and hooky ears, no doubt, and we were wildly grateful to find a crossing guard there, who stopped traffic to get us over the main road. He couldn’t help us with the brick-colored cross walk, or the sewer manhole, or the storm water drain, or the bright shop signs. Ace couldn’t decide in which direction to spook so simply sproinged across the intersection while I said Hail Marys, sat up, drove my heels down, and wondered why I hadn’t taken up a safer sport, like skydiving.

Several times on the trail, we were met by volunteers with water, or fruit, or snacks of some sort. This was a super treat, and something we don’t get in endurance!

Got back to camp without incident, on time, and when I got my little in time slip from the timer, I started to dismount. “No, no, you need to ride through the ring!” Um, okay, so I started to walk Ace on the buckle through the ring. “No, no, please trot!” I looked around to see absolutely zero spectators, but dutifully, I gathered up the reins, asked Ace to jog a few steps, then headed back to his stall where we could cool him out for the 20 minute pulse.

Pulse was right on, trotted out just fine, and tucked Ace in, searching for alcohol and a shower, not necessarily in that order. Gene had had a good ride too, and we talked about how tough the trail was the following day. (Gene has ridden the 100 mile CTR at Vermont a number of times.) My Albion saddle had slid back a little back during the last few miles of the ride (should have fixed it), leaving a couple of small areas of fill under the stirrup bars, so I opted to ride in my treeless saddle the next day, which Ace loves, but I’d barely ridden in more than two miles in the previous year. Got it all together, cleaned up the dusty saddle, repacked the pommel packs, etc.

We spent lots of time hand-grazing the horses and keeping them loose and limber between rest time in the stalls. Since we couldn’t use any medication or shampoos, we simply made sure we had them as clean of salt as possible. I was tickled to find that my farrier had done a bang-up job and that Ace had not interfered at all on a tough 40 mile trail.

On Day Two, I also drew a high number, meaning that I would start dead last on the trail. I’d been told repeatedly that this was the toughest day of trail, and right from the get-go, tough it was. Climbs and climbs and steep descents and rocky, washed out trail, then slimy, slippery stuff, and all what I consider to be WALKING trail. So we walked. Where we had good trail, no kidding, we galloped. As we passed the markers indicating each five miles of trail covered (“35 miles to go”, “30 miles to go”, etc.) I calculated that we were going 5 mph, not fast enough to make time. I kept repeating to myself that it was better to be over time than to come back with a lame horse.

We did almost all of this trail all on our own, which was wonderful.

Did I mention how much I hate riding in that treeless saddle? Ace was happy as a lark, and I was struggling to ride in balance, using muscles I hadn’t used in a very long time. I might have cursed under my breath a lot. (Good thing we were alone.)

Did I mention that I love wearing a pinnie?

At a water stop, we were assured that the second half of the trail had about 9 miles of road, which meant we could boogie. Phew.

Ace was angelic at this halfway hold. I think he knew that I’d stashed a chain shank in my gear bag. No need. Not only did he stand quietly
and eat, but he behaved perfectly, such that I could not only drink a V-8 but also grab a sandwich.

We utilized the roads on the way back to camp, making time, but I was still averse to trotting downhill, and took special care to keep Ace out of groups of horses so that I could rate him sensibly. He got better and better about getting electrolyted, and seemed to resign himself to suffering through it. I always rinse his mouth with water or give him peppermints or granola bars after the salty stuff, so I think he forgave me. Kind of.

I am pretty sure that the mileage between “10 miles to go” and “5 miles to go” was a wee bit short, so when we hit the 5 miles to go, I checked my watch and went from hustling in to make time, to slowing down to a walk to avoid coming in under the minimum time. Someone gave me a popsicle on this leg of the trail, and it was one of those terrific berry frozen treats – it tasted fantastic, and was super refreshing on what was turning out to be a pretty warm afternoon.

The last few miles of trail took us up Reeves Hill, where the GMHA cross country course used to be. I actually stopped Ace to turn 360 degrees and check out the absolutely breathtaking view. You could see Mount Washington in the distance, and gorgeous vistas all the way around. Hard to do it justice verbally.

At that moment, I remembered that the treeless saddle’s pommel pack carried precious cargo indeed.

A small portion of my friend Zoe’s Mom’s ashes, in a tiny gin bottle, appropriately enough, and I just knew at this moment that this was a lovely place for her to spend a piece of eternity. So I opened to top and, stunningly, Ace stood still as I scattered Molly’s Mum’s Mum to the winds in Vermont, so she could watch over the Vermont countryside.

A peaceful and soulful walk into camp from there, another trip through the riding ring with my time slip, and back to sponge Ace off.
As I sponged water over Ace’s withers, he shivered away from me. Damn. His armpits, the right one especially, inflamed and read and angry and sore. The salty water from his sweat must have stung horribly! There is nothing worse than having your partner hurting, and I felt awful, so sponged everywhere else, asking people what I could do, legally, to make him more comfortable. Just cool water sponging, I was told.

Ace’s pulse didn’t quite come down to parameter that day, no doubt due to the stinging armpits. He trotted out just fine, however, and I vowed to do my best to make him as comfortable as I could.

The girth had nothing to do with the soreness. In fact, Ace’s treeless saddle has a centerfire rigging, which means the girth is about 10 inches from his elbow. I learned later, from talking to the judges, that the higher stepping horses, like Ace, tend to fling the salt right up into their armpits, and if they’re thin-skinned, the salt, and the action of the opening/closing of the leg, along with the sweat, work into the skin and leave them tender. Ow.

We drank some wine at the stalls that night, enhanced by Pro-CMC, a nice Pepto Bismol pink supplement that Mel accidentally shot out of a syringe all over us. I did my best to keep Ace’s armpits comfortable, but mostly he wanted me to leave them alone.

Eighty miles down, 20 to go, and these were the fastest miles of the week. No hold, and 2:45-3:00 hours to complete the course.

With Ace’s back in fine form, I switched back to the Albion, only to find that one of the holes in my Webbers had ripped through, meaning I’d need to ride with my stirrups either one hole shorter, or one hole longer. I mentioned this to my barnmates, and within minutes, Team Rojek had rounded me up a spare stirrup leather so I could ride with them at the normal length. Hooray!

Shockingly, I had picked a high number again for the order of go, so was leaving out amongst the last of the 100 milers. De rigeur, I did my best to keep Ace solo, somewhat harder with the smaller time window and the faster course, but we mostly managed well. Midway through the course was Cookie Hill, where you were offered a home baked cookie at the top of the climb. I declined, but what an incredibly cool thing to do for the riders!

Some fairly rough trail and keeping Ace out of a pack left me scrambling to make time a bit on the second half, and when we hit the open road, I just let Ace trot. It was stunning to me that never once had I had to ASK the horse to go. He just offered and offered and offered and was as fresh on the third day as he’d been on the first. He flew down the road for miles at this enormous trot and I could hear a horse cantering behind us, unable to keep pace.

Boogeying along allowed us to walk in the last mile, where I got a little verklempt and told Ace he was almost done, he’d done it, he was amazing, he made me proud, thankyouthankyouthankyou. We arrived at the timer again, got our slip, and Ace threw in a tremendous spook at some papers rustling on a chair. Somehow I managed to get him in the ring’s gate, where he saw the announcer’s booth for the first time, skittering to the center of the ring, just to hear his name announced, which sent him into a wide-eyed passage. This time there were spectators. I mumbled to someone at the out gate about putting on some weighted shoes and heading back in for the Road Hack class, and giggled back to his stall.

This time as I sponged him to cool him I carefully avoided his armpits, and put him in his stall to pee.

Phew. Made the final pulse. 44. Would lose no points on that one.

Up to the judges for hands-on vetting.

Art found absolutely no change in Ace. Metabolics were all perfect, no change in the legs. No fill, no windpuffs, no interference marks, no heat. Remarkable for a horse traveling 100 miles over terrain like that.

Robin found only the armpits, knocked off two points for each pit, and reassured me that there was absolutely nothing to do to prevent them.

So far, Ace was doing pretty well.

Brief break to grab some of the delicious brunch they served, then time to limber the horses back up for the final trot out.

Picture this. Day one, 40 miles. Day two, 40 miles. Day three, 20 miles. All at a decent clip. Then an hour or two break and now the horse is supposed to trot out, all animated and sound and looking as though they hadn’t done a thing.

Ace’s biggest problem was getting his armpits restretched after a break of standing in his stall eating. Don’t think it didn’t just wreck me to watch him step carefully down out of him stall, knowing that it had to feel like ripping open a brush burn. Sigh.

I asked him to jog once or twice and watched as other riders razzed up their horses, trotting them hither and thither and tuned them up to trot out in an animated fashion.

I knew that wasn’t necessary with Ace. I am privileged to own a twitchy, amped up, and have I mentioned, slightly crazy?, horse, so I mostly just kept him walking and waited in line.

Our turn.

Art, having seen Ace all weekend, said to me, “show us how well your horse handled this.”

Gulp.

Cluck, cluck.

Ace leaps into a trot beside me, never missing a beat. Circle left, faster and more animated every stride, sound as can be. I give a low <brilllllll> and he stops, I switch the lead line to my right hand and raise my left, and he rolls back in the other direction – and don’t for a minute think that I drill this into this horse, or that I’m some fantabulous in-hand trainer, but he is so smart and so earnest that I practice this every once in a while and he just tunes right in, he gets it, this is his job, and he’s GOOD at it – and trots right, huge and animated. I stop him, turn him back to the judges and back he trots, <brillllll> to halt squarely on his butt square in front of the judges.
“Great!” Robin says, and adds “and thank you for not holding on to his face!”

We’d nailed it and I knew it, and patted Ace on the neck repeatedly. Goodboy, goodboy, goodboy, you’redonegoodboy. The person keeping everyone in order as they came in to trot out stopped me and said “best trot out of the day.” Marched Ace right down to the trailer, all finished with his vetting, gave him a gram of tube bute, as we still had one more hurdle to jump.

Mounted awards.

Sigh.

Yes. After 100 miles, and the hands on and the trot out, at Vermont they stand on a 74 year old 100 mile CTR tradition and do mounted awards in the ring.

It was the least I could do to medicate my guy a bit before he got tacked up. Again.

We had a bit of a break, so I fiddled with hooking up my trailer and ran to a spot with a cell signal to update Rich on how we were doing, and came back just in time to grab a clean dressage pad, Ace’s snaffle bridle (with ABO’s blingy blue browband displayed for all to see), and tack him up. Um, yeah, I had changed into jeans. So, um yeah, blingy browband and um, a rider in jeans. And trail running sneakers.
I apologized repeatedly to Ace as I put the saddle on his back, and slipped the bit in his mouth, and especially when I mounted up.

I asked my friend Mel – “they call us in to the rings as we get our placing, right?”

“Um, no, we all stand in there, lined up.”

!*(!#)@

“Ace is not going to STAND there.”

Stand there? The horse who we fondly call “Twitchy?”

And he didn’t.

We lined up by weight division, and they started calling out awards. For all 50 some horses. One at a time. Ace did another 4 or 5 miles in teeny tiny circles as they did this. Now, he was nicely round and not at all naughty. He just could NOT stand still. He did yaw his mouth (his tension move), but he did the best he could for a horse with a constant case of ants-in-his-pants. I feared that if I got on his case to stay in one place that he would start to piaffe, another favorite trick. I figured the walking circles were less distracting. Though dizzying. And yes, there was a crowd watching. (I was more than a little mortified.)

Finally, our division. Completions, 6th, 5th, 4th, 3rd, still, our number not called. I watched as riders and horses WAAAAY more experienced than us collected their ribbons. Finally, it was just us. We won our division. Ace jigged up, the judge laughed and made NO move to hook the ribbon on his browband, held up the huge perpetual trophy to show us, and we circled back into line.

“Wait. Come back here.”

They announced that he won the Rookie Horse Award.

I started to get verklempt. They held up the big silver plate, I said “lovely” and started to head back into line.

“Wait.”

And they announced that we’d won the Woodstock Inn award, given to the horse judged to be the best trail horse, based on gaits, conformation and MANNERS. I started choking when they said “manners” and the crowd laughed, as, um, they kind of noticed he hadn’t stood still for more than seven nanoseconds thus far, and I hugged and kissed Ace and scratched his forehead and then circled quietly for the rest of the awards ceremony.

As we exited afterwards, the woman who had picked Ace for the Woodstock award stopped me, and told me how she’d watched us on trail all weekend (there were volunteers out on trail all over the place, giving out drinks, at the holds, etc.) and how I’d carefully kept Ace by himself and how he seemed so happy going down the trail, doing his thing, and how we were such terrific partners, obviously having fun together. That made me all kinds of teary-eyed, and I thanked her for sharing that with me, and told her how lovely a horse he really was.

Packing up, and sharing champagne, and telling stories, and my friend Gene and his partner insisted that I come have dinner and stay at their farm that evening, stripping Ace’s stall so that I couldn’t say no. They helped me get all packed up and hitched up and I had the distinct pleasure of a relaxing evening at their farm with their horses and dogs. Two beers, a delicious dinner, much laughter and gossip, and in bed at 10 p.m.

On the road at 6 a.m. and back home at 2 p.m. or so, and I didn’t hit anything with the truck.

Ace’s armpits are all scaly and awful and slathered with Vaseline, but he looks bright and chipper and I told him as I led him into the barn to tell them all about the big trophies he won.

I’m pretty sure he told Ned. Ace grabbed a big drink of water out of the trough, stretched out to pee, and Ned chased him around mid-tinkle. Poor boy. May be a rock star in CTR, but he’s still at the bottom of our herd’s totem pole.

Ontario Provincial Championships/Ace’s First 100

My friend Sylvia, managing to wrangle her passport in an expedited fashion from the Feds, came up from Pittsburgh on Tuesday, and we headed north with Ace for the 100 mile ride in Ontario on Thursday.

After our last two truck-adventure-filled trips, I am pleased to say that the drive and border crossing was blissfully uneventful.

There’s a certain casualness about the Canadian rides, much of it likely because the Canucks are so close-knit, and because they’re all familiar with where they’re going, how to get there, when various events are likely to happen, and to whom to go for particular information. I’m told that I’m as close to as a Canadian as an American can get (a high compliment, I’m sure) but I’m still often left scratching my head, perplexed – for example, Syl and I unhitched (complete with our written “unhitching directions”) to go out to the vet checks, armed with the lovely map that was in my registration packet. It.could.not.be.found.

When I found a Canadian chum to get some more information, the issue was easily resolved by the revelation that a road, clearly shown and marked on the map, um, didn’t really exist as a road.

Okaaaaaay.

Ace settled in beautifully, ate well, took me for a nice little spin on some of the close-by trails, and it was only late in the evening before the ride that we discovered that he’d fallen in love with our next door neighbor’s horse. When they took said new BFF for a walk. When Ace then began doing SRS-worthy airs above the ground in his paddock, and proving that you indeed CAN canter in a 14×14 square area.

Syl and I started scheming about how, precisely, we’d manage to get Ace tacked up and out of camp in the a.m., then hit the sack.

Got some sleep, and was up at 4 to prep for a 5:30 start. Tacking up was dicey, as the neighbor’s horse had been removed from his paddock. Ace was amped, to say the least. Since it was dark, and Ace was rarely still for more than a nanosecond, I could only hope that everything was straight and even and secure and in the right spot.

Syl and I both know that Ace is safer once you are ON him (Syl’s ridden Ace in a few rides for me) so I was on FAR earlier than I’d have wanted to be for a 5:30 start. Had the pleasure of dodging a loose horse in camp while mounted, but Ace was actually manageable, if not quiet and calm.

The 75s and 100s all went out together, about 30 horses or so total, and we were roughly in the middle of the pack. Ace learned a new trick, tossing his head. This was unpleasant. I tried all manner of methods to discourage this. I growled. I tried an arret (not too effective with a running martingale and hackamore). I boxed him once with my legs, but that ended with a near bolt, complete with more head tosses. I tried giving him more rein. I tried flexing left, then flexing right. I actually tried my husband’s method of slapping him on the side of the neck and saying “NO!” Then I just sat up and decided to try to survive it.

It was, however, punishing. As we trotted along, mostly passing horses, Ace tossing his head, swinging it left then right, I was getting tossed about like a pudgy equestrian ragdoll. Ace is a narrow horse, much narrower than Ned, and in general, he drives more like an SUV without shocks than Ned, who feels like a Cadillac by comparison. I was mumbling to myself that I was going to pay later for these shenanigans.

Ace and I had done much of this trail the prior year, so we recognized when we were coming into the vet check at 15 miles. Syl had landed a great parking spot, and we walked right in, let Ace have a drink from the tank, then headed right to the vets since his pulse was down. All As, CRI of 60/52, and a quick 30 minute hold. Ace ate just fine, if you think its “fine” that he’d take a mouthful, walk a circle, toss his head, sling slushie everywhere, then repeat. Ad infinitum. I gave him a half dose of electrolytes since he’d eaten a fairly good dose in the slushie he had NOT flung onto our shirts.

Did the first 15 miles in just over an hour so promised Syl I’d “try to slow down” on the next 12.5 section of trail.

We did, mostly, walking a long, gnarly section of trail, doing most of this loop on our own. Ace got slightly miffed when they modified the course from last year, leaving us to ride through a farm where we’d had a vet check here. Could almost hear Ace saying “hey, wait a minute, we stop and eat here – where’s the chow?”

We had a scary moment too, on this section of trail, where Ace took a 90 degree trail turn on a muddy section, slicker than it looked, almost going down. He managed to catch himself, and I asked him to walk a few strides, asking if he was okay, patting him, and wondering aloud if that near fall would catch up with us later.

For the time, however, he felt grand, and while we slowed down some, I was still way ahead of schedule when I reached the next vet check. Ace was a bit better behaved but I remarked aloud to several people how happy I was going to be when he actually got tired. All As again, 60/52 CRI, and another dose of lytes.

It was starting to get hot and humid, and here’s where I think I made my first mistake. Since we were seeing Syl roughly every hour and a half, I was not electrolyting on trail. This partly because Ace’s metabolic scores were looking good, but also partially because electrolyting Ace with a syringe is a bit of a battle. Ned can be given ‘lytes by pulling on the right rein, bringing his head around, and simply squirting the lytes in the corner of his mouth; impossible with Ace, who will throw himself (and you) to the ground if you attempt such a thing. (Ask me how I know.) So it must be done from the ground and is only marginally more pleasant.

The third leg of the trail, which took us back to the base camp, was great fun, with one section of knee-knocker trail that would have left Ned in knots, literally. Ace trotted and in some cases, cantered, sections of it, neatly avoiding smashing my knee caps. Barely. We rode with some of our Canadian friends here, and Ace knew he was heading back to camp and was just as goey now as he’d been at the start.
Did that 12.5 miles in under an hour, leading me to believe it had to be a wee bit short, walked in, pulsed down, then vetted through. Art, the vet, was really impressed by Ace, said we were passing horses at every check by riding smart and pulsing down so quickly. Forty miles done and things were looking good.

More feed, more electrolytes and out for a 17.5 mile loop which was largely repeat trail from the previous loop. This was the first time I felt Ace get even vaguely demoralized; I am pretty sure he was convinced that we were going to repeat the entire 40 mile loop, but when we took the short cut to return us back to camp, and were joined up by some other horses, he was all racy business again, pulling me down the trail. We stopped for water a couple of times where Ace drank well, but no electrolytes on trail.

We were changing leads, switching diagonals, going from two point to posting to half seat. I was feeling a little tired, I think the heat was getting to me, but did the loop in under 2 hours (I was WAY ahead of my projected schedule for Sylvia). Got a little queasy when I dismounted, asked Syl to vet Ace while I hit the potty (hard to stop and pee when you’re going that fast) and met her at the vet area post-potty.

Watched Ace trot away and was “OH NO!” immediately. He was tight in the RH. Art assured us we could work on the cramp and have him rechecked at the end of the hold to see if he was better, but I told him no way was 40 miles going to be therapeutic for a tight hind end.
We took him back to our crew spot, let him eat, and damn if I didn’t discover a knot WAY high up on his right hindquarter, directly to the right of his anus. BIG knot. Took him up to show Art, pulled officially, and Art remarked that he’d never seen a knot so high up. We talked electrolytes, agreed that that was probably where I went wrong (although the near fall probably didn’t help and may have been the start of the problem), and talked about getting him rehydrated and full of feed then bute him.

At this point, the heat was getting to ME, so we wandered back to the trailer, where Syl, an angel, fussed over Ace, fed him, lyted him, rubbed him with Sore No More, and gave him some probiotics (I was less than impressed by his gut sounds when I rechecked them back at camp) while I mostly sat and drank warm Gatorade, trying to get the energy to change and shower.

I felt horrible for the next couple of hours, so there was probably some divine intervention in the timing of Ace’s cramp. I’m figuring that adrenaline might have kept me going, but who knows. We’ve certainly had little heat, so I was unprepared for such a hot, muggy ride, particularly when Ace was making me work so hard.

We putzed around all evening, eating our favorite ride camp food, cold pork lo mein and Lay’s potato chips (all the food groups covered), and fussing over Ace, who remained chipper but definitely tight in that right hind. Buted him and Surpassed him when we were certain that he was metabolically fine.

The next morning he was somewhat improved, but I think he backslid a bit when he piaffed for an hour or so, certain that he was going to be tacked up again and taken back out. <rolling eyes>

Saw Tom Paleczny, with whom I rode quite a few miles, especially on that last loop (he finished at 9 p.m. or so nursing some badly broken ribs from a fall a couple of weeks prior – what a tough nut!). I was anxious to ask him if he’d seen Ace looking “hitchy” behind because he rode right behind me a lot during the last several miles we rode. Nope, he said, Ace looked great right into the hold, which at least comforted me that he hadn’t been able to see something I didn’t feel. At all. (I usually can feel, pretty well, even a slightly NQR horse, but I was concerned maybe I’d lost my feel, since I was feeling a little unwell myself.)

Syl and I pulled out our written “hitching directions” and were following them to the letter, when we discovered that even when fully raised, our trailer hitch was not clearing the flatbed of the truck. Fark. Between emptying the water tanks, and the foot of the trailer settling a bit on the wet ground, it was just enough to prevent us from clearing.

Syl, a genius to be sure, grabbed three of the women camping near us, convinced them to sit/lie on the flatbed and voila, just enough weight to allow the hitch to clear and we lined up, backed in, and got the hitch hitched on our first try.

Women power! (Can you hear us roar?!)

I only wish I’d gotten photos of the ladies ducked down under the gooseneck as Sylvia backed the truck in, with me, with my total lack of depth perception, running from the side of the truck to the back of the truck, to make sure we were lined up in both dimension.

Loaded Ace, still not happy about hauling such an owie horse but not having much of a choice, and headed back to the US of A, with not so much as a near miss or a border dispute on the way home.

So one mission accomplished. I didn’t hit a darned thing with the truck.

And 58.5 miles completed with Ace, and a bunch of lessons learned.

This morning, Saturday, I trotted Ace out and he is entirely sound, thank heavens. So I am going with the electrolyte (or lack thereof) theory combined with a delayed reaction to some particular owie from the near fall.

Onward and upward.

Published in Endurance News, March 2007

Most distance riders spend a significant chunk of time and energy thinking about our conditioning schedule.  In fact, some of us chart it, map it, and scrutinize it.  Speed, distance, terrain, heart rates, reverse splits – many of us have a strategy that would make Lance Armstrong proud.

But how often do we think about rest as part of the conditioning and competition schedule for our horses?

There are five major systems that we can affect through our physical conditioning and rest program:

• Cardiovascular
• Muscular
• Supporting structures (tendons, ligaments, bone)
• Temperature regulating system
• Central nervous system

Part of the science and art of bringing our horses to peak fitness is in stressing each of these systems and then resting them to improve their overall function.

 ”Exercise does not make any tissue stronger.  It makes them weaker.  Only in the period after the stress does the flesh recover to greater than it’s original strength.”  (John Crandell III, Winner of Old Dominion 100, Western States “Tevis” 100, and AERC National Championship 100, on Heraldic, 2006; Farrier)

Even those of us who never heard of Timothy Leary have heard the term “LSD”  – long, slow distance – the miles we put on young or green horses as they start their distance career.  Also known as “legging up”, it is the steady easy miles –and the rest in the days between those miles– we put on to ensure the above systems are prepared for greater distances, and eventually, greater speeds.

Cardiovascular System

 The cardiovascular system responds relatively quickly to physical conditioning.  Within a period of weeks, most horses have achieved a significant degree of cardiovascular fitness. 

Muscular System

As some have learned the hard way by using only cardiovascular fitness as a measure, it takes the muscular and supporting structures significantly longer to respond to physical conditioning.

Typically, with muscular conditioning, the tissue adapts to the type of work it is doing within months rather than weeks, but this is a function of not only stressing the muscles, but resting them as well.  Building muscle involves micro-tears in the tissue, and it is in the period of rest following the stress that the muscle actually repairs and strengthens, leaving it better adapted for the work.  This is called hypertrophy.

Most body-builders establish a workout schedule which involves alternating days for weight-training various body parts.  Monday, Wednesday and Friday might involve working the legs and back while Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday would be dedicated to stressing the arms and chest.  On each “off” day the muscles worked the day prior are resting and recovering and actually building up.

So how does this equate to conditioning horses?

First, it means allowing muscles to rest and rebuild following a significant effort. 

Second, it means strategizing workouts so that they vary the muscles that are worked.  Varying the footing (deep sand or firm footing or mud or snow), varying the terrain (uphill, downhill, twisting trails, long flat straight-aways), modifying the gait (trot vs. canter) or the variations within the gait (left lead vs. right lead, easy working trot vs. the Amish road buggy trot) are all ways that we can vary our workout routines to utilize and build all the muscle groups our horse may be called upon to use during a competition.  And not all on the same day!

And last but not least is the concept of working to the limit, but never over.  This means stressing the horse’s muscles adequately that we are causing micro-tears, but that we are not causing damage (i.e. muscle strain) that will not be repaired within a day or two of rest.

 Supporting Structures 

Even trickier than conditioning and resting muscles is balancing conditioning, or hardening, of the support structures – the bones, ligaments and tendons.  There has been less research into the amount of time it takes for these tissues to grow strong, although often horsepeople talk about building these structures in terms of years, not weeks or months.  Most conscientious riders give serious credence to the consequences of “blowing a suspensory” as they increase a horse’s workload significantly or go from working on relatively firm surfaces to working in deeper sand or mud.

“The metabolic clock runs more slowly here … Some of these dense tissues can in time be developed to sustain a surprisingly long series of exercises felt as one, but all things must rest eventually.  A rest period of less than many days may not be significant for some very dense tissues.”  (John Crandell III)

Certainly varying terrain and footing in our conditioning plan, and never asking the horse to compete at speed on footing or in terrain that it has not been conditioned to perform in are keys to developing these structures without injuring them. 

Thermoregulatory System

With regard to heat, it’s simply a matter of getting out there and conditioning in the heat and humidity that we’ll be competing in.  Just “existing” in the hot/humid conditions is not enough; acclimatization typically takes a minimum of two weeks of regular conditioning in the more extreme weather conditions.

Central Nervous System and Training

Horses adapt to the neuromuscular conditions required as they practice and become adept at the sport in which they’ll be competing.  For distance horses, it is about learning to coordinate their on-trail efforts – avoiding a rock in the path, negotiating a narrow, twisty section of trail, learning to navigate a steep downhill section.  It is fatigued horses who are most likely to injure themselves when called upon to rise to these challenges, so practicing them is an important part of our plan.

“My experience is that horses are often under-conditioned for the conditions of the day and/or the speed that the rider is riding.  Riders need to slow down if they are riding in conditions that the horse has not been trained for – hard footing, heat/humidity, deep sand, deep mud, steep hills, sharp rocks – these all take their toll if the horse has not been conditioned for them.”  (Art King, DVM, Long-time AERC/FEI Veterinarian)

Additionally, for all horses there is a learning curve in this sport.  For some horses, there are mental and emotional challenges simply in traveling, camping and being vetted.  For other horses, learning to travel at a consistent pace in the company of sometimes supercharged equine company is part of their education process in this sport.  It’s not unusual to see a horse adequately conditioned for endurance, but not adequately trained.  Once they become veterans, these don’t cause the same levels of stress for the horse (or rider).

For heavily competed horses, there is also some need for a break.  It is a joy to watch horses go down the trail who clearly love what they do, ears pricked, tail swinging, eyes bright.  Sometimes a mental break is required for the horse to continue to enjoy what we all know is a highly demanding sport.

“I also believe that mentally the horse needs down time.  After my last ride, usually the end of October, I turn out my horse for 2-3 months and just let him be a horse.  If I ride it’s an occasional trail ride or quadrille practice.  I want his mind and body to rebuild and chill.”  (Cheryl Fenton, 4000+ AERC miles, including 3000+ miles with Sanegors Secret)

All these systems, all these potential pitfalls!  What is a distance rider to do?

Progressive Loading

 Another important concept in conditioning is progressive loading.  Most of us use this without giving it much thought – it is simply a gradual increase in the workload, utilizing rest to allow the horse to adapt to the increasing workload.

 You may have heard distance riders say “Increase speed or distance but not both.”

 This is part of progressive loading.  On a weekly basis, the distance or duration of the workout is increased without increasing the speed OR the speed of the workout is increased without increasing the duration or distance.

 “A repeated stress too early interferes with the completion of the constructive cycle.  At best, this makes the training less efficient by not quite allowing full response from each exercise.  At worst, it starts a new response before the previous cycle has recovered to better than original strength.  This creates a destructive accumulation of stress that eventually causes a failure.”  (John Crandell III)

Wasn’t This About Rest?

 Rest is a part of all of this, either in a micro- or macro-sense.

Right from the start, rest is part of long slow distance, alternating the trail work on varying terrains at an easy pace with rest days in between.  With young horses, this is not only part of a physical need, but part of a mental need as well.  Making a young horse sore by day after day drilling is one sure way to create a partner who is not only physically uncomfortable, but mentally dull or cranky.

Even within a workout, rest is something we need to pay attention to.  It is critical to know that all horses are individuals, and some are more motivated than others to move down the trail.  It is up to us, the pilot, the trainer, the rider, the brain behind this endurance operation, to ask ourselves if the horse needs a break.  Some competitive horses will never “ask” for a break, while the more laid back horse might seem to be asking for a break more often than he needs one physically, and might require a bit more “pushing” from its rider.  As with many things equine, much of it is about knowing your own horse.

Riders have different theories about rest between competitions, and again, what works well for one horse may not be appropriate for another.  Some use the rule of thumb “one day off for every ten miles of competition.”  Others set the rest period at two weeks for a fifty, and anywhere between two and six weeks after a 100 mile ride. 

“Six weeks minimum between 100s.  Two weeks rest after each ride.  If you must ride within the two weeks, then lightly, slow and not far.”  (Patti Pizzo, former U.S. Team Member, 6000+ AERC miles, current AERC BOD member and self described “old timer”)

Others simply back off to a couple of easier, shorter rides a couple of days per week when their horse is competing.

 Others rely less on the calendar, and more on their observations.

 “A rough gauge I use to determine when my horse is ready to go back to work after a hard workout is by watching him in the pasture.  When he starts running around on his own, he’s ready to go back to work.”  (Melissa Ribley, DVM, Chair of AERC Veterinary Committee, 16,000+ AERC miles)

Some riders, with a seasoned horse, do some legging up after any significant breaks of a month or more, then simply rely on the competitions to keep their horse fit.

Too much physical conditioning without appropriate breaks leads to a phenomena called “overtraining.” 

Potential Signs Of Overtraining:

• Slower heart rate recoveries or CRI
• Poor appetite
• Dull or sour attitude
• Losing body condition (i.e. thin)
• Metabolic difficulties (tying up, thumps, colic, etc.)
• New filling or heat in legs
• Failure of the horse to take care of itself (i.e. eat, drink)
• Unexplained soreness, minor lamenesses

 

Forced Rest

Sometimes, things go wrong.  From time to time, horses suffer injuries for any number of reasons.  Often, part of the solution is a period of rest, followed by a careful re-introduction to conditioning and competition.

 Sometimes it’s the weather.  In certain parts of the country, it’s not only inconvenient to ride during the winter, it’s downright dangerous.

Typically, horses taken out of conditioning for a month or less lose little in terms of condition.  However, if the horse has been out of work for several months, slow and steady progressive loading, with a careful eye to the horse’s recoveries and attitude, will need to be part of the horse’s rehab program to rebuild cardiovascular fitness and muscular strength lost during the rest period.  The first to come, these are also the first to be lost when a horse is laid up.

“Here in the Northeast, we basically have a season where it is not easy to ride (snow, ice, bad footing) and I always find that my girls feel so good after a couple months or so of this forced rest.  I am always amazed how quickly they come back to fitness after a long rest, and how all the little problems they may have been experiencing during a period of many rides just go away with the good ol’ ‘tincture of time.’”  (Laura Hayes, Chair AERC Horse Welfare Committee, approaching 7000 AERC miles)

 Rest Before, During and After Travel

 Due to the nature of our sport, some of our horses spend a good deal of time in the trailer, traveling to and from competitions.

 “Traveling is hard on horses.  Think of that travel time as exercise.  Ride in the back of the trailer if you are not convinced.  There is a trend in recent years that I think is detrimental to the horse, and that is hauling your horse a long way home after the ride is over.  I believe that horses should rest overnight before hauling them home.  If the trip is over eight hours from home, we add a day to get to the ride so that they can rest, eat and drink for a day before the ride.”  (Debbie Zanot, who with her husband, Gene, has accumulated 10,000+ AERC miles over the past two decades)

 In Summary

 Most riders I interviewed for this article agreed that if they are going to make an error in their horse’s work/rest schedule, they prefer to err on the side of caution.

 “Rest is such an important part of the development program that all trainers inevitably create rest periods in their conditioning program.  Good trainers plan rest into the schedule, lesser trainers get it forced upon them.”  (John Crandell III)

The AERC ride season begins in December so I guess it is actually 2007 in my sport, so here goes …

I am making lists and lists of things to take and pack and learn before my maiden solo voyage with the LQ horse trailer. (Please God, do not let me hit anything with the trailer or suffer any mechanical breakdowns.)

A couple/few days after Christmas, I am loading up can’t-believe-we’re-this-fit-in-December Ned, and heading down to PA pick up my friend Mary, and her legendary veteran Morgan, Hawk.

Then, with an overnight in NC near the SC border (and just a few miles from I-95), we’ll be heading to Dunnellon, FL (not too far from Ocala) for a three day endurance ride called Gator Run.

First day is 55 miles, largely on hard-packed roads (Ned’s kind of trail). Second two days are 50 miles each, but in the sand, which we have little opportunity to condition for.

I’m taking two different saddles, a bunch of pads and shims, and we’ll be doing as much or as little makes sense based on how we’re feeling.

Many friends going to be there, including several folks who either winter in FL, or have moved down to the SE in recent years, so there will be plenty of  catching up with old chums.

I am guilt-ridden about leaving husband alone at the farm, but am trying to arrange someone to walk/exercise the dogs and groom horses/clean stalls a few times while I’m gone. (And I’m taking one dog with me.) Hubby said “absolutely not” to this plan but he’ll just have to try to figure out why the horses are so clean and the dogs so content while I’m gone.

While I hate to plan more than one ride in advance, I’m hoping this multi-day ride will set up a sand conditioning base for a 100-mile ride at the same location on the first weekend of March (when I’m planning to head back south with hubby and his horse). So much depends on the weather and footing up here between the two rides and whether I board Ned and dressage him or try to sneak in conditioning rides as the weather allows.

Ace is still the back-up horse, and he’s on standby to do a bunch of medium-slow 50s between Ned’s 100s this year.

Since my season got cut short in 2006, I am positively jonesing to get back out there!