Okay, so maybe that’s still a work in progress.
My lesson on Tuesday went quite well overall. I started my course with a decent forward pace and none of the jumps (2’3″ – 2’6″) looked intimidating to me at all. We cantered up to a vertical and I didn’t see a spot, so naturally I pulled for the add and my horse was like “Trot?” and it was kinda fugly.
Well, that wasn’t amazing but we recovered fine and no harm no foul. Lesson to self, thou shall not pull down to a crawling pace.
So things are going okay. Simon has been ridden really consistently lately, and is happy and forward but not exactly fresh. This means that I still have my forward moving Thoroughbred, but he needs some leg in the beginning of the course to get going and some leg over the first few jumps to encourage him to jump over them well. No big deal.
I’m feeling good, and I ask my trainer to raise the jumps.
So she goes rogue and raises them two holes. TWO HOLES!
Naturally, I lose all feeling in my feet and whine/complain/plead that they are quite high. I asked her if she realized that I hadn’t jumped 2’9″ since 2014.
She did realize that, and she said I was ready and in a oh so polite and trainerly way to get my butt going and jump the 2’9″ oxer.
It was the second jump of the course, and although I had a good pace coming up to it from a slight angle I saw nothing. Nothing!
So I leaned to no distance what so ever and my horse was all, “Da fuq?” and jumped it in slow motion.
Seriously, it was so slow I had tons of time to stare at his neck/the jump/the ground and drop the f bomb no less than 8 times. I had enough time to listen to my trainer repeat “You’re okay!” through this terrifying slow motion jump that was undoubtedly going to murder us.
I had enough time to feel Simon sigh as he hurled us over that thing.
Needless to say, on the other side I gave him 1,000 pats and got through the rest of the course okay.
We couldn’t end on that note, so we repeated the same course once I recovered from my near death experience. This time I was still terrified of the oxer, but I knew that if I let my horse crawl to it he would start backing off of oxers again… and I couldn’t let that happen.
I still didn’t see a distance, but this time I applied leg, sat up, grabbed the martingale and both me and my trainer kissed to him. He went right over and again got 1,000 pats while we continued on to the rest of our course.
So I have jumped 2’9″ again without dying. If you need me I’ll be stuffing my saintly, tolerant creature full of cookies.