Riding Outside the Circle
AS MUCH AS I wish I could, I can’t seem to shake my stubborn streak of cowboy pride. Sometimes it manifests itself in a positive way—doing a job right or not backing down in the face of a challenge.
But sometimes it gets in my way. While I’m fairly confident of my abilities in the pasture, my show-ring potential has a pretty low ceiling. Yet, like anyone, I truly enjoy an exceptional horse. Despite my limited competitive experience—and for some reason I haven’t completely figured out—the ranch horse versatility contests hold a bit of appeal for me.
I’ve been to a handful of clinics, watched online instructional videos, and picked the brains of horsemen whose talents I respect. While helpful, none of these situations could give me what I really needed: One-on-one attention to diagnose and remedy the things that were holding me back.
My wife had taken some lessons from a nearby trainer, and her horsemanship climbed to new heights. She did her best to help me use the tips and tricks he taught her, but it didn’t have the same effect.
So, swallowing my pride, I assented to go with her for back-to-back, oneon-one lessons. The trainer had judged some of the past horse shows I’d entered and had scrutinized my runs several times. He knew exactly where
I needed help. At the beginning of my lesson, as a courtesy, he asked what I’d like to work on. I told him, he nodded his head, and began instructing me on something altogether different. But he started me right where I needed help.
The Struggle
Whatever skills I have as a rider developed out of sheer volume—countless hours in the saddle for my entire life. I learned what I know now at such a young age that I truly don’t understand what I’m doing when I’m doing it. I can’t articulate the whys and hows of much of what I do handling cattle in the pasture or working a cutting horse. All I know is that it feels like I should be doing it a certain way.
When it comes to the reining maneuvers I’m struggling to comprehend, I’m a blank slate. As such, it’s a bit easier for me to put my pride aside and soak it in. It’s also a struggle because I’m not at all accustomed to feeling the cues and movements my horse is making (or not making) for these new maneuvers I’m learning. I’ll admit that I’m easily discouraged.
Here’s where I ought to pause and mention that the trainer we’re taking lessons from has a strong background as a ranch cowboy. He’s made a suc- cessful transition to the show pen, so he’s already been over the hurdles I’m facing. He’ll say, “My dad would kill me if he saw me spurring and pulling on a horse at the same time.” Mine would, too. So the connection he’s able to make with me on that level helps me move past my own preconceived biases.
The Breakthrough
But back to the lesson. At the end of the session, for the first time, I felt
The basic takeaway I had was how pushing myself out of my comfort zone remains so important. I may never be great, but I’ll definitely never be better if I don’t search for ways to expand my boundaries.
properly equipped to ask my horse for maneuvers I’d only muddled through before. I learned practice exercises I could work on, and I understood the process of bringing a horse from point A to point B more clearly than ever.
It wasn’t without frustration, though. I struggle to remember or implement some of the tricks he taught me. And while my horse is great for most of what I need him for, I’ve come to the realization that he lacks that intangible, special quality that the topflight show horses have.
On the drive home, as that variety of feelings mingled in my head, the basic takeaway I had was how pushing myself out of my comfort zone remains so important. I may never be great, but I’ll definitely never be better if I don’t search for ways to expand my boundaries.
Two days later, I rode the same horse to gather cattle. It was a cold morning in a new place, and he was feeling fresh.
I took a moment to collect my thoughts and make a plan. As we loped across the ridge, I tried to remember everything I learned, then do it. I asked for a flying lead change and, boom, got the smoothest one I ever have.
It’s a feeling I was only able to enjoy after humbling myself. The hesitations and frustrations I had leading up to and during the lesson seemed miniscule in comparison to getting the maneuver right. So while I learned a lot about horsemanship, I learned more about what a hindrance pride can be. Both were worth the lesson fee.