Learning to ride can be a humiliating experience if you come to it cold at age 40. Having never done anything remotely athletic in my life, is seemed doubly so. Born before Title IX went into effect, the only athletic endeavors available at school were girl's basketball. Never was there a more boring and taxing sport. I studiously avoided basketball altogether getting my physician to sign a note saying I had developed Osgood-Schlatter Disease and could not strain my knees.
Throughout my life, I have learned and mastered most things by force of will and persistence. Faced with learning to ride a horse and to achieve the refinement that dressage demands has served as an challenge to me -- the firmly potato'd individual. I am excellent at reading books. I can write and surf the Internet for hours. I can sit on my butt and make it a fine art. But ask me to move; coordinate all four limbs and guide a horse in movement as well, is a foreign country. I have no map for it. It has to be done by braille (touch and feel).
On this journey into the great unknown, I have had several horses. Most have been willing to go forward lightly with almost no need for spur or whip. They were both Arabians; both intelligent; neither were well suited for dressage. When I finally bought a horse that cost just a bit too much, but came with all the movement I could handle, I was in for a surprise. Seems I hadn't spent enough for the hind end motor. It would cost another $15,000 for that, and at that point, I was tapped out.
How much of horse behavior is taught and how much is genetic? Teddy had never been asked to 
carry his own weight with a rider and when we did, it created an uncomfortable situation. He came apart. He blustered about. He kicked out. He slowed. He reared and bucked. I wondered if this relationship would be one of never ending turmoil. I wondered if I should sell.
When I got Ted, my trainer said he would teach me how to ride. She said I would learn timing and tact. I would learn how to get him forward without a struggle; that one day I would simply have him in front of my leg and on the aids. I believed.
For two years, Teddy has been schooled twice a week by my trainer and her assistants who have better timing and feel than I have. They have asked him to move forward and have spanked his bottom if he hasn't responded. Forward and light has been his mantra.
Forward and light has been mine as well.
Six days a week Ted is ridden. Three of those days, he and I practice. A fourth day he and I jump. My best times with him are on Friday nights when no one is in the arena and there are no distractions. Slowly I have learned to let go with my knees, to stretch my legs down, to hold myself in the saddle with my tummy muscles, to balance and to sit the trot. Almost two years into this partnership, things have changed.
Our scores for our most recent show are improved. One score rising a full 5 percentage points. There are major differences in our warm-up. In this last show, Ted was forward, willing and over his back. I was more relaxed. Ted felt like he was going to follow my lead, rather than determine where he wanted to go.He seemed to want to please me.
The test itself was quiet. My hands were still and together. There was no kicking. I didn't use the whip. There were no exasperated grunts of frustration. Ted didn't respond to the scary trees in the corner. He was in front of my leg for a full five minutes while we rhumb'd through the test.
He was pleased with himself afterwards and took his time working his way out of the arena. He seemed to be saying, "See, you see, surprised you didn't I?"
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