English Gives Me Wings

Before I talk about the incredible English horse, please allow me to get a little cheesy. Okay, very cheesy; just bear with me. Think back to the part of the movie Titanic where Jack and Rose are at the front of ship and he tells her to close her eyes, step up, and grab onto the rail. Once he tells her to open her eyes to the Atlantic blue, cool breeze in her face, she gasps with delight and says the famous line "I'm flying, Jack!" Well, this feeling that Rose has, my friends, is how I feel when I'm riding an English horse. It's thrilling, surprising, and challenging--all at the same time. 

An English horse keeps me honest. He keeps me on my toes; I could never get careless or arrogant riding him. He knows that he is the show, and he's bound to prove himself every time he's in the show ring. Although getting in the ring is never easy. There is usually some form of the graceful sideways jump and upward leap (I'm just glad that the downward fall hasn't become a common occurrence for me). But we get back on track, and full speed ahead, we trot big and powerful into the entry. Then he sees the walls begin to close around him, inching closer to the big arena ahead. I feel his front end stall in fear, I see his ears lock forward, and I can almost hear him gasp in frightened excitement. From here, it's all on me. Our chances rest on my coolness, my ability to ease his nerves and get the best out of him.

Every gait is a challenge, yet so worth it in the thrill of the moment. In the trot, I see his powerful knees pop up when glancing over his strong shoulder, while I try to find the perfect tempo. It's that cadenced trot where he's about to run off his feet, but you're there to keep him together. There's nothing like catching your horse just before he breaks--that feeling you get when you know you've just prevented a major disaster from happening. Then, the walk. Oh, come on, right? Here I am, trying with all my might to relax him enough to get that four beat walk in, and I can practically hear the gears of his mind reeling and spinning in excitement. Whew, finally the canter. I hold on tight while he lunges forward into the canter, pulls hard on my grip of the reins, and pushes to build speed as we boom around the arena. I attempt to stay centered when he spooks and leaps toward the center of arena, my heart rate taking a leap of its own. But the joy ride is almost through--the final trot is here. I press my leg on his side, and as if he was poked with a branding iron, he's off like a rocket. As the crowd's volume increases, I see his neck slowly setting back farther and farther, his ears locking into a permanent forward position, and his trot getting stronger by the stride. But I'm not taken aback. This is what English is about. A big trot, big risks, and big gratification. Upon entering the lineup, I warmly pet his sweaty neck while he dances around, slowly winding down from the excitement. And when my number is called for champion, there is no better feeling. It's beyond flying. It's the ultimate payoff for my hard work and my horse's unsurpassed talent. And even though he's so terrified of the rose garland that it seems like a death sentence, all is well because he's an English horse. The thrill of flight cannot be achieved through ease and simplicity, he gives me wings through the challenge he presents me every time I ride him.

http://ahtimes.com/