MASSA MAGIC, by Francesca Prescott

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to go on holiday with my horse. Of course, when I was a child, there was a slight flaw to the concept: I didn’t have a horse. Much later, when I finally got a horse, years went by but the opportunity never arose. And then one night, earlier this year, Marie-Valentine Gygax, my long-time trainer and friend, met part of the Massa team at an international dressage competition in Saumur, France. And between you and me, from what I’ve heard about that evening, a great time was had by all those present…

My Lusitano, Qrac de la Font, is a Massa. Qrac comes from the Massa stud in the south of France, but I didn’t buy him from there as he’d been sold to his previous owner as a three or four year-old. In all honesty, when I first saw Qrac neither Marie-Valentine nor I had any idea of how prestigious his Massa bloodlines were; we knew next to nothing about PREs or Lusitanos. She’d never sourced anything but German or Dutch warmbloods for clients before, and I was totally clueless.

When I bought Qrac, all I knew about the Massa stud (Elevage Massa) was that one of their Lusitanos, Galopin de la Font, had qualified for the Beijing Olympics, which struck me as pretty impressive for a French breeder of Portuguese horses. But I wasn’t going into buying a new horse with the idea of doing much competing; until very recently it’s never been my thing. I bought Qrac because I fell for him at first sight, despite the fact that he didn’t tick all the boxes in what I was looking for in a horse. Ideally, I wanted a horse with fa

r more established work, and Qrac was a very green seven-year old. Our first weeks together were rather tumultuous, and there were definitely moments when I thought I might have bought myself a little too much horse!

Qrac enjoying the view of one of the arenas at Château Font du Broc

Fast-forward two and a half years, and love, dedication and hard work have produced a wonderful partnership. Call me soppy, but I get a rush of sheer joy every time I arrive at the stables and see his handsome arched neck and beautiful head. Qrac has a gentle, affectionate personality  and a great work ethic. Also, from the feedback I regularly receive whenever we venture out in public, I’ve come to realize that he’s also recognisably “Massa”. For example, a few weeks ago, just as he and I were coming out of the arena after completing our best program ever at a show (we got our first plate! Yay!), a young woman approached me and asked if my horse was a Massa. This had happened to me before so I wasn’t totally surprised, but for the first time ever it occurred to me that people were seeing Massa horses in the same light as a high-end brand, if only on a sub-conscious level.

Another thing I’ve noticed since I bought “a Massa horse” is how much criticism surrounds this breeder, especially from owners of non-Massa Lusitanos. You wouldn’t believe the nasty stories I heard whispered behind my back about my horse when I first moved to my current stables a year and a half ago. As for the gossip and bitchiness surrounding how Sylvain Massa developed his stud farm at Château Font du Broc in Les Arcs-sur-Argens in the south of France, it’s all so preposterous that it always struck me as sour grapes. However, I must admit that the bitchiness got to a point where it bothered me; criticize Sylvain Massa and you’re indirectly criticizing my horse. Why are people always so jealous of success? According to some of the mudslingers I’ve met, Elevage Massa’s nomination as France’s number one breeder of dressage horses in 2012 was nothing but a giant scam. As for the atmosphere at Château Font du Broc, according to these naysayers it was horrendously snooty and unpleasant.

The more backstabbing I heard, the more I wanted to see for myself, so when Marie-Valentine returned from Saumur and recounted her fortuitous nocturnal meeting with a mile-wide smile I was even more eager to go. My girlfriend Joëlle and I had had plans to go and do a dressage clinic with another trainer in the north of France in July, but Joëlle’s PRE’s long-term injury wasn’t getting better, so we’d cancelled because I didn’t want to drive up there all alone. Now, Joëlle’s horse seemed a little better and the idea of going to the south of France, riding in the mornings and spending the afternoons lying by a pool held a definite appeal, especially after our never-ending winter. So I emailed Anne-Sophie at Château Font du Broc and asked if there was any possibility of ten days dressage training and accommodation for two horses in July. I was delighted when she answered they’d be happy to have us.

Unfortunately, Joëlle’s horse’s injury worsened again, so when we set off earlier this month Qrac was alone in the trailer, but Joëlle had made arrangements with Font du Broc to ride some of their schoolmasters in order to improve her skills. She had also tentatively told them that she was thinking about buying another horse, as her current PRE’s prospects of returning to work seemed increasingly compromised. However, Joëlle insisted, this was early stages and she would only seriously start looking for a new horse as of September. No way would come back to Switzerland with another horse.

Famous last words!

The drive down to Font du Broc seemed endless; we loaded Qrac at five in the morning and finally made it to our destination approximately nine hours later. Both of us were exhausted; excitement had kept us up most of the night, but Qrac behaved angelically throughout the trip, never bothering about the massive trucks lumbering up behind him. Qrac also settled right into his massive, super luxurious stable, knee deep in straw, and didn’t fuss or freak out when Francisco, one of the Massa trainers, kindly offered to take him to stretch his legs for fifteen minutes or so after his long trip. I’d have walked Qrac myself but once Joëlle and I had unloaded all my horsey equipment (yes, I practically took the kitchen sink) we had to rush off to find the guest house we’d be staying at as the hosts had to go out for dinner.

With riding lessons scheduled for eight o’clock the next morning, virtually no sleep the previous night, and nine hours of trailering down busy French motorways, Joëlle and I could barely rustle up enough energy to go out for dinner. But we were starving, so we zombied out towards the closest village and staggered through the door of the first restaurant we came across. We got lucky; the food was delicious, although the service was slower than we’d have liked considering the circumstances. We then zombied back to the guest house and fell into bed before dark, excited yet also slightly nervous about how our riding lessons might go. We’d been so exhausted upon arriving at Font du Broc that the jaw-dropping beauty of the place hadn’t quite registered. Trust me, it definitely registered the following morning.

As equestrian facilities go, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Nor have I ever seen so many serene-eyed, beautifully kept, stunning horses. A team of grooms fussed over them as they prepared them for their designated riders, kissing their noses, chatting to them and among each other happily. The atmosphere was relaxed, professional and friendly. My assigned trainer, Renaud Ramadier, (who had already made a great impression on me the previous afternoon when he kindly offered to park my trailer for me. I hate parking my trailer; reversing stresses me out!), greeted me with a lovely smile and a series of French customary kisses, complimenting me on Qrac’s condition which he said had improved immensely since the last time he’d seen him, approximately four years ago, when Qrac had been sent back to Font du Broc for a few weeks training. Joëlle’s trainer, Francisco, had prepared Nativo, a Grand-Prix schoolmaster for her, and from Nativo’s condition it was hard to believe he was twenty-years old. Over the next ten days, Joëlle spent many hours in heaven as this wonderful horse gave her a taste of what it is to ride dressage’s most difficult movements.

I loved my first lesson with Renaud, which took place in Font du Broc’s indoor arena, an incredible stone building with stained glass windows, chandeliers, and huge mirrors draped with heavy golden-yellow curtains. The arena is apparently an exact replica of the indoor arena of the famous Cadre Noir school in Saumur, and both Joëlle and I felt as though we were riding in a church. Renaud told me to warm up Qrac as I usually do, watching carefully from the gallery before stepping down into the arena and getting the party started. Initially, his main comment was that Qrac tends to either escape through his outside shoulder, or fall onto his inside shoulder, especially tracking right, and I wasn’t about to contradict him since I’ve been working on this recurring problem since day one. Also, Renaud noted, although the overall outline looks good, we tend to cheat a little, and Qrac needs to learn to carry himself “like the big boy he is”.

With this in mind, over the next ten days Renaud helped Qrac and I work on improving our balance, stay in a more regular rhythm, and establish more self-carriage in order to progress to more complex exercises. We rode miles and miles of shoulder-in in all three paces on the second track, worked on travers and then moved on to half-passes, improving to the point that by the end of our stay we were doing pretty good zig-zag half-passes! As early as four days into our stay, Qrac felt like a different horse; he seemed to grow ten centimetres beneath me, developing a power I’d never felt before. In fact, when I posted photos on Facebook, friends from my stables in Switzerland later told me they hadn’t dared comment as they weren’t sure the horse I was riding was actually Qrac! Can a horse change so dramatically in such a short time? Or were the photographs just really well timed?!

Renaud also helped Qrac and I establish the basics of piaffe, which I found very exciting. Qrac amazed me by not becoming the slightest bit flustered by this new exercise and immediately understood what he was meant to do. The problem I now face is that, so far, I’ve found nobody to practise this with at home, and I’m not confident enough to work on it myself. What I particularly enjoyed about working with Renaud was that his enthusiasm and his determination to push Qrac and I beyond our limits, to bring out the best in us, to get me to feel the movements on a whole new level. He also had a great sense of humour,

making everything fun, keeping the mood light-hearted yet working us hard. Renaud also rode Qrac a couple of times, while I watched and drooled. Who knew my horse could move like that?!

Renaud Ramadier on Qrac

Joëlle and Umbrella de Massa

As for Joëlle, her tentative quest for another horse got off to a rubber-burning start when Renaud mentioned she might like to try Umbrella de Massa, a five-year-old Lusitano Sport mare out of Oldenburg Rubin Cortes and Qarioca de la Font, a Lusitano mare sired by the aforementioned Olympian, Galopin de la Font. Umbrella had very little work for a five-year-old due to the great number of colts born during the same year, so she’d been broken in and then returned to pasture for two years. Renaud Ramadier had started riding her again early this year and had really liked her. Well, so did Joëlle. She took a series of lessons on the young mare and got along remarkably well with her, telling me right after the very first time she rode her that she’d “felt right at home.” Qrac and Umbrella got along very well too; the four of us went on wonderful long trail rides through the vastness of Font du Broc, with the grand finale being a cooling splash in one of the large, beautiful ponds on the property. This was kindly photographed by Renaud and fellow-trainer Ludovic Martin, who zoomed down to the pond on a quad bike in order to capture this monumental moment! Ludo had been away on holiday during most of our stay, but we got to know him over the last few days and were thoroughly charmed by his big, colourful personality, not to mention his top-notch equestrian skills. I’d wanted to go into the pond with Qrac since the moment we arrived at Font du Broc, having seen dozens of beautiful photos of Ludo fooling around in the pond on horseback over the past few years (we’ve been Facebook friends for a while), but the fact that he and Renaud went out of their way to drive down and take photos of us in the water with our horses (yes, Joëlle totally caved and bought Umbrella!) was very touching.

Qrac and Umbrella, they practically match!

Château Font du Broc, the boutique and garden area

Our entire stay at Font du Broc was fantastic. The lessons were excellent, my horse was extremely well looked after, and the property manages to be stunning, peaceful and spectacular, yet without an ounce of ostentation. Everyone was friendly, helpful, going out of their way to make our stay the most enjoy  

able possible, be it the team at the stables, the administrative staff, or the ladies who run the lovely boutique selling Font du Broc’s wine and olive oil. Marion, head of administration at Elevage Massa, was brilliant. When Joëlle decided to buy Umbrella, Marion still drove us to see the younger horses at Chateau Bretonne over in Saint Martin de Crau, close to two hours
away, to make sure there wasn’t a three-year-old over there Joëlle might be interested in buying instead. We loved seeing all the youngsters; the three-year-olds, the two-year-olds and the yearlings, all friendly and content, all healthy looking and used to
being handled. We were shown a selection of three-year-olds in the indoor arena, and if I could I’d definitely have treated myself to a gorgeous black, very uphill Lusitano (yes, I know, I already have a black one…) with big floaty paces. Joëlle admired a lovely grey guy with a playful personality, but her heart was already set on Umbrella. Marion later took us to visit the brood mares and their babies at another locale, where we oohed and ahh-ed at the dozens of little beauties flocking around us, all of them gentle and curious. Marion also amazed us with the efficiency with which she organised the paperwork to enable Joëlle to bring Umbrella back to Switzerland; once the mare had passed the vet-check the timeframe to get everything ready was extremely tight, but Marion made calls and rushed around and made it happen. Early on Monday morning, Joëlle and I loaded our two sleepy horses into my trailer and reluctantly set off on the long trip home, already working on potential dates to return to this incredible place as soon and as often as possible.

Some three-year old Massa stallions

Unfortunately, it’s unlikely we’ll be able to go back before next spring, which seems a long way off right now.  Next time we go, I’m hoping we’ll get the chance to meet Anne-Sophie, Sylvain Massa’s companion, who was away on holiday with Sylvain while we were there. Anne-Sophie handled my initial emails about coming to Font du Broc with Qrac, organised our stay, regularly checked on us and remained reachable by phone the entire time. She was also sweet enough to make sure we came away with Massa caps and Massa saddle cloths to match our Massa horses. And what will these two Massa owners be wearing when temperatures drop? Why, our matching Massa jackets, of course!

Believe me, after an experience like ours, I defy anyone to not become a diehard fan.

Have you ever had a similar experience? Do you enjoy going on holiday with your horse?

Sweating Buckets

Last week, while riding Qrac, my most most-likely-soon-to-be new Lusitano (pinch me, someone!), down in Avignon in the South of France, I really struggled trying to keep him straight. In fact, I struggled trying to do everything with him, really. Not in a disastrous, scary, out of control way; I wouldn’t be buying him if that had been the case. I just struggled because I tend to find it hard to ride a horse I don’t know. In addition, I was also riding a breed I don’t know, and I’d never imagined it would feel so different.

My main problem, apart from keeping Qrac straight, was keeping him in a steady regular pace. That Monday evening, I worked my core muscles more in the half hour or so I rode him than in three months of regular yoga classes. At least, that’s what it felt like. Two days after riding him, apart from sore abs, I even had sore ARMPITS, with my pectoral muscles on fire from hauling down my shoulder blades! I’d forgotten how much hard work can be involved in a half-halt, and goodness knows how many half-halts I did in those thirty minutes. All I know is that I did lots, and that I was drenched in sweat. Everywhere. Yes, I even had a sweaty bum. Lovely, huh?! Do you get a sweaty bum when you’re riding? Some people do, some people don’t. I wish I could toss my hair, shrug my shoulders and brag about belonging to the non-sweaty-botty riding group, but what can you do? Botox, maybe?! Gosh, imagine having a Botoxed bum!

Anyway, while I was out there sweating on Qrac, my trainer, Marie-Valentine, mostly kept a low profile. We’d figured it was important to establish how hard it would be for me to handle the horse on my own, knowing full well that almost any horse would be a challenge after having been lucky enough to own an angelic schoolmaster like Kwintus for the past few years. And I’m pretty confident it will be fine, especially as I’ve decided not to take him to where Kwint lives straight away, but instead stable him at another yard closer to where my trainer lives, and where there is a nice big indoor. The indoor at “my stables” should be up before the summer, and I’ll move Qrac back there as soon as it’s ready, maybe even before if I feel super confident. But I don’t want to do anything foolish, and my yard is simply too wide open: if a horse takes off with you in our outdoor arena it’s hasta la vista, baby, see you in Italy!

So I’m going to play it safe, get to know him, take lessons and set up a training program. I’m looking forward to the challenge, as riding a younger horse with nowhere near as much training as Mr. Kwint is going to be interesting. It’s also going to be humbling. Maybe it’s just me, but, as I mentioned earlier, I’ve always found it difficult to climb onto any horse other than my own (or one that I’m used to riding) and feel like I know what I’m doing, which is why I really admire people like my trainer who can hop onto virtually any horse and make the most of it within a couple of minutes.

One thing I’ve always liked about working with Marie-Valentine is that, on top of being blessed with the most enthusiastic, positive and sunny personality I’ve ever met in a horsey professional, she also comes up with great images to help convey what she’s trying to get across. For example, when my daughter was trying to understand the concept of the half-halt, Marie-Valentine came up with the “I” image (as in the letter “I”). Back then, we knew someone who was always very stiff and rigid in the saddle, whereas Olivia and I tend to be a little too soft and supple in our backs. Of course, being supple is a great asset for following the horse’s movement, but the half-halt requires that split-second “rigidity” which doesn’t come naturally to my daughter and me. We’re just not, well, rigid people! I mean, I even have a floppy walk!

Anyway, in order to help us understand that split-second rigidity, Marie-Valentine told us to picture that super-rigid person riding. We have an expression in French for describing someone who holds themselves super straight: we say “as straight as an I”. Since she needed a discreet way of telling my daughter to think of that rigid person in the saddle whenever she asked for a half-halt, the “I” image was born. And trust me, when I rode Qrac last week, Marie-Valentine’s “I” image came in very handy. In fact, I’m fantasizing about half-halting my way to a six-pack by summer!

Another image that had amazing results on Qrac last week was one I picked up from the inside back page of the latest edition of Dressage Today (their inner back page riding tips are brilliant) This one involved imagining a bucket of water in my pelvis and having to avoid tipping it over. Since I’m very supple in my back, I also tend to collapse my lower spine too much when I’m riding, tucking my tailbone too far underneath me, which then tilts my upper body backwards. One of the few things that Marie-Valentine said to me last week as I trotted past her was “sit up straighter (in French “redresse-toi”), upon which I immediately remembered the bucket of water. I corrected the curve of my lower back to avoid the water spilling out of my imaginary bucket, and Qrac reacted by loosening up straight away. Isn’t it amazing how sensitive they are?

Other useful images I try to keep in mind while riding include stopping my pony tail from bouncing from side to side. This image forces me to stabilize my shoulder blades, which further stabilizes my back. It also forces me to keep our chin up, since one of my other bad habits is looking down instead of straight between my horse’s ears.

Do you have any images you use to help with your riding? Would you care to share some useful tips?

The Kwintus Chronicles: Showtime!

I was determined to be super organized the night before Saturday’s dressage competition. I figured the more organized I was, the more Zen I’d feel when the alarm went off, rousing me from a long, restorative, competition-priming sleep. So, in an élan of efficiency (okay, so it was more of an élan of anxiety, but let’s pretend…), I gathered all my show paraphernalia. I lay my brand new hairclip with the pearl embellished, navy blue chignon basketty-net thing next to my “tubette” (French for dressage hat; what’s it called in English?). I repositioned the pin in my stock, put my pale blue, sleeveless competition shirt on a hanger under my navy blue jacket. I rummaged through my underwear drawer to find my favorite (albeit somewhat frayed) Calida granny knickers and my new, wobble-defying, extreme hold sports bra (do you have ZeBra sports bras in America? They are brilliant! ), and put them on the old white rocking chair beside my bed. I folded my brand new bright white “sticky bum” jodhpurs and placed them at the bottom of a basket, along with a pair of pale-blue and white socks. I added a towel, as well as a sponge bag filled with miscellaneous indispensables: sunscreen, deodorant, lipgloss, a brush and comb, a gallon of Rescue Remedy.

Then, satisfied with my preparations, I took a long, cool bath (it's still mad hot over here in Switzerland), pulled on my PJs and went to bed early, ready for my aforementioned long, restorative, competition-priming sleep.

Yeah right.

Actually, my zzzzzs got off to a good start, and I didn’t even notice Mr. Prescott slip into bed beside me a couple of hours later. I did, however, pick up on his nasal obstruction issues when at two am, snuffling and sniffling, he pottered into the bathroom, unraveled a length of toilet paper and trumpeted away his discomfort at a level of decibels powerful enough to wake up the entire neighborhood. Then, satisfied with the state of his nasal passages, he pottered back to bed.

And started snoring.

I poked. I kicked. I poked again. The nocturnal concert continued. I tossed. I turned. I grumbled. I fretted. I checked the time. Two-thirty. Three. Three-thirty. At three-thirty-five I grabbed my favourite pillow and my mobile phone (set as an alarm clock) and stormed down the corridor to the guest-room. Where I tossed and turned, and fretted and sweated, imploring the Sandman to come back. He didn't. Maybe he'd run out of sand.

Imagine my bleary state at seven-thirty a.m. See me at the kitchen-table, round shouldered and grumpy as heck, sipping my tea and contemplating toast. Witness the ocular ice-picks I hurled at my poor husband as he spread Cenovis across his toast (Cenovis is the Swiss equivalent of Marmite) and proffered apologies for disturbing my peace, before kissing me, wishing me luck, and setting off for an early morning waterskiing session with his friend. I showered and dressed, hoping Kwintus had had a less eventful night.

Kwintus had obviously had plenty of beauty sleep. He looked like a superstar when I arrived at the stables, having already been groomed, plaited (tail too!), oiled and doused in insect repellant. While Steph added the finishing touches, I hauled the day’s necessities into her lorry, my stomach showing increasing signs of preoccupation. My spirits lifted when Kwint - proud as an Olympian athlete - astronaut-strutted into the lorry in his protective boots, clearly looking forward to the task at hand.

The trip went smoothly. We arrived at the show an hour before I was scheduled to tack up, and even found a parking place in the shade. My trainer, Marie-Valentine,
met us with her usual bubbly enthusiasm, and we opened up the lorry to give Kwintus as much air as possible (it was 34° and mega muggy), and went to take a look around. My daughter and her boyfriend arrived, armed with multiple cameras, as did my lovely friend Sybile, the owner of a stunning, seriously talented, young black stallion.

With such a show of support, I definitely felt the love!

But time flies when your stomach’s in a state; before I knew it we were back at the lorry, unloading Kwintus and tacking up. I was lucky to have so many people around because they took care of my horse, leaving me free to take care of myself. Applying a touch of sunscreen, I watched Kwint enjoying the devotion of ladies fussing around him, telling him how fabulous he looked. I could tell he thought he looked rather fabulous, too!

I mounted, and we headed towards the warm-up arena. Thankfully, I was one of the last few competitors riding this test, so there weren’t a gazillion other riders buzzing about, something I always find intimidating. I tend to have a problem with left and right; it takes my brain a fraction of a second to figure out which is which, so even the simple matter of passing other riders on the right requires concentration. We walked on a loose rein for ten minutes, Kwint stepping out proudly, definitely in “look at me” mode, me trying to breathe deep into my diaphragm, mentally revising my program. Gradually, I picked up the contact, shortened his stride, and pushed him into trot.

Wow!

Could this horse be more of a show-off? Marie-Valentine gasped. “Magnifique!” she exclaimed. My daughter Olivia giggled. I grinned, enjoying the swing of his back beneath me, the soft contact in my hands. It was magical, a moment I'll never forget.



Because of the furnace-like atmosphere, we’d planned keeping the warm-up to a minimum. Kwintus isn’t the type of horse to goof around; pick up your reins and he goes straight to work, all he needs is a little time to warm-up his muscles. We’d aimed for fifteen minutes but it still proved to be too much. The heat sapped his energy, and reduced me to a perspiring, nervous, jelly-like blob.

Showtime came. With shaky legs and flagging impulsion we trotted into the arena.

“Breathe,” I told myself, smiling as we passed the judges, urging my horse to step under a little more. “Come on, Kwintus; it’s only five minutes. We can do this.”

The bell rang. We trotted down the centre line. Except it wasn’t quite the centre line. Oops. Oh well, nothing we can do now, I decided, closing my legs and seat to halt at X. Our halt wasn’t quite square, nor was it entirely straight, but at least Kwintus didn’t look around to see if everyone was admiring him, which is what he usually tends to do. Maybe even he knew we’d fluffed it! We moved into a decent working trot. For some reason, I was somewhat caught off guard as we turned right and extended up the long side; we definitely lacked amplitude and brilliance. I then had a hard-drive meltdown and rode the ten-metre circle one letter late. Luckily, I didn’t hear the judges ring the bell to tell me I’d made a program error (there was another arena right next to ours with another test in progress, so the bells were a little confusing. And had I heard the bell and realized my mistake, I’d probably have become irretrievably flustered), and carried on to turn right at E and halt at X for four seconds. Ha! That halt was brilliant! So pleased was I with our halt that I almost forgot the ten-metre circle at R, remembering with barely two half-halts to spare, and then lost his haunches a little as we returned to the track. Bummer. We transitioned to walk at C, turned on the haunches before the corner, moving into an extended walk that lacked ground coverage (Funny how Kwintus can cover ground fabulously when we’re out hacking, yet when we’re working he can’t be fussed). I
collected him before K and pushed him into canter, leaving the track at P to turn into the centre line, transitioning to walk for three strides in the middle, then moving into the opposite canter lead. I probably should have breathed more deeply into the transition as his walk was a little precipitated. We repeated this exercise at S (more smoothly this time), and then cantered past the judges, extending down the long side (H to K), collecting at K to turn into the half-diagonal (F to E) where we transitioned to trot at L. Yay! Good one! We resumed canter at S,
but ran into trouble just after C when I got my collection technique in a twist just before the extended canter down the long side. Oops! Kwint fell into a big, bumpy, trot, and it took me a couple of strides to rebalance him and resume the extended canter. Major bummer, and major loss of points. At A we transitioned to trot again, and I collected him in the corner, determined to ace the extended trot right down the diagonal. Ta-dah!


Then came our bête noire: the twenty-metre circle while progressively giving the reins. As I mentioned in my previous entry, “The Final Countdown”, Kwintus thinks this part of the test is a complete waste of time. I’m not too fond of it either, mainly because Kwint has always had a tendency to stumble when you drop the contact; it’s one of his few weak points. Consequently, I did what I dared, he did something half-way decent, we didn’t fall over, and I collected him at C, rode towards S where we turned into a semi-circle and rode down the centre line towards G, where we executed a pretty good halt. I saluted, dropped the reins and hugged my horse.

Phew!

We’d finished. We’d done it! I’d overcome my nerves, pushed my boundaries, ridden my first test in an unfamiliar environment (the only other tests I’d done with Kwintus had been at my previous stables, on my “own terrain”). Kwintus had done his best for me in temperatures he’s never been comfortable with. We hadn’t made total idiots of ourselves. In fact, some parts of the program had felt pretty darn good!

We didn’t place; didn’t even come close to placing. Precision-wise, we have considerable work to do, and I need to work on controlling my nerves in order to avoid the sort of hard-drive meltdowns that lead to program errors. But in the past six weeks, from the moment I signed up for the competition, my riding has definitely improved. Competitive riding will never be my thing, but I’ve realized that the challenge of riding a test gives me something to work towards. And if only for that reason, I’m sure I’ll be signing up for competitions again.

Besides, I think we look pretty good in the photographs!

Thanks for your support, and for reading this very long, very detailed account of my latest adventure with Kwintus!

I’d love to hear about your experiences with competition. What drives you (or not) to compete?

The Chicken and the Superstar

It might have been the moon. Or maybe it was something I ate. Or could it have had something to do with the Cosmo I knocked back a little too quickly on my terrace with a friend? All I know is that at some point last week, in an élan of exuberance coupled with a temporary lapse of judgment, I signed up for a dressage competition.

Eek!

You see, I’m not the competitive type. The mere thought of riding a program in public generates sleepless nights, unpleasant digestive issues, nausea, palpitations, zit attacks and ludicrous amounts of sweating. And then there’s the fact that I absolutely loathe those adrenaline rushes you get prior to entering the arena. So why the heck did I fill out the online application and press “enter”?

I guess it had something to do with feeling mega comfortable at my new stables, with Kwintus going so well, with feeling encouraged by my friend Stephanie, the owner of the stables, with knowing that my fabulous trainer, Marie-Valentine Gygax (who used to teach in America!), will be there to coach me. There’s also the niggling sentiment that Kwint isn’t getting any younger. He’s eighteen now, and although I know he’s not Methuselah, he’s no spring chicken, either. If I’m going to try to
make a little hay, now’s the time.

The thing is, I’m proud of my horse. I’m proud of how great he looks for his age, of how well he uses his back, of how he swings in trot, of how he brings his hind legs so far underneath him in canter. I love how he almost always corrects himself when halting at X if not completely square. I love how he’s always eager to please, how he always does his best to understand what I’m after. I love his laid back, positive attitude towards life and his sense of humour. Sure, he needs a little motivation to do more than the bare necessities once in a while, but who doesn’t? Call me nuts, but despite my fear of public performance, I want to show the world what a wonderful horse I have.

As for Kwintus, he loves going to shows. All you have to do is plait his mane for him to start preening like a Grand Prix superstar. Last year, at the annual show at my old stables, a friend of mine rode him in one of the more advanced classes (I have yet to sign up to pass what, here in Switzerland, is called a “licence”. I guess I should…but it’s…, well, you know, a test. It has the same effect on my inner-life as a competition). She’d only ridden him a couple of times beforehand, and had no idea he was going to go into show-off mode the moment the bell rang. Imagine her surprise when he decided he knew exactly what he was doing, and that of course the three tempi changes on the diagonal were followed by the two tempi changes on the next diagonal (there were no two tempis at all in that program, but he just loves doing them!)!

No, they didn’t do very well… But the overall effect was ever so cute! And you should have seen the enthusiasm he put into his pirouettes!

Kwintus and I won’t have to do tempi changes for the test on July 10th, which is a pity, really, as they’re definitely his party trick. There’ll be no fancy footwork, no pirouettes, no appuyés, nor even any backing up, come to think of it. The main difficulty will be the series of canter-walk-canter movements performed on a serpentine on the middle line, so we’re practicing those, trying to keep the fluidity in the walk after the transition. I’ve noticed that if I make a conscious effort to breathe into the downward transitions, Kwint executes them far more smoothly. Problem is, as I’m already forgetting to breathe during our practices, chances are I’ll be apoplectic on the day!

But then again, maybe I’ll be fine. Maybe, this time, I’ll be as laid back as my horse. Maybe I’ll sleep like a baby the night before, and wake up to face the day with a head filled with resolve instead of a stomach filled with dread. Maybe I’ll be preening like a Grand Prix diva. Maybe.

I’m hoping that, having given myself plenty of time to prepare the test, I’ll feel far more confident than I’ve felt in the past. I’m hoping I’ll enjoy the moment as much as I know Kwintus will. More than anything, I’m hoping I’ll do him proud, maybe even come home with a ribbon and some decent scores and nice comments on my test sheet.

I’ll keep you posted on our progress, as well as on further developments relating to the state of my nerves. And I’ll definitely let you know how the competition goes...

Meanwhile, I’d love to know how you feel about competing in shows. Do you get nervous? And if you do, why do you still sign up? Any words of wisdom you’d like to share?

Lots of love,

Francesca