I entered Elvis in our first show together. He’s been training terrific, feeling really good in his body, and, as always, fantastic in his brain.

Of course, three days before the show it occurred to me that I’d never attempted a canter-halt transition. I’d done maybe two extended trots in my entire time with Elvis, zero extended canters and zero rein-backs.

So I was super well prepared.

Fortunately, Elvis is super at extended canter, very obedient in the rein-back, and good enough in the canter-halt transition, so off to the show we went. My goal on the first day was to put together an obedient and organized test—and other than the moment where I forgot that the half-pass zig-zag started at the centerline until I was nearly at the quarterline, which made for some creative steering, I did. But he won the Developing Prix St. Georges on a 69 percent, with the comment that for higher scores, I needed more expression and finesse.

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I love coming to the Wellington area every winter, but there are some things about living here, and living in Florida in general, that are … unique. We’ve made a little game of some of the wackier things we’ve seen. First one to 1,000 points wins!

One point for each sighting of the following creatures: alligator, river otter, iguana. Five bonus points if they’re crossing a road. Ten points if they’re making sweet, sweet Florida critter love. (Best place for iguana sightings: Southern Boulevard.)

One point for every Olympian seen shopping at Publix. Ten for every Olympian seen dining at Agliolio, Kontiki or Oli’s. Twenty for every one seen dining at JoJo’s, Brooklyn Bagel or La Fogata. And 50 for every one seen at Boonies.

If you see an Olympian at any restaurant, 10 points if you get to sit in their chair when they leave.

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As someone who both rides in and teaches clinics, I know there are two kinds: the kind where it’s riding lessons, sessions between a coach and a student to benefit the rider; and the kind where it’s theater, a riding lesson for the rider as well as a demonstration for a crowd.

And I’ve got no problem with either. But I’ve participated in a few symposia over the years, and sometimes it’s helpful, and sometimes it’s a session where you ride around doing your job, and the crowd goes ooh, and the clinician talks, and that’s it. So if I’m going to do a public clinic, it’s going to be on a horse who would, if all else failed, make me look smart.

Elvis makes me look smart. And when it was announced that Isabell Werth, the best rider in the world, the most accomplished rider in the history of the world, the QUEEN of dressage, was coming to the Adequan Global Dressage Festival (Florida), I thought to myself, “Golly, wouldn’t it be neat to debut this horse to the public in front of Isabell Freaking Werth?” And with hubris in my heart, I applied, got selected, threw my back out, panicked for a few days about what to wear (10 days of not being able to move enough to reach for my painkillers perhaps was not the best thing for my waistline), got back to work, and off we went.

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To make a long story as short as possible, I’ve been experiencing some pain in my low back, at an increasing interval and increasing severity, since April. I’m pretty sure I know the root cause, and I’m finally getting that taken care of, but I didn’t do it in time, because over the weekend the pain became as bad as it’s been, forcing me to face the problem and actually deal with it.

My journey into dealing with it begins with the average horse person’s approach to any health problem. Is it keeping me out of the saddle? No? Then it’s fine. Yes, but there’s a workaround, like not wearing a boot on your left leg because your toe got stepped on so badly that it’s turning colors so unusual you’re thinking of calling Pantone? Then it’s one-boot-wonder time. But when it actually is keeping you out of the saddle, it’s time to consult a physician.

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I thoroughly enjoyed Sarah Lorenz’s recent piece for COTH, “We Are All Individuals.” As someone who brings a lot of young horses up the levels of dressage I agree wholeheartedly that there’s no timetable, that they come along at whatever rate they come along, and that, as trainers and as stewards of their lives, we have to treat each one as an individual and evaluate what they’re capable of by using our own best judgement combined with advice from exceptional veterinarians, farriers and trainers.

As a 5’10” dressage trainer, my own personal horses are exclusively warmbloods, and most are north of 17 hands. Swagger is the youngest of the current group, bought in July of his 3-year-old year, a stallion, and already at least 16.3. Gelding him made him pop another inch, and between that and being put on a plane he arrived in the States looking like Skeletor. He needed time to eat and get healthy from the trip, and so he had about two months of vacation time where we fed him and turned him out. Once he looked healthy enough, he went to an event rider student of mine to work three days a week for a month or two, and then he came home where we worked him three days a week.

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We have arrived safely in Florida, and even more importantly, we have arrived in 2019, and I can’t even begin to tell you all how glad I am of both. While January 1 may be just another date on the calendar, with no magical properties of any kind, I’ve decided that 2018 was where all the yuck lived, and now my horses, my team and I can all leave the yuck in our collective rear view mirrors and move on.

The trip down was uneventful, and assistant trainer Lisa and I are all set up at two different barns in Deer Run with 13 horses. If that sounds like a lot for two people, you’d be correct. We’ve got stall cleaning help in the morning and help from a lovely young lady named Ali in the afternoons for a few hours, and then we spend the rest of the day running around like crazy people. It’s mayhem, but it’s our mayhem. Lisa is amazing; I’m so happy she’s here with me!

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I hate December. It’s cold; it’s dark, and it’s time spent twiddling my thumbs waiting to get to Florida. When I’ve had serious upper-level competition horses, December is a bit of let-down time. I take the last two weeks of November and the first few weeks of December to just fluff around, and then the last two or so weeks to build back up to hit Florida in good form. But with the young horses, there are really no peaks and valleys, just slow and steady work.

So we tread water. Fortunately, my horses are all being terribly good and smart, so trundling along isn’t a travesty. Puck wins the award for Most Improved. I’ve been at home for most of the last two weeks and on a normal schedule, so I got to just work him like a normal horse for two weeks, the first time my wild travel schedule has allowed. It was delightful.

I’ve settled into a weekly routine that seems to be working: Tuesday and Friday leaning on the canter work; Wednesday and Saturday focusing on the trot, and Thursday and Sunday hacking and stretching as the weather (and his exuberance level) permits. Puck has found this amazing gear at the trot, with super power and expression, but I don’t want to go bananas with it and have him end up hurt.

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Photo by Kimberly Loushin/Chronicle of the Horse.

Elvis is 7. He’s had an accomplished career in the young horse divisions, including being long listed for the World Breeding Dressage Championships for Young Horses. He understands collection beautifully; he takes a half-halt; he is respectful of the leg and is steady in the connection.

And he’s also been in my care for six weeks, a lot of which I’ve spent traveling, so I’m still absolutely at the beginning of our journey together, and it’s not fair for me to make any sweeping statements, but he’s got basically two options in the trot: wide open or wide open-er. When I try to make any changes to his outline, he loses rhythm. When I try to activate the hind legs in isolation, he jacks his knees up higher. I feel like I can do the Prix St. Georges, but I can’t just trot around in a quiet and boring fashion.

Puck is also 7. To say that he’s been complicated to get to this point would be an understatement, but now, with the exception of the occasional burst of youthful exuberance/juvenile delinquency, he’s fairly rideable. I can pick him up in the bridle or let him down, and the trot stays the same. I can make his canter quicker or floatier. I can ride him short or long in the neck, compressed or stretching in the back, strong or light. Of course I can’t really do anything—I’m thinking he’ll show third level if he shows this winter in Florida, but it’ll be a stretch of his abilities to put movements together—because I’ve focused more on the basic rideability (and also, admittedly, not dying) than on the upper-level work.

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Somewhere along the line, I heard the term “disaster fatigue.” It was in the mainstream media, at a time when there had been a few devastating natural disasters and a few mass shootings in the same time period, and the newscaster I heard use the term put it in the context of a slowing rate of donations to the Red Cross: The population was so exhausted by the barrage of calamities that they couldn’t feel the pain of them anymore and as such weren’t moved to donate to organizations to help the victims.

A few weekends ago, Danny colicked, badly and quickly. He was so dire so fast that he wasn’t able to get on the trailer to go to a clinic. We put him down.

I was on vacation.

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I drove up to spring Elvis out of quarantine myself, rode him once, and then left for a week with about a kabillion students to our regional championships. (We had rides from training level to Grand Prix, won a bunch of stuff, and experienced a 40-degree temperature change. Fun was had by all!) I then came home, rode everyone for a few days, and then tweaked a disk in my back. And then my coach, Michael Barisone, came for a clinic. I could barely post the trot, and I’d ridden Elvis three times on U.S. soil. Perfect!

All joking aside, clinics are not an opportunity to demonstrate perfect rides and perfect riding; they’re about learning and to learn at whatever place a particular horse and rider happen to be. The timing was actually rather great (well, the back thing has sucked; I’ve rested and iced and anti-inflammatoried and seen the awesome Dr. Holly Moriarty of Haymarket Chiropractic, and I’m feeling pretty good now), because I’m still learning what normal is for Elvis, and it was really illuminating to start the process of connecting his look to his feel.

Read the rest at The Chronicle of the Horse!