My coach, Michael Barisone, is a Big Deal Guy.

We’d met in passing a few times, but never had more than a superficial “Hi, how are you, nice ride,” conversation until I was at Gladstone a few years ago for one of the USEF Talent Search type things. I had Ella and Midgey, both on the brink of Grand Prix. I was 24 or 25, taking clinics here and there with whoever was around, all good people, but there was no single thread to my training, and I was deeply, terribly lost in the weeds.

I was sitting ringside, licking my wounds after two not-remotely-productive lessons, and Michael approached me. “Hi Lauren. Those are two nice horses you’ve got there,” he said. I thanked him, and he asked, “Do you, you know, have a plan for what you’re doing with them?” Not really, no, I said. “Well, who’s your coach?” he asked. I told him that I clinic with X and Y, and I rode in a lesson with Z last month, and blah blah blah.

And he said something I’ll never forget: “Look, I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. But you’re a talented rider with nice horses, and you need a person. And if you want, I’ll be your person. I’ll show up whenever you need me. I’ll be kind to your amateur ladies, and I won’t try and steal your horses or your clients. And I’ll be your guy.”

No one had ever said that to me before, and he’s made good on every promise. I’m writing this from the Regional Finals, where I had a tough school on Ella on Thursday morning, and texted Michael that everything was horrible and I was quitting, and he texted me back right away that it was all going to be fine, then gave me 24 hours to shake it off before calling me up to tell me that everything is going to be fine, to give me a few things to think about in my next schooling ride, to tell me it was OK that I have these little freakouts (I’m very consistent), and that he loved me.

He’s my guy.

Read the rest at The Chronicle of the Horse!

Meet him at late 3 or early 4 years old. He’s keen-eyed and clever-looking, and he walks, trots and canters under saddle. He goes when you drive and whoas when you gather and mostly steers. He stands on the crossties and gets on the trailer and stands at the mounting block. He’s balanced and shiny and remarkably organized, with nice conformation and clean legs. You love him immediately, which is good, because two weeks later he’ll have kicked the stall and sliced his leg open, and grown an inch behind, and lost the capacity to turn right. Love him anyway.

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A collection of any of the number of things that get said while riding at my farm on any given day:

Dude. Dude. Dude. DUDE.

Listen: I’m sorry. I really am. But this is the hand you were dealt. This is how it’s going to be. The sooner you accept this, the sooner I put you back in your field and give you a cookie.

By all means, keep whining. But the only person making your life hard right now is you.

My right leg is not. coming. off. Get used to it.

GOOD BOY DANNY OMG you’re a GENIUS you’re a ROCKSTAR you’re going to the OLYMPICS oh whoops there it went.

You’ve lived here since 2007. Does the corner have to be scary every day?

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How we all come to find our trainers is a personal journey. Some folks get it right right off the bat, but more often than not, we’ve all kissed a few frogs along the way to finding our educational Prince (or Princess!) Charming, and we’ve also inevitably outgrown perfectly good programs and needed to seek out something, someone else.

I see lots of folks out there getting downright bad help, and I’m always struck by why anyone would tolerate trainers who tell them they’re stupid, or trainers who are awful riders, or trainers who are bad to their horses. But I also see lots of folks out there who don’t get enough help, and I wonder if it’s because they don’t know they need more help, or if they don’t know how to find more—or better quality–training.

When searching for a coach or trainer, here are some things I encourage folks to consider.

1. Has your coach done what you want to do? This seems like a no-brainer, but I can’t tell you how many riders I meet in clinics who are riding with people who haven’t competed at the level they themselves are striving to compete, or ever dealt with a horse or rider issue like the one their student is experiencing. Whether that’s youth riders with the NAJYRC working with trainers who’ve never shown the FEI levels, or adult amateurs working on bringing their horses up the levels working with coaches who’ve only ridden trained horses themselves, if your coach hasn’t done what you want to do, look elsewhere.

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I judged a few schooling shows at the Quantico Marine Base stables when I first arrived in Virginia. While there I chatted with a few of the faithful Marine husbands, at the show to support their wives. I forget how we got on the subject, but one told me that there’s a saying that goes around Marine basic training: “Embrace the suck.” It’s boot camp, preparing you for life as an elite warrior—it’s going to suck. And the sooner you accept that it’s going to suck, the easier things get.

It resonated with me, not just because the idea of that many push-ups makes me blanch, but because the training of young horses up the levels is a little bit the same way. The end result is a glorious thing to behold. But in the training part, there are days that it really, really sucks.

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1. Above all else, know this: we want you to be successful. We want this for you because that’s our job, of course—to produce successful students, at whatever “success” means to you. Whether winning the Olympics or just cantering two circles around without being afraid, we want you to Win at It. And if you doubt that we want you to win simply because its in our natures, consider this: happy clients are more likely to keep paying us, and more likely to tell others they should pay us. Happy clients = good business.

2. We do not do this for the money. While, yes, it is very possible to have a successful and profitable horse business, it involves 18 hour days, getting very dirty and sweaty, and getting on 1,200 pound toddlers that can maim and kill us simply by tripping and falling down, or by doing as their prey-animal natures intend and shying away from something. If profit was our driving motivation, we’d do something else.

3. When we make a suggestion to you—to have the vet see your horse, to keep your horse in training with us instead of just seeing you for lessons, to invest in a different saddle or different bit—it is because we want you to succeed, not because we are out to get your money. See #1 and #2. We will make way more money off you by keeping you happy and trucking along, and if we think your horse is uncomfortable with his tack, would benefit from more time with a professional rider on his back, or is unsound, we would like to remedy those situations so that you will stay happy and successful.

Read the rest at The Chronicle of the Horse!

I had an open working student job all summer, and then added another position that I needed to fill this fall. (Both filled, amen!) It meant that it was a summer of resumes and interviews, and of getting down to a science my hiring procures. And it is thus: someone emails me asking for more information about the job, and I write back with a description of a typical day, as well as with what other chores I expect my staff to do. And I also tell them what I offer for compensation.

My working student job does require lots of farm tasks, and long hours. It also involves riding, every day, and almost always in a lesson setting with me. It involves coming with me to clinics and shows, listening to the best of the best teach me and, whenever I can, my working students. It involves opportunities to show client horses whenever I can find them. It involves a day off every week (which is more than I get.) And it involves beautiful housing, fun fellow staff and wonderful clients, and a salary. At the end of the day, it involves being paid to improve one’s education and build one’s skills.

And about one out of every three tells me thanks, but no thanks. “I’m looking to be paid more,” or “I’m looking for a riding-and-teaching job only with no grooming or mucking or mowing,” or both.

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“You know,” my mother said, “I’m just starting to appreciate what hard work dressage is.”

I looked at her like she had three heads. We’ve been doing this a while; you’re only just now starting to appreciate this?

“No, I know it’s technically difficult; I know it requires great skill,” she clarified. “I mean the physical work of it all. I watch you professional riders, and it looks like you’re just sitting there. You make it look effortless. In reality, you’re working really physically hard.”

I’ve been riding for as long as I can remember, and riding dressage since I was 10, and I, too, didn’t really think about what physically demanding work it all is until my mother said that. Allison, fulfilling her role as Dressage Yoda, summed it up brilliantly: Bad riding looks like bad riding. But good riding looks like no riding.

Read the rest at The Chronicle of the Horse!