On our Classical Dressage Discussion List I seem to have started a little controversy with my remarks that riding hurts sometimes. Some of you, especially those of you who ride with me, understood what I meant. Others misunderstood me, so I will try to clarify.

First of all, when I say that riding hurts, I don’t mean that it hurts all the time, obviously, but that occasional (physical as well as mental) growing pains are an integral part of growth. (Cf. Sherry Ackerman, Dressage in the 4th Dimension, p. 28: “There is no gnosis without pain”).

Nobody can have good performances all the time. Each high quality performance has to be earned by many practice sessions that bring us face to face with our limits and our current shortcomings. C.A.Huang & J.Lynch quote the Buddhist proverb “The arrow that hits the bull’s eye is the result of a hundred misses” in their book “Thinking body, dancing mind” (1992, 93). This captures very well the essence of what I am trying to say. Every correctly executed half halt, e.g. is the result of many others in which the timing, coordination, and intensity of the aids was incorrect, which led to completely different results than we had intended.”

P.T. SUDO talks about the same phenomenon in his book “Zen Guitar”, 1998, 44: “Frustration results when the body will not perform as the mind directs, or the mind becomes confused about what it wants the body to do. These confrontations are an integral part of training. They bring us face to face with our motivations and limitations: Why are we putting in all these hours of practice? Why do we desire what we desire? Are we willing to make the sacrifice necessary to progress? Are we asking more of our body than it can do?”

These two quotes make it clear that the mental anguish I was referring to has little, if anything, to do with the teacher, nor is it unique to riding. It arises from our caring, our passion about what we do, in our particular case: riding. Serious riders, and I am only talking about those who want to learn to ride in a narrower sense of the word, have to compare themselves all the time with the ideal they strive for – and that is often frustrating.

My own most humbling, even humiliating, moments were always brought about by horses, not people. Sitting on a correctly trained Grand Prix horse, and realizing that one has no control over the horse, is painfully embarrassing. Understanding just how difficult it is to ride something as simple as a correct (my teachers use “correct” synonymously with “perfect”) corner, circle, volte, or transition, is humbling. This frustration comes not from being, unable to do something difficult, being overfaced. It arises from the realization that, no matter how advanced we thought we were, we still have not truly mastered the basics (Once we have mastered the basics, we are masters of the equestrian art). Every time this realization hits home, we become a little more humble, by catching a glimpse of how much farther we still have to go.

The emotional pain comes from wanting to ride well, so much so that it becomes the most important thing in one’s life. In this quest, we reach ceilings in our progress, plateaus that seem to stretch on forever (even if they only last for a few days or weeks). The only way to improve is to re-examine (and question!) everything we do, keep the good things, discard the bad things, and replace them with a better way. The reason for this is that anytime we encounter a problem, whether we are unable to ride our horse on the bit, or whether our horse raises one diagonal higher than the other in the piaffe, the underlying cause is always somewhere in the basics, the training pyramid, and beyond that, in our seat, and the timing, coordination, and intensity of our aids. If we find the mistake we are making in our riding, which causes the flaw in the training pyramid, the original problem will disappear. Finding this mistake requires some serious soul-searching. It has to begin with the admission to ourselves that we are not nearly as good as we may have thought we were. We have to be willing to question everything we have accomplished, everything we thought we knew. And the pain that is caused by this process, and the honesty which is indispensable for it, is probably greater than the pain any trainer can inflict. Sherry Ackerman (1997, 28) puts it very well: “The pain of destroying personal ego cannot be imagined or described: it is beyond words.”

On the other hand, since we have to earn each little bit of progress with so much effort, we treasure even the smallest success. It is something that nobody can take from us. We have earned it, and these moments in which we accomplish a breakthrough and experience the harmony and balance that we dream of, carry us through the moments in which we cannot seem to find the right way. There is nothing like the sense of accomplishment and inner peace that is created by a breakthrough in our riding.

The plateaus have a habit of re-occurring periodically, and they bring the need for a thorough re-evaluation with them each time. Initially, the necessary adjustments can be quite dramatic. The more we progress, the more subtle they can hopefully become. Since we are trying to do something that does not come naturally or easily to most of us, we may get worse in the beginning – until we become comfortable with the new way (of sitting, e.g.). In the long run, the new way will take us beyond the last plateau (if we are on the right track). In time, we will reach a new plateau, and the cycle begins anew. Just like Sisyphus, we go back down to the foot of the mountain in order to start rolling the boulder up the hill again. As soon as we think we have reached the top of the mountain, the rock rolls down, and we realize we have to start over. I don’t believe that this cycle ever ends, no matter how accomplished we may become. The difference between the cycles is that each time we are a little more accomplished, a little more knowledgeable, and hopefully a little wiser than the previous time. P.T.Sudo (1998, 155) describes it this way: “The first rule of mastery is this: Those who think themselves masters are not masters. There can be no letup of your study, no matter how far you’ve come. Even the highest priests of zen say to themselves, mi zai: “Not yet.” You have not yet learned all you can know. You have not given all you can give. You have not yet reached the summit. Empty your cup and keep going. Same mountain, farther up.”

Put differently, each time we reach a goal, we realize that there are other goals behind it, and yet others behind those, without end. Probably all of us have had “bad” rides after which we thought we would never learn how to ride, because things just did not work. At first, we cannot see the reasons why. But if we continue to analyze and to rethink these bad rides, we will eventually figure it out. This is terrible, and it is wonderful at the same time. It is terrible, because there is no quick fix, no shortcut, no easy way, only diligent practice of the correct (!) basics. It is also wonderful, because correct diligent practice will always bring success in the long run. Riding is very democratic that way. We cannot buy a good seat, tact, understanding, and knowledge. We have to earn them.

In hindsight, I think I learned the most from my worst rides, because they challenged me to be brutally honest with myself, and to change the way I thought and the way I rode. As long as I tried to fight the plateau, avoiding to face the necessity of a fundamental re-evaluation, the slump continued. As soon as I admitted to myself that I knew nothing, I was enabled to make progress again. In that sense, the frustration and pain that arise out of mistakes are not only inevitable, they are catalysts in our learning. They are opportunities that we must take advantage of.

What is important here is that the teacher gives the students confidence. No matter how badly I rode, no matter how much I struggled with my own incompetence, my teachers always believed that I could overcome the difficulties, that it was just a matter of time and diligent practice. I try to do the same for my students. When you believe deep down inside that you can do it, and you keep searching honestly, you will always progress.

The teacher has an important function in showing the student the discrepancy between their actual performance and the ideal we are all striving for, which creates frustration. But the teacher also has to instill the confidence in the student that the difficulties can and will be overcome – if the student is willing to do what it takes. This is one of the differences with the Old Masters and many modern trainers. The masters never compromised their standards. They demanded perfect executions of the simple things, and over time, the more advanced work grew out of this.

This takes a lot of patience on the teacher’s part. It means reminding the student of the same things over and over, until he has gained sufficient control over his body to be able to sit correctly and to give correct aids. This kind of work is often tedious, it takes a long time, but once it takes root, the progress is phenomenal. Today many riders and trainers don’t want to subject themselves to this discipline. They skip ahead to the “fun part” without ever mastering the basics, with the result that the more advanced work is fundamentally flawed.

Somebody said the teacher should be an inspiration to the student. Probably the most inspiring teacher I have had is Thomas Faltejsek. He was able to motivate me like nobody else, by conjuring up a vision of perfection and making it seem to be within my reach (in addition to providing us with a shining example of what horse and rider should look like together). On the other hand, he demanded every ounce of effort I could muster, and more (there is no such thing as “good enough” when it comes to the rider). He told me more than once (only half jokingly): “I don’t care if you die trying, but first you WILL RIDE. Then you can die.” I remember one lesson in particular, many years ago, where I thought I was giving everything I had. Then he screamed at me at the top of his lungs (which was quite rare, by the way) – and I discovered that I still had some energy left, after all. It carried the horse across the threshold, and we outgrew ourselves at that moment. If he had been less demanding, I would never have had this experience of success and accomplishment. Thomas Faltejsek has the power to make students ride a couple of levels above their normal ability, because of this mixture of encouragement and strictness.

However, not every student wants to learn how to ride. He also complained to me that people had approached him saying they wanted to learn how to ride. When he presented them with the opportunity to learn, they were unwilling to make the necessary effort. So he felt betrayed and lied to.

This is at the heart of the anecdotes Jessica and Annette related of Dr. Klimke. There are many riders who want a babysitter, someone who cuddles them verbally, and holds their hands while they are going through a number of tricks. These students will never learn how to ride, even though some of them may be able to perform some upper level movements with certain horses.

As far as the physical pain is concerned, I was thinking of my own experiences. Many years ago I went through a phase in which riding without stirrups at the walk and the trot was excruciatingly painful, because the sheer weight of my legs stretched my stiff adductor muscles to such an extent that it sometimes felt as if someone were tearing my legs off. That was just from the weight of the leg itself, without even trying to stretch it actively. Over time, the muscles became more flexible, and the pain went away. I may very well be an extreme case, but I think that everyone who rides seriously has experienced some discomfort and muscle soreness at some point. I don’t believe that there is any top athlete or ballet dancer who reached the top without ever becoming muscle sore, without ever experiencing discomfort or even pain. Progress is only possible by stretching one’s limits, by leaving one’s comfort zone.

One of the attitudes that one encounters more and more often these days is that “riding is supposed to be FUN”, and easy, without discomfort or pain, without frustration. This attitude originates in the myth that there can be mastery without effort. P.T. SUDO addresses this very issue in a completely different context, i.e. playing guitar (1998, 75): “Too many of us today want instant gratification . We want reward without work. We want the thinking done for us. We want to understand something right away or we can’t be bothered. This attitude demeans the accomplishments of those who are true masters.”

Mastering a skill cannot be accomplished with complacency and superficial thrill seeking, but only with serious studying for a period of many years. This is something many riders don’t realize or refuse to acknowledge. Richard Waetjen, one of Egon von Neindorff’s two principal teachers, puts it this way (Dressurreiten, 6th ed. 1989, 19): “It is only the love for the work itself that can help the rider get through the many years with many disappointments and give him the strength not to despair but to continue to strive. The crown of the art of riding can be attained only through decades’ worth of work and experience, and with great patience that precludes temper tantrums and any violence.”

If even a great master like Richard Waetjen experienced the frustration and the emotional pain of learning how to ride, it would be unrealistic of us to think we could find an easier way. Two expressions in Waetjen’s quote probably hold the key to the discussion: “the love for the work itself” and “the crown of the art of riding”. Those people who emphasize the importance of having fun are usually not interested in achieving the classical ideal, nor do they really love the work process.

Rather than looking for “fun” in riding, the rider should enjoy the process of learning (P.T. SUDO, 1998, 39f.”There is joy in the struggle”), including all the ups and downs. When we are trying to accomplish something meaningful in any aspect of life, an art, a sport, a science, it is impossible to do it without a certain share of pain and frustration. The negative experiences are the ones that give meaning and importance to the positive ones. They are the ones that keep us searching for a better way. Success rarely does that (if it ain’t broke, …) Without the struggle we would not value our progress the same way. There always has to be a balance.

© 1999 Thomas Ritter.  All rights reserved.

Maybe you’ve known this forever, or maybe you’re like me, and you had an epiphany that really changed the way you see riding.  But somewhere between begging for pony rides and longing for piaffe the realization sinks in.  Training can be done from the ground or mounted.  But riding…is riding. You’re up there trying to make things work, for better or worse.  You’re training that horse, like it or not.

There’s a reason my Mom’s slogan is Ride Your Horse. It really is the way to improvement – for your riding and hopefully for the horse as well.  Ride your horse –meaning often and well.  And you will know if you are improving or not by what you get back from your horse.

Of course, there are those horses that can have a 2 year old, a disabled rider, or even a complete lunatic on board for a lesson without batting an eyelash or learning bad habits.  These horses know they are putting up with teaching, are few and far between, and are selfless angels.  Zac is one of them.

The other 99.9% of horses in this world cannot be ridden without being influenced.  The epiphany is that good riding does not exist in a vacuum.  It always influences and improves the horse.  There’s no way to say to a horse, “hey, today doesn’t count because I need to work on some stuff”.

“A horse has no future. It cannot greet the sun and say today will be better. It can only reflect upon days of past experiences. It is our job to create a positive past.” ~ Karen West

Horses know what has happened, and they think they know what is going to happen next based on their past experiences.  This is why re-training is so much more difficult than having the correct training applied in the first place.  You have to convince a horse that things can be better without them having a concept of the future.  That means lots of little moments of improvement that slowly make up a new past.  This is not a quick process.  This is the boat most of us who aren’t backing and training babies find ourselves in.

It’s your riding that either creates moments of increased capability (and if you’re lucky, brilliance) or hinders the horse and stunts further progression as an equine athlete – both mentally and physically.  Each error on your part that produces confusion or pain takes you back three steps, while each positive experiences takes you forward one, hopefully.  Those steps will be small in number until you make those positives steps a much bigger part of the horse’s memory and past.  Never forget how important they are and always reward the horse for them.

The point is that when you realize that you are the catalyst for the horse’s development, the goal of improving your riding takes on a new meaning.  Suddenly it’s more than looking in the mirror to see if your leg is underneath you (still important), asking an observer on the ground if your shoulder-in is correct (still important), or thinking your horse’s head position is the most important thing (come on, you know better by now!).  It’s the way your riding affects the horse over time.  As your rides add up, week in and week out, how has the horse changed?  Keep a journal, write this stuff down.

“If a horse becomes more beautiful in the course of his work, it is a sign that the training principles are correct.” ~ Alois Podhaisky

If you can look back and honestly tell yourself that your horse has become a better athlete, has developed the correct muscles, and is progressing according to the training scale, then guess what?  The odds are pretty good that you have also become a better rider during that time.  On the other hand, if your horse suffers from stiffness or other physical ailments not otherwise explained, if you aren’t seeing the correct muscles develop, and if your horse shows irritation and lack of a work ethic…it’s time to look in the mirror.  And then head back to square one.  Don’t think of it as a step backwards.  Think of it as the only way forward from where you are.

This realization that the path to becoming a better rider is to put your skills to the test through the training of a horse has made me turn down offers to ride horses once a week.  The sheer frustration that would result from not being able to consistently help the horse (especially when the horse is ridden by a much less skilled, non-classical minded rider several days a week) would be too much.  I couldn’t fairly ask very much of a horse like that, and I want to practice asking. What I get by asking tells me so much, as the weeks roll by.  Not that a leisurely trail ride on a loose rein isn’t fun, but put me on a horse I know and have a history with so it’s a fun break for both of us, not a meet and greet.

I was really lucky that during my 6 weeks in MI not only did I get to ride Wilt and Zac and several other horses, but my friend Cindy let me make her horse Misty my project.  While I wait for Trixie to become mine, I had been simply dying for a project horse.  Misty had an injury that put her on stall rest for about 7 months, so we were starting all over with her and Cindy was a bit nervous.  Misty is a true mare and can be intimidating.  Don’t let the picture below fool you.  :-P  I rode Misty 5-6 times a week, and we started slowly as she was very out of shape.  Lots of short sessions in the beginning, most of which I had my Mom put me on the lunge line.  Then progressively longer sessions, adding more and more figures and even riding in our outdoor arena (which is a bit deep) for longer sessions to help her get stronger.  It did take my Mom getting on towards the end to ask her for more for me to see that she could do more than I was asking.  The bad part was why the heck didn’t I know or feel that, but the very good part was that I was erring on the side of asking for too little than too much.  Before I left, she was looking like a little baroque horse and was soft and light.  There’s still so much to work on and improve, but I can’t even begin to explain how much confidence getting her that far gave me in myself.  Thank you Cindy.

Riding several horses is also a big part of getting better.  I’m also lucky that Wilt puts up with me and essentially gives me a lesson every time I ride him.  I feel like I can help and improve all the other horses I am able to ride, but Wilt is way beyond anything I could teach him – for now!  (And I’m so lucky my Mom lets me ride her special horse – thank you Mom!)  Basically Wilt is saying “keep up with me, keep up with me!” the entire ride, but it lets me practice things I can’t practice on other horses and Wilt expects you to ride so if you don’t ask for something correctly, you don’t get it.  The best part is, Wilt is brutally honest so you do get what you really asked for….as evidenced by my frequent walk-to-canter attempts that ended in half pass. 

I don’t want to dismiss lessons.  Working with a trainer that is willing to go the distance and follow classical principles is essential as well.  It especially helps you from continually doing the wrong things because you think they’re right or you don’t know that you’re doing them.  Obviously I haven’t discussed the unique needs of different levels of riders.  Most of what I’ve said doesn’t apply to beginners.

For the rest of you, get out there and become better riders.  Ride your horse – often and well.

Later on, as I acquired more knowledge about certain things supposed “dressage riders” were doing out there in the world, I stopped answering the question as to what kind of riding I frequented with “dressage and jumping” and simply said “English”. If elaboration was called for, then I would say “dressage and jumping” still…but it made me uncomfortable. I didn’t want anyone to think I did what I saw a lot of riders do who claimed to “ride dressage”. It was just embarrassing. And you don’t even have to get into serious topics in the equestrian world like rollkur. For example, I recently witnessed a woman, who loudly proclaims to be a “dressage rider”, get extremely upset with her horse after the mare refused to stand still and allow her to shut the gate after exiting the arena. The horse apparently took a few steps forward, and this woman tried to get the horse to back up to where she felt she should be…and when the horse refused she pulled and pulled and used her entire body weight to pull on both reins. The horse braced herself and refused to move. The lady then continued pulling and proceeded to kick and kick and kick…with spurs. And then used her whip on the horse’s chest with every ounce of her strength. The horse at this point kind of half-reared, and still refused to go backwards. All this time, the lady is not only out of control physically, but emotionally she is a wreck. I swear, this must have gone on for 20 mintues. If it had been my place rectify the situation, believe me, I would have done it. Unfortunately it was not, and I had to witness this with my blood boiling and threatening to blow the top of my head off. In my mind I saw myself running over, throwing the fit the horse probably would have liked to throw, and screaming “Don’t you EVER tell anyone you do dressage!!” But…that wasn’t really a possibility. And so…this is a definite dilemma. I really don’t want to be associated with that and I definitely don’t want some to-be or novice rider seeing that and thinking that’s ok. Because yes, “dressage” is and should be so much more than just what you do in the arena. It’s everything about how you treat your horse.

“If training has not made a horse more beautiful, nobler in carriage, more attentive in his behavior, revealing pleasure in his accomplishment, then he has not truly been schooled in dressage.” ~ Col. Handler

So why has dressage become categorized as a discipline, a mere subset in the sport of riding, when it is the basics to all riding? One of the reasons I have come up with is because there are dressage shows. So people think, “Well I don’t ride dressage so I can’t show at those shows”. Not exactly. What I usually tell people if I have the golden opportunity to explain is that dressage is just French for training and they should try to think of someone who only “rides dressage” as being like someone who works out just for fitness’s sake. Not for any certain sport, just to be the best human being they can be. Theoretically, if that very fit person chose to do a sport they would have a clear advantage over their unfit counterparts. So dressage is riding for riding’s sake, making the horse the best athlete he can be and therefore expanding his options. I tell people that when you go to a dressage show, what you are really doing is showing how well your horse is trained at the level at which you’re competing. The qualities dressage judges look for are not specific to dressage at all. Would a western or hunter jumper rider ever claim that things like suppleness, flexibility, and accuracy aren’t important to them? Of course not. So if they are training correctly they are doing dressage without even knowing it. It’s just correct training. And riding is always training because it is darn near impossible to ride a horse and not influence the horse. All influence on the horse is training, whether it is good or bad, correct or incorrect.

The coolest thing would be to see an influx of riders who typically only go to other types of shows start to show up at dressage shows to gauge their training.

The real shame here is that a lot of horses are missing out. Every horse deserves the chance to be trained correctly and to be the best he can be. If dressage weren’t considered an area to specialize in, and instead were the basics to which everyone learned to ride and then chose what “discipline” to show in or what saddle to ride in, or what-have-you…how many horses would be better off? Not to mention the riders. This is one reason why I love K.A. von Ziegner’s version of the training scale in Elements Of Dressage: A Guide To Training The Young Horse so much. He has a “Training Tree” where the trunk contains the scale and the leaves are the discipline in which the horse competes after he has been trained according to the scale. Dressage, Jumping, and Eventing are up there. And so maybe what we should really be calling dressage is the higher levels (4^th Level onwards perhaps?), where horses move onto after receiving correct basic training. And so all of us sub-double-bridle classical dressage riders would instead tell people “I just ride…correctly…but someday I hope to do dressage” – ha!

I would really love to tell people “I ride dressage” and have them understand what I really mean…but I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon. So nowadays, when I am asked what type of riding I do, I say “Classical Riding”. And I do it because 99.9% of the time the person will say, “Huh…what’s that?”

Then I get to say: “I’m so glad you asked…”

I would really love to hear your thoughts on this!

Classical riding is related to dressage, and here is how: All classical riding is dressage, but not all dressage is classical riding. Sadly, the movement of “modern” or “competitive” dressage has brought a lot of misunderstanding to what originally started out as a pretty great idea. Additionally, classical riding is not a discipline in and of itself. While normally practiced in a “dressage” saddle and with a longer leg, the classical position and techniques are relevant to every discipline, and in fact are the underlying basics to all riding.

Riding classically dictates that you follow the training scale, seen below in its original form.

By following these principles, it is ensured that the horse is never pushed beyond his capabilities, and that muscles develop correctly. But more on the training scale later!