The Riding Seat Lesson

The Riding Seat Lesson
by Kris Garrett
11-19-09

One of the great things about living where I do, is that I have so many excellent riding instructors close by.

From TJ I have learned to never give up, to accept what I can do in the moment, to sit quietly and not haul my horse around with my reins, how to do (and not over do) a proper shoulder-in, and much more. Without my dear young TJ, I would have given up riding long ago. For the past eight years, she has been there for almost every horse emergency I've had. She has quietly and calmly supported me as a true friend when tragedy struck, handling the more gruesome of details when I was too distraught to take care of the necessary business at hand.

From Melanie I experienced my first western spin. I've learned how to better speak "horse" and recognize that I was already talking equinese without realizing it. I learned how to be a better teacher of young children, maintaining safety and discipline while offering a way to feel good about every success. From Melanie, I've learned how much I value a truly good person who is so congruent with her thoughts, words, and deeds, that I feel totally safe being her friend.

From Frances I learned that I tend to lock my triceps when I am nervous, causing me to bounce on my horse's mouth. Her ability to spot and pin-point the offending muscle group for any given problem, improved my riding with every lesson. It was with Frances that I experienced my first truly collected canter with my gelding, Feldspar. It was a magical experience I will never forget. I was on cloud nine for a week.

From Kari I've learned how a confident person's attitude rubs off on a horse. I watched her take a wild mustang and calmly and gently ride her in less than a week. I could see how safe the horses felt in her presence, and how fair, consistent treatment and clear communication made a horse feel more confident and secure. And I've witnessed amazing courage as this tiny gal patiently masters the biggest, rankest mount with a smile and a chuckle.

This week I finally scheduled a lesson with Eric Zeigler. Eric's classical focus in training begins as it has for centuries, with the rider's seat.

Here's my story:

Nov. 16, 2009

I tossed and turned, the ache in my hip's stretched-out sockets keeping me from sleep. My little dog grunted as I pushed her away from my side, allowing me to turn over without accidentally squashing her flat. I felt her snuggle tight into my warm back with a sigh. Finally the mega dose of Ibuprofen kicked in and my eyes fluttered closed.

In my repetitive dream I kept seeing the dark-haired midget actor from Fantasy Island running up to me in his little white tux, pointing at my backside shouting "Da Seat! Da Seat!" I had this strange impulse to kick him.

The scene faded and suddenly I found myself in Rhett Butler's arms. He had me bent over backwards and was staring lovingly into my eyes as he growled in a low, sultry voice, "Frankly my dear, you don't have a seat..." My dream-self immediately fainted dead away....

Bright lights flashed and suddenly I was staring down the long barrel of a rather large gun! Dirty Harry sneered through slitted eyes as he muttered, "Do ya feel lucky, punk? Go ahead.. make your seat..." The gun when off, but my dream went black before the slow-motion bullet made it to my forehead.

My dream-self was freefalling through dark clouds until I landed with a thump on a bright road. A long, yellow brick road, to be exact. A smiling scarecrow with hay falling out of his ears danced up to me. He opened his stitched cloth mouth and sang in a lilting voice, "if you only had a seeeeeeeat...." I screamed.

A small Toto-like dog instantly appeared from under the scarecrow's hat, jumped on my stomach and started snapping at my face. "Seat! Seat!" he barked.

My eyes fluttered open and I found my little Schnauzer on the bed next to me, her front feet on my arm, frantically licking my chin. I pulled her close and hugged her to my chest and sighed. "There's no place like home..." I muttered into her soft, fluffy ears.

The nap didn't do it. I was still sore and tired. But I was smiling too.

You see, I had my first seat lesson yesterday. For an hour we walked in circles in the snow and mud of my largely unused round pen. My horse had been put on a lunge line and my stirrups taken away, as I began the task of relearning how to ride a horse. Sure, I've ridden off and on for 41 years now, but there are things that you forget that you don't realize that you've forgotten. It's the subtle things, like how to balance yourself at all speeds and gaits, how to maintain your center, how to recognize when your core is correct as opposed to balancing off the stirrups and/or the reins to keep yourself from falling off.

These things were once as natural to me as breathing. But now that I'm half a century old, they are no longer automatic. My body has learned all kinds of bad habits, and my sense of balance has been slowly fading away, right along with my confidence as a horsewoman.

I once was a natural rider. My first horse was a wild mustang named Lonesome who was found wandering the western slopes of the Rockies. He was two years old when I bought him. I paid $35 for him and an old bridle. Neither myself nor my parents knew anything about horses, including that you are supposed to train them before you rode them. I was nine years old and in a big hurry, so I just got on and rode. Lonesome didn't know he was supposed to buck me off so he didn't. We were both as green as a shallow pond in the middle of summer, and didn't know that we didn't know what we didn't know. I didn't have a saddle either, but my ancient, cracked hackamore that was held together with baling wire was all I needed. I didn't even know what a bit was.

I rarely bothered with shoes on myself or my horse. He had tough mustang feet and I wasn't going to be touching the ground with mine, so why bother? My usual attire was shorts and a tank-top. That's it. For years we explored the world together, galloping as fast as we could up and down the Highline Canal road through Greenwood Village and Littleton, just south of Denver. We swam together in the canal when it was full, and enjoyed running in the deep sand when it was empty. We had two speeds... gallop at full tilt, and stop.

I never thought about balance or collection or if I would fall from my horse. It just didn't occur to me to think about it. And yes, I fell off on occasion but it was rare and I was never seriously hurt. My worst injuries were from bug bites and sunburn.

When I joined Pony Club I was required to wear a helmet and use a saddle. I didn't have or want to use either one, but I did want to join the jumping debutante crowd, so I caved. When in Rome... I bought an inexpensive English saddle and bridle from the Sears Catalogue on my Mom's credit card. Yes... I had permission. I remember feeling so grown up as I filled out the boxes on the order form and mailed it in.

As promised, my saddle and bridle arrived in the mail in a big brown box. I was very excited. I got a neighbor to come over and show me how to put them on. I still have and still use both items, 38 years later. They just don't make 'em like they used to...

At first I had a very hard time keeping my stirrups. Before that I had stayed on my horse by virtue of superb balance and strong grip from my inner thighs. What I discovered was, if I lost my balance I would still grip with my thighs which pulled my feet up and out of the stirrups. I got very frustrated with this and would not use the saddle when I practiced jumping at home. I was much more comfortable bareback. It took me years to learn to keep some weight on the stirrups to keep them on my feet. I remember absolutely hating the stirrups.

Learning contact with the reins was similarly difficult. I had never taken up contact and had never used a bit. Hackamore's worked on a completely different premise. Fortunately my poor horse was very generous with his attitude and accepted all the new tack as easily as he had accepted a totally green, horse crazy nine-year-old. Not bad for a "wild" mustang.

So, why is this history important?

I have discovered that using a saddle with stirrups and riding with contact for the past 30 or so years has slowly and almost imperceptibly taken away the thing that made me so unstoppable as a kid... my ability to be completely in balance with my horse. It doesn't matter how many lessons I take, even with the best of the best in the lessons business, I will never improve (or regain) my riding abilities until I fix my unbalanced seat.

Eric Ziegler is a teacher. It is who and what he is. Eric = Teacher = FACT He is a history teacher by trade, but that teaching ability permeates everything he does. He has a wonderful sense of humor, and a way of adding a touch of historical fact and scientific logic to his instructions. The smile on his face is genuine when he is praising the attempts his students make, even if the results are not yet quite up to par. He is never demeaning or impatient, which is a trait that many of us older women with esteem challenges value beyond anything else.

But, he took away my stirrups!!! That makes him an ogre! Then, he took away my reins!!! That made him a troll! I felt a bead of sweat break out on my lip at the thought of having NO control over my mount. What was going to happen to me? As fond as I am of Eric, or "Zieg" as his friends know him, I was not sure I trusted anyone enough to leave me sitting helpless on my horse. I was thinking how glad I was that I had renewed my insurance policy, as I resigned myself to my fate.

I'll confess, the part of me who remembered that I was once part centaur was certain this type of lesson was beneath my level of horsemanship. After all, I've been riding for more than twice as long as Eric. Heck, I've got boots older than he is! What could he possibly teach an old hand like me?

And so, once again, I am humbled.

Zieg had the great fortune of starting out riding with a Classical Master. His first hours on a horse were carefully choreographed so he never learned the wrong way to do things. His hands are as soft as a conductor's baton guiding a gentle lullaby. His seat is as steady and balanced as a high-wire circus performer on a unicycle.

Zieg's mentor's methods are older than most countries, and are founded in solid equestrian theory handed down from teacher to student throughout the centuries. These methods do NOT include how to get a bigger extended trot or how to push and pull a horse through a series of maneuvers that might result in a scrap of blue satin hanging from your browband. These methods were discovered and developed by the true centaurs of historical mankind... the ancient soldiers who's very lives depended on their ability to ride their horses well.

And so, we began. Eric put a cavasson over my bridle and attached a leadrope to my mare's nose. For my mental security more than practical use, he left my knotted reins on her neck within my grasp, even though I knew he was not going to willingly let me use them. I'll admit, it did make me feel better knowing they were there. He had me flip the stirrup leathers over my horses withers and drop my legs down straight. "You can hold on to the pommel of the saddle if you need to," he assured me. I was horrified to realize that the "tire" around my middle was not going to let my short arms reach that far. I grabbed a piece of stirrup leather instead.

So there I was, a middle aged woman who has had horses for over forty years, being led around like a six year old in a leadline class. "Why am I doing this?" I wondered. Three steps into our lesson, and I knew why.

"Nothing about riding a horse is natural," Zieg began. "Our bodies naturally want to do the exact opposite of what we must do to have a good, solid seat." He asked Lumina to walk with him in a circle . Around and around we walked the muddy round pen as they got to know each other and developed their communication. I was to just sit quietly in the saddle and feel how my body was moving. "The movements in your hips should go with the movement of the horse, like a hula dancer," he shared. The image that popped in my mind of my plump, aging body undulating in a grass hula skirt made me cringe.

Lumina is a very calm quiet horse. I value those traits immeasurably. But every time she stopped, I was pitched forward and I frantically grabbed for the reins as though she was about to bolt. I couldn't understand it! I had not realized that this was happening in my body all the time when I had stirrups to stop my forward pitch. "You must keep your weight behind your hips," Zieg repeated. "Lean back! Lean back!", he shouted over and over as he let me find my balance through the starts and stops. We were just walking and stopping, and I could barely stay on!

My body has changed. A lot. The roll round my middle would be a terrific model for a cartoon tire commercial. That's about the only use I can think of for it. I feel the roll when I ride. It changes my balance and my center of gravity. It bounces separately from the rest of my body if I bounce too hard on the horse. I am humiliated by it. I am ashamed of it. When I'm told I need to "love" my body, I scoff. I hate it. I know it is not healthy to send negative thoughts to the flesh that encases my spirit, but I just can't find it in myself to love this pudgy mess that my physical vessel has become. In fact, just thinking about it bugs me so much that I had better go get the decadent, soothing comfort of a Grande triple vanilla latte.

So, I can wait until I can get on The Biggest Loser show and have the fat beat off of me in Fatties-R-Us boot camp, or I can deal with the hand I've been dealt, and ride anyway. But if I'm going to ride anyway, I owe it to myself and my dear, tolerant horse to ride with balance and softness.

So, there I was, my fingers in a white death grip on the leathers of my stirrups as they laid over my horse's withers, praying I would not fall off into the snow and mud that was rapidly being mashed into just cold mud. Zieg asked me to perform all kinds of movements that my old body thought were insane. I did them anyway. My clumsy attempts at horseback gymnastics were rewarded with positive encouragement and a gentle push for just a little bit more from my very patient and aware teacher. He knew I was afraid and uncomfortable, and also knew that my goal to keep riding into my gray-haired years was absolutely dependant on the securing of my balanced riding seat.

My teacher told me that my new name was, "Lift Your Toe and Bend Your Knee", as he helped me retrain my leg muscles to lay quietly on the horse's sides and not brace in the non-existent stirrups. At first Lumina would jig forward when I gripped with an unfamiliar leg pressure as I bent my knee and laid my leg on her barrel. But, as Zieg demonstrated by having me consciously grip and hug Lumina's broad sides as tightly as I could with both my legs, it was not the pressure of my legs that drove her forward, but rather the on and off changes in that pressure that alerted her to change her gait. If I could just find my center, find my balance, find my SEAT, I would have quiet, relaxed legs independent of my seat, and regain what I had lost over the years; the clear communication with my horse, and most importantly, my confidence in my ability to ride.

So to Eric Zeigler, I bestow my greatest honor. that of "First Class Teacher, Extraordinaire...." I am humbled and absolutely thrilled at this experience, and plan to spend many more hours on the lunge line. I'm going to do all I can to resurrect that internal centaur of my youth. I know she is still in there, somewhere.

I may be getting old, but by golly, I'm not going down without a fight.


-Kris