Dealing with rejection.

I knew getting into print wasn’t going to be easy. I watched my mum struggling to get her writing published and so I know how difficult it is. But it was still quite a blow to receive my first rejection from an agent even if it was phrased in a positive way:
Dear Ms. Hearle,

Many thanks for sending me your manuscript.

I thought that there was much to admire here, in particular your prose style, but I’m afraid I don’t look after any books in this sort of genre and as such I do not feel that I would be the right agent for you, but please do not give up.

With best wishes and good luck in your future endeavours….
Being my first, I found it hard to tell if this was a standard rejection or not, but I’m learning to read the positives within the negatives; in so doing, I am choosing to take solace in the fact that he ‘admired’ my ‘prose style’ and am certainly not going to give up just yet. In fact I’m half way through my manuscript and will persevere in my pursuit of representation despite having already received a second, less positive rejection.
People keep reminding me about J K Rowling’s struggle to find belief in Harry Potter; whilst I don’t live under any illusions of harbouring a similarly global phenomenon on my hard drive, such thoughts do help to keep those flames of hope burning. I will strive to write more powerful, poignant and popular prose.
I’ve also suffered rejection with Bow; we didn’t make it onto the short list for the 2* team. The reason? Our show jumping hasn’t been consistent enough. Pragmatically I saw it coming; we haven’t had the greatest season, Bow isn’t the most careful jumper in the world and there are a lot of very good horses on the list. What's more important is that he's making a good recovery from his mystery virus. And whilst I was obviously disappointed, I’m not going to let it ruin next season for us; if anything it’s made me more determined.
We’ve nothing to lose and everything to prove. I learnt a lot from my mistakes last year and will use that learning curve to my advantage. Now that I’m riding more horses, more often, I know that I am riding a whole lot better. Whilst I would have loved to represent my country, I now have the freedom to choose where I compete and who knows, without the added pressure, how far we’ll go.
Tomorrow is after all, a New Year; for me it's also a new decade. I’m turning my negatives from 2010 into positives for 2011. My aim? To make it a good one.

A change for the better

Marcus recently pointed out to me that I don’t do change very well. I’ve decided that he’s right – he usually is - just like my mother used to be. I put it down to the fact that as a teenager I went through an unsettled time when the family fortune was squandered by my father, my parents divorced and we were forced to leave my childhood home; consequently we ended up moving about five times in the space of five years. It was an unsettling time which I think may have had a lasting impact upon me; I have become a creature of habit, routine and regularity. It’s perhaps the reason that I don’t really like the thought of going on holiday; the fear of abandoning my everyday life unnerves me and makes me irrationally anxious.

Let’s face it, it took me twelve years to leave the school where I began my teaching career. I used to travel over an hour to revisit my childhood dentist because I couldn’t face finding a new one; ridiculous I know. When I have dared to embrace change things have often gone horribly wrong; there was the new dentist who tried to ‘sell’ me a root canal filling that I didn’t need and the vet who fatally misdiagnosed a horse. Such happenings have inevitably compounded my hate of change.

I struggle to change hairdressers let alone cope with the potential stress of moving my horses from the yard where we spent the last eight years happily together. And yet move we have. This time the change is definitely for the better; in pretty much every way. The horses are happily installed in their cobbled stable yard with acres of grass to graze or roam. The riding takes us through stunningly picturesque, Cotswold countryside and for schooling, or if it’s raining, we have an indoor school. Luxuriously I no longer have to face the political tension inherent in most livery yards because it’s just me and the owner muddling harmoniously along. I’m just keeping everything crossed that my bubble doesn’t burst.

One old lady locked in the lavatory....

When we stopped for diesel on the way to Little Downham and I managed to get locked in the loo, I suppose I should have recognized it as a sign of how the day would pan out…….. Fairly desperate, having been on the road for two hours, I saw the sign outside the shop and made a dash for it whilst Marcus filled up and Chris went to pay. Only as I was in mid flow did I hear voices outside and a key rattle in the lock. Despite my embarrassment I had enough voice to say feebly ‘There’s someone in here…’ followed by a slightly louder plea, ‘Please don’t lock me in!’ As I heard the key rattle again. I knew it was a vain request as I saw the lock slide across…they obviously hadn’t heard me. I swore loudly as I tried the handle and realized that I was indeed locked into the airless, soundproof lavatory.
Although I hoped that I would be missed soon enough, being slightly claustrophobic, I immediately began to ensure my own escape. But it was only after several elongated minutes of knuckle bruising banging on the door combined with my repeated, increasingly desperate cries of ‘Help!’ did one of the attendants (who I swear saw me go in) come and let me out. I’m not sure who was laughing the most, the aforementioned attendant or my travelling companions. The latter confessed to denying all knowledge when asked if they were missing someone who might be locked in the smallest room. ‘Sorry.’ They said between fits of laughter, ‘We just thought you must be really nervous!’
That first misadventure was quickly followed the second as I managed to upset my freshly brewed latte which was balanced precariously in the door of the lorry as I climbed hastily back in to the cab. It missed Marcus by millimeters…rather more luck than judgment… not an act of revenge I promise…The third misfortune happened a little later on in the journey as we found ourselves lost for half an hour in the flat Cambridge shire landscape searching for the event… ‘Oh well’ we agreed as we finally reached our destination, ‘That’s three things. Hopefully now rest of the day should be okay…’
The whole occasion felt rather unreal. The incessant rain over the preceding few days had capped my nerves - I had convinced myself it would probably be cancelled. Subsequently I was feeling uncharacteristically rational. On arrival the small number of lorries parked in the muddy field were shrouded in a heavy mist, giving the event a rather surreal atmosphere. It felt strangely more like a pony club rally than my first advanced! This low key feeling diffused my anxiety even further – a good thing as Bow and I hadn’t been jumping very well at home the previous week and I was quite prepared for the mud to exacerbate the situation. I was feeling quite pragmatic; I was going to ride him as well as I could and if we too many show jumps down then I wouldn’t beat myself up. The calm approach worked as following a fairly good dressage test he rose to the occasion and tried his hardest around the up-to-height track to get out of the mud for a respectable 8 faults.But my bubble soon burst. Our day really wasn’t meant to go to plan…jumping off to make a fuss of Bow I soon noticed that he had a nose bleed…only a trickle but enough to warn me all he was not right. Sadly I decided not to run him x-country. Years of plans going awry have made me realise that sometimes things just aren't meant to be, but try explaining that to a horse - he made some very grumpy faces at me as I un-tacked him. I’m not sure who was more cross about being sent home early from the party, me or him.
The disappointment I felt at not being able to complete our first advanced was counterbalanced when the next day his blood results showed that he was definitely under par….an early holiday for him and a lesson for me…it’s no good dwelling upon what could have been. When it’s not your day, there’s no point wishing it was. But I’ve saved him for another time, when hopefully we'll have our moment…

Practicing what I preach...

Throughout my teaching career I’ve gone on and on and on about the importance of planning in creating a really good piece of writing. Insisted upon it despite the moans and groans of indifferent teenagers who hate planning…. Just want to get on with it…are just going to start writing regardless. Despite all this I’ve stuck pedantically to my guns, indifferent to the pleading and have insisted upon the scared PLAN! So why, when it comes to the most important piece of planning that I’ll probably ever do, can I not practice what I preach?
Knowing that all good books begin with a sound synopsis, where did I begin? With the first few chapters. When Marcus originally asked me if I had a plan I reeled out the well known excuse ...I know what I want to write…it’s all in my head…I don’t need to write it down...
Thus inevitably, as soon as I sent my initial ideas off to a friend in publishing, my poorly laid plans fell apart. I vaguely knew what I wanted to include and had thought that I only needed, or could get away with, a succinct one side synopsis. I was wrong. She advised me that I needed a chapter by chapter break down of the entire book. The sinking sense of disappointment was overwhelming; the kind of childish frustration you may've experienced when you thought that you’d finished a particularly tiresome task, only to realize that it needed to be done all over again because you hadn’t done it properly the first time. Not, I imagine - being very much a novice, unlike completing an intricate piece of knitting, only to see it unravel before your eyes…
Addressing the issue was painful. I struggled to get past the first five chapters and practically had to force myself to sit down and spin out my narrative. Think how Repunzel must have felt when faced with the impossible task of turning straw into gold; I felt something similar. It took me about three hours of nail biting and finger tapping, before with the flourish of a final full stop, I finally completed the task. Or so I thought...
Seeking feedback before I sent it back to the publishing friend, I emailed it to my extremely patient husband….. his response? I don’t think it quite works…what about x, y and z? You haven’t included …..why don’t you try…? My beautifully completed jigsaw puzzle lay in front of me. Blinking away tears, I pulled it apart for the third time. This time the pieces didn’t seem to want to fit back together and I really struggled to solve my plot problem. I found every possible excuse to evade my conundrum…. Housework, exercising the dogs, even outside chores have never been more appealing….Never having believed in writer’s block, there it was; solid, impenetrable and apparently impassable.
So how did I rebuild my shattered sandcastle? With quite a bit of help from Marcus; he’s a fantastic sounding board. If it weren’t for the fact that one of us needs to be earning real money, I’d have him at home 24/7. A large dose of tenacity from me ensured that all the talking actually transferred to the page. If I do return to teaching, I may just show a little more empathy to my reluctant students than I ever did in the past….

Flexibility is the way forward...

So how am I enjoying my more flexible existence? Well although I’m still not quite in the groove, I’ve already done several things that I wouldn’t have been able to do if I were still teaching….
Last Friday I rode at Blenheim with five other members of the long-listed two star team. We performed a training demonstration of the team dressage test in the main arena; a brilliant and enjoyable experience. We had two sets of instructions to follow; Jonathan Chapman directed us as Richard Waygood commentated upon our performance and explained the format of the European Two Star competition. He introduced us and our horses as we demonstrated some of the movements before running through the team test. As part of the demonstration he gave us instruction whilst encouraging the audience to clap at every opportune interval; in this way he generated the kind of electric atmosphere that you usually only experience at a championship and so it became a really good test of the horses’ temperament. Whilst a couple of the more highly strung characters did struggle to contain themselves - we had one dancing around in front of us and another prancing behind - Bow kept his cool and we maintained our all important rhythm.
Performing dressage as a team is much harder than it looks; you have to concentrate fully on where your horse is in relation to the others, whilst also listening for the commands. Movements and transitions have to be executed at exactly the right time, making the preparation of your horse for the movement crucial, ‘ride prepare to half circle left…’ and to be poised for the command ‘NOW’ upon which we all aim to perform the movement in perfect synchronicity. All these factors make it difficult to think about riding your own horse; you have to compromise your individual performance for the overall picture. The judges award a significant proportion of marks for ‘dressing’ – not, as I first thought (being new to this) how well coordinated our outfits are, but rather the harmony of the horses in each movement as well the regularity of the spacing between them – so this is an aspect that we’ve really worked on in training. Although by no means a perfect performance, the practice seemed to pay off as our display at Blenheim was rated as ‘good’ by Richard. Although he also informed the audience that we did have nearly a year to perfect it! Reading between the lines, it’s still early days….
On Wednesday I was able to squeeze in another Two Star training day to our busy schedule. I gained some valuable individual training advice from both Richard and Jonathan; I learnt a lot about doing less on the flat – I need to keep my legs and hands still and let it happen. The jumping exercises were clever and complicated – doing their job of getting us to think more quickly about the next fence. I find watching others to be as valuable as performing myself, although going first, the others had the advantage of learning from my mistakes! Two things I need to remember; shoulders back and soft hands. Not radically new advice, but both make a huge difference to Bow’s jumping.
On Friday we headed to Gatcombe for our first run since Blair. We completed a reasonable test and we show jumped well despite two fences down - I got him too deep to an upright and he was a little careless behind over a parallel. I was riding him in a Waterford for the first time as he decided to run away in his double at Somerford; I felt that I ‘had him’ more securely and was riding more proactively. The training is definitely helping and my nerve is definitely improving so we’re going in the right direction. He was brilliant x-country despite my slightly tentative approach over the first few fences and through the water; unlike me, he had obviously forgotten my unscheduled dip at Blair. I will also put it firmly behind me as we’re now focused upon preparing for our first advanced at Little Downham – two weeks on Monday – thanks again to my new flexible life…

Footloose but not quite fancy free....

Last week I couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that I should have been somewhere else…..Schools around here have had a staggered start to the new school year and so I was almost able to pretend that I wasn’t missing anything. Bumping into some of my recent GCSE students at Moreton show last week end reminded me quite gently. They told me how brilliantly well they’d done in their English exams, which as I still haven’t managed to get hold of a copy of their results, was fantastic news. Every student needs their magic grade ‘C’ in English in order to progress to college, sixth form, university and beyond…. One of the best things about teaching is helping students to achieve those results that they need to progress. For me, learning of a less academic student achieving a grade ‘C’ has always given me a greater sense of achievement than the high fliers achieving their ‘A*s’. It’s often been a much harder climb, especially having nagged the less motivated students every step of the way, but when they do reach their goals, it seems somehow all the more amazing. Those moments sharing the students’ successes and seeing them move on to greater things, are aspects of the job that I’m really going to miss.
Although one student told me she was going back to the sixth form, others were moving on which made me feel a little less isolated in my departure. I also bumped into a retired colleague from Prince Henry’s on Saturday night; a vivacious blast from the past she was warm and generous in her greeting and animated proof that ‘life outside’ can bring happiness and fulfillment. She told me a funny story about one of my recent GCSE students; he’d been to see her for help with an audition for college, apparently he wanted to be a stunt man.It just shows that teachers only see one side of their students.I’d always had him down as the shy, retiring, quiet one who was lacking in confidence! She told me that not only did he achieve his magic ‘C’grade in English but he was also accepted onto his drama course; brilliant news. After a week end of such uplifting chance encounters I felt quite buoyant about moving on; positive, upbeat and a little less like Cinderella than I had on September 1st.
That elation soon evaporated when my P45 arrived in the post on Monday morning; weird how a piece of paper could leave me feeling like I’d been slapped in the face. Although I’d sort of adjusted to not going back to school it was still a shock. A rude reminder that I’m footloose but not quite fancy free; although I now have the time to pursue my dreams, I still need to find a way of funding them. I have begun working for my trainer which is great as it was always part of the plan; riding more horses is definitely helping to improve my technique. But the writing hasn’t quite taken off yet. I’ve done some and am waiting for feedback. I can empathize with students waiting for their results; wondering if what I’ve done is good enough to help me onto the next stage of my life…..

Down to earth with a splash....

Before I set off to Blair my biggest fear was that it would prove to be a quagmire; various people fed this fear - telling me that it was forecast to rain all week, that it had been a mud-bath the previous year and that they were glad not to be going themselves. So it was with this added trepidation about the weather that I set out upon my solitary eight hour journey northwards. Little did I know that the weather would prove to be the least of my worries or just what kind of bath awaited me.
The weather worsened as we got further north, deepening my sense of foreboding; we drove through howling gales and squally showers which lashed against the sides of the lorry and buffeted us around the carriageway. At times Bow must have felt like he was aboard a ship crossing the channel. Pulling into the Castle gates, I was informed that we would have to be towed onto the show ground due to an earlier deluge. ‘Great’ I thought – ‘Day one and it’s already extremely soggy…not the best start.’ Yet despite the wet beginning, the ground dried out remarkably well; the occasional showers throughout the week did make it a bit muddy at times but nothing comparable to the quagmire of my nightmares.
I’d asked for Friday dressage so that I would have my loyal husband to provide back up; Bow seemed quite chilled and produced what I thought was a nice test. The judges however thought differently and awarded us a mark of 58 which placed us about half way after that phase. Although disappointed, having seen the course, I knew that it wasn’t going to be a dressage competition; the course was bold and asked some challenging questions – several big skinnies which would require committed riding from me and focused jumping efforts from Bow – these combined with the undulating terrain created a tough track.
Saturday dawned fairly dry but we had to wait all day as the other three classes were scheduled before the 2*. I managed to control my nerves; I watched some show jumping, did some retail therapy, re-walked my course and even managed a short nap. We warmed up well over the useful skinny fences and set off with purpose and conviction. I’d already heard about several problems on the course which had caused falls and stops but I had my plan and was determined to follow it. We tackled the early questions easily and began our long climb up the hill; we successfully navigated the first water complex – a stiff eyelash into the first crossing followed by a drop in, step up to a skinny – Bow helped me out over the last element, cleverly adding an extra stride. The crowd’s applause urged us on to the next question – two big, island skinny fences, which we also cleared easily. Next it was the step down to the angled skinny hedge – technical and up to height it had caused me the most sleep deprivation – we jumped it well although looking back it may have surprised him a little. Then it was down to the Malcom water complex – a big hedge in, followed by a skinny salmon in the water. Bow jumped in boldly and it I was sure he’d left a leg because we landed with a jolt and I was flicked out of the saddle.
With the loud bang of the air canister echoing in my ears, I found myself sitting in the water immobilized by my air jacket; grateful only that the water wasn’t deep enough to make me float like a beached whale – there has to be a positive somewhere - I swore to myself under my breath as I unclipped its suffocating embrace. To add to the insult Bow was looking bemusedly down at me as if to say ‘what the hell are you doing down there?’ Mercifully I still had the reins, so I led him out, peaty water streaming out of my clothing and boots; this time the applause only amplified my shame faced, soggy disappointment. FEI rules meant elimination; game over.
Watching the replay it was clear that Bow hadn’t actually put a foot wrong, he’d just jumped in too well. So it was my fault for not sitting up quite enough. In a way that makes it better as he is not at fault; in a way it’s worse as I’ve only myself to blame. The eight hour journey home gave me a chance to reflect upon it; Scotland is a very long way to go for a swimming lesson!

Sharing success and cutting ties...

I went back to school today for A level results; it was probably the last time, at least at Prince Henry's. For me Results Day has always been an important occasion; not just as a celebration of the childrens' achievement but for the proof that I can actually teach. I've always enjoyed being there on the edge of their moments of glory; sharing their successes and commiserating with their disappointments. As always, today saw students ecstatic for exceeding their expectations but also those who were distraught because they hadn't done as well as they'd hoped. Alongside the army of expectant teachers sat the mountain of doughnuts piled high in the hall; providing food for consolation or celebration. This year it sat sadly forlorn, neglected by all. Maybe the added threat of obesity is too much of an additional pressure for today's students to face. After all, if they actually get to university then the media constantly warns them that they face five figure debts. It tells them that they may never be able to pay them off, as when they leave, there probably wont be any jobs anyway. It tells us that the nation's girth is growing. What a bright future they face! No wonder they can't face the food.

This time felt definitely different; I felt strangely disconnected as if I shouldn't actually have been there, as if I no longer belonged. Some members staff were friendly and pleased to talk; some totally ignored me as if I were invisible - already departed from their world. I was grateful that the students treated me normally - confirming that I wasn't a ghost after all. I was able to share in some of their euphoria or console their tears. This year there seemed to be more tears shed than ever before; not all for failure - some through fear. It made me think that there really is far too much pressure on students today, exam results seem to have become disproportionately important in the grand scheme of their lives. For some, the mere anticipation of success or failure caused an emotional meltdown even before they'd opened their terrifying brown envelope. Others managed a more pragmatic approach and dealt with their news with frighteningly worldly maturity. Do they grow up too fast these days? Is it any wonder when they have successfully jumped through so many hoops? When for some that still isn't enough? I certainly wouldn't want to be a teenager again.

I experienced a sense of closure today. As I walked to the car park, I no longer felt the need to turn around, rattle the doors and beg for my job back. Yes I'll miss days like today but I have begun to move on; the transitional period of the summer holidays enabling me to ease myself into my new life. I won't be able to go back for GCSE results as I'm off to Blair with Bow. Whilst I would like to congratulate the children upon their achievements, I am content to do so from a distance. I feel a sense of relief that I've cut the cord; I can survive outside. I no longer feel like I am clinging on to the past; it is time to embrace the future.

Sunday night, Monday morning...

Technically still being on holiday, you might think that I wouldn’t really suffer from Sunday Night Syndrome; sadly I do – by proxy. What is Sunday Night Syndrome? It’s that prevailingly restlessness –caused by the knowledge that you have to get up early on Monday morning - which ruins what might otherwise be a perfectly good night’s sleep.
Last Sunday night several factors elevated the symptoms to a chronic level: my husband had to get up at 4.40am on Monday; somebody’s car alarm went off twice just after midnight – sadly not an irregular occurrence in the locality– am I really the only light sleeper in the village, or can no-one else be bothered to get up and peer out between the curtains to check if it is their car waking the dead? Husband, made chronically sleepless by said factors, got up at 2am to go into the spare room – so that he could put the light on and read; seemingly just as I’d recovered from previous interruptions, husband got up at 4.40am as planned and despite knowing how lightly his wife slumbers, he executed an elaborate tap dance on the laminate flooring, ensuring that by the time he slammed the back door, I was probably more awake than he was. Not really a problem except that he was the one driving to the airport.The house silent once more, I tried desperately to get back to sleep. I probably just about managed to do so about two minutes before my own alarm went off at 6.30am.
How grumpy does lack of sleep make me? Very. Especially when I’ve suffered mostly by proxy – I wasn’t worried about getting up early – 6.30 is a lie on for me! As a result I spent most of Monday suffering hangover like symptoms; I wouldn’t have complained if I’d actually had a drink! Roll on next Sunday…..does anybody know of a cure?

I am no longer a festival virgin.

So how was our first time at the Festival of British Eventing? It was exciting, nerve racking and quite a big step-up. It could have been better, but it could have been worse. I am both pleased and disappointed with our performance.

We did our test on Saturday morning. Arriving on my own was quite daunting: getting out of the lorry I could hear the commentator announcing competitors and scores – reminding me that it was a championship. It didn’t faze Bow - he doesn’t get easily wound up; he worked in really nicely giving me confidence that he would produce a good test. That was until the heavens opened about twenty minutes before our time– I’d seen the forecast but hadn’t quite anticipated how heavy the showers might be. Within minutes I was soaked through to my underwear, squelching and sliding around the saddle – now I know how it must feel to continue a cross-country round having fallen in the water -not a pleasant experience. Bow was distinctly unimpressed at being asked to work such conditions – he attempted to stay in unprompted travers – putting his bottom into the rain - unhelpful as it wasn’t in the test! By the time we went into the arena he had completely switched off and I struggled to get him going forwards at all. Although the rain had eased, it was hard to tell the difference as there was still a curtain of water running off my top hat. We completed a very average test for him – I struggled to use my legs and seat effectively as I slid around in the saddle; he struggled to go forwards and sideways on the slippery surface. As I completed our final halt, I was relieved but disappointed – at least I had remembered the test and we hadn’t made any mistakes but we could have done so much more. The judges awarded us a mark of 34.9 which placed us 31st out of 90; a fair mark for an average test.

On Saturday afternoon I watched some show jumping and panicked about the crowds, the big screen and the atmosphere. The course caused a lot of problems; many horses were struggling with the atmosphere and the undulating ground and were having several poles down. I felt sick just watching. Bow can be a bit careless if I don’t ride him positively – how would he cope with all these additional issues? What would happen if we had them ALL DOWN? Total meltdown; total humiliation.

At 3.30am Sunday morning I was restless, anxious and struggling to sleep. I was tormented by nerves. I’d walked the x-country course on Saturday afternoon; both a blessing and a curse as it gave me plenty of time to think about it but it also meant that my sleep was disturbed badly that night - my demons and nightmares ran through my mind. It looked big and there were one or two fences which asked deceptive questions; in particular a wall with a low wall in front of it – on the approach it looked like a bounce and I was worried that he might misread it. I knew that it needed positive riding especially as it had an uphill approach. What if he put his front legs into it? I know that negative thoughts can act as a self fulfilling prophecy but I couldn’t help myself. The other fence I was especially worried about was the corner combination under the Landrovers – I was more worried about the people distracting him (or me) as that is where the biggest crowds congregate. The crowds were another concern – how would he react? He’d never seen so many people before. Would it blow his mind?... Thoughts reeled over and over as I tossed and turned before eventually giving up and getting up even earlier than necessary....

I arrived in time to walk the show jumping and x-country (again) which actually helped to dispel the demons. That was until I walked down to the arena on Bow; my heart stopped, a sea of faces surrounded it – at least three rows deep. How did I keep going? I’m not entirely sure. Reaching the warm up arena I walked him down the stringed tunnel to face the crowd; sports psychology has taught me to face my fears so rather than pretend the people weren’t there - as I have done in the past - I looked at them and smiled. Strangely, it worked, I felt less intimidated. We had a good warm up; my long suffering trainer there to provide support and advice – confidence giving and calming, he helped me to enter the zone. Entering the arena was like entering a bullring, the crowd waiting for disaster to strike.... I blocked it all out and kept my head... we cleared the first few fences easily... and then we hit one making me ride negatively ....two more poles fell before I managed to get him back into a positive rhythm the for the final line; 12 faults - disappointingly worse than I’d hoped for but better than my worst nightmare.

Making my way down to the x-country I felt calm; nervous but positive. There wasn’t long to wait before I was being counted down .....5,4,3,2, 1 go – we bounced out of the start box, clearing the first three fences well and scooting down the drop and into the trees....out of the wood and into the crowds...he wasn’t bothered by the people until we reached the seventh fence when I felt him back off ...quick thinking and we re-routed to take the long route safely before kicking on...we cleared fence after fence as he grew in confidence...the Landrover combination felt easy; he didn’t waver from the corner ....we rode up the hill and over the mushroom before approaching the big hedge to go down the other side... but I didn’t quite get my line right and he launched himself over it down the hill more quickly than I intended....me more of a passenger than pilot... before I reacted we arrived at the bottom of the skinny brush in a heap...he couldn’t have jumped it from there so he sensibly opted out..... swearing under my breath – extremely cross with myself for letting it happen....we renegotiated the fence successfully before completing the course a little more conservatively than we’d set out.

Many things to be positive about the entire experience, but I can’t quite shake off the disappointment with myself. I know my horse well enough by now; we are better than that. I should have stepped up to the mark but will endeavour not to beat myself up about it; we live and learn.So how was our first time at the Festival of British Eventing? It was exciting, nerve racking and quite a big step-up. It could have been better, but it could have been worse. I am both pleased and disappointed with our performance.

Say hello.....

So I’ve survived my first week beyond teaching; although I do feel cocooned by the summer holidays – technically I’m still a teacher. The intensity of my discombobulation has eased considerably and I’ve begun to relax at last. I don’t really relax by sitting still so after a couple of days of apathetic moping about, I threw myself into the next phase of my life with gusto.

I’ve made the most of having more time to be domesticated – to get into my role of horsewife. Subsequently, the house is looking a little more civilised and the horses are feeling a little more appreciated. I’ve also begun writing my book – in the form of anecdotal tales of riding and teaching, in the style of James Herriot meets Gervase Phinn. Although I’d been talking about it for a while, I found it difficult to make a start before going officially off duty; I had some issue with divided loyalties. I managed to write the first two chapters last week – although they need some editing. I surprised myself and my husband with my productivity. Consequently, I’m feeling more in touch with my creative side and more confident that there is a life for me beyond school. Is it any good? Marcus seems to think so – he’s my most avid critic and has already given me plenty of constructive advice for improvement. It’s very helpful to have a second pair of eyes. I intend to seek several more impartial reviews before approaching an agent.

The horses have enjoyed the fruits of my new freedom in different ways. Bow has been treated to a Shiatsu massage treatment – his therapist, Katherine, told me that he was very tight in all his muscles and has shown me some techniques to help him become suppler. He seems to enjoy it and seems looser already. I’m sure that it may have contributed to our success yesterday at Wilton Horse Trials where we posted our best result this season – 4th in the OI. He did a good test – 28.2, followed by one down and a clear cross country round. Marcus thinks it has more to do with my being more relaxed – it’s probably a combination of the two. I was most pleased with his cross country as we hadn’t been schooling since Barbury due to the hard ground; I was worried that he might remember my poor piloting but he seemed totally unperturbed. I usually take rescue remedy before my show jumping – yesterday I was so nervous, I took another dose before the xc. He’s such a lovely chap, I was desperate not to make another mistake. But I needn’t have worried as he felt keen and confident. More importantly it was very good preparation for Gatcombe (another reason I was keen to ride well) next week end.

I read some articles about Gatcombe this morning – the pictures being more terrifying than the words! It’s not so much the fences but the crowds that I’m concerned about. It will be the biggest ‘occasion’ either of us has competed at and we can both be a little distracted by people. I’m just hoping that the string will keep them at a safe distance - out of our direct line of vision. Who knows how we’ll cope. I’m quite sure that we can lurk in the shadows of the big guns; nobody will really be watching us. It is a significant occasion for both of us; it will be our first time at the festival and our first advanced. I’m trying to keep cool by telling myself that we are just going for the experience, that there is no pressure – we’ll just see what happens. My aim is to ride him as least as well as I did yesterday, to stay in the zone and most importantly, to enjoy it.

Wave Goodbye...

The final few days of term have passed; although on the payroll until August 31st I have finished teaching for a few years at least. Despite being reassured by various people that ‘I’ve made the right decision’, my mental status hasn’t changed; I still feel more discombobulated than ecstatic upon gaining my freedom. I am strangely comforted in the knowledge that I must go back for results days. I’m still clinging on.....I tried to ease my passing by making a list of all the things I won’t miss about school, but it didn’t help as it was disappointingly short....marking , the bells , admin...In fact the list of things I will miss was disproportionately longer ...the students, colleagues, friends, camaraderie, learning, discovery, success, development....
In the last few days I’ve bid farewell to friends, colleagues and students in an emotional departure which feels more akin to bereavement than leaving a job. There’s the rub I suppose – teaching isn’t just a job; it’s a way of life. Working in a school environment, where the adults man classes alone (educational satellites) before returning to the sanctuary of the departmental office. The office is the hub, like a kitchen, where we sit around the teapot and share stories, plan strategies and schemes of work; it’s where we resolve problems together - professional and personal. The head of department is the matriarch; responsible for running the ship as well as the morale and well-being of her crew. As a result, my colleagues have become more like friends and family; saying goodbye not just to individuals but to that sense of shared experience, was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do.
I was given a good send off; students baked me cakes and gave me cards which made me choke (the cards not the cakes) with comments such as ‘gonna miss you Miss...you’ve been a quality teacher...’ (n.b. a female teacher remains ‘Miss’ whatever her relationship status) We had a departmental gathering at a local restaurant where the wine flowed almost as freely as the tears. My bsf (best school friend) was given the onerous task of presenting the gift; onerous because I’m notoriously difficult to buy presents for – exacting and extremely hard to please. Rather thrown by her hysteria, I didn’t react very well to the beautiful bronze horse ... accompanied as it was by reassurances that ‘it wasn’t a joke present’ I managed to mutter muted thanks... ‘It’s lovely’. The awkward moments over and my gratitude reaffirmed (albeit belatedly) Henry the horse has settled well onto the mantelpiece; he surveys the room with a regal elegance. The husband is less pleased despite my reminder that ‘he’ll be cheap to keep’ I was told ‘if any more equestrian memorabilia (we do already have quite a few pictures of my horses) enters the house then I’m going to build a shed and fill it with windsurfing posters...’ I’m sure he’ll grow to love him, just like the others.... For me, he’s a monument to friends, fellowship and the future....

Am I suffering from Cinderella Syndrome?

Being my first proper job (I don’t really count the horsey jobs, waitressing or bar work as real jobs) this is the only ‘career’ I’ve actually resigned from. It’s certainly the first time where I haven’t anywhere or anything else definite to go on to. It’s terrifying; in my last week of teaching I am teetering ever closer to the brink.....all too soon I will no longer be able to call myself a teacher...I feel like I am about to lose a major part of my identity. What will I say when people ask me what I do? What will I fill in on forms where I am asked to state my occupation? Will horse wife wash with the bank manager when I need to extend my overdraft?

Every year the teachers long for the summer holiday as much if not more so than the children, and yet they also look forward to the next academic year with its new students, new challenges and new subjects to teach. This year I am left out of all this, by choice of course - I chose to resign. And yet I am clinging on to the sides for dear life, like I’m about to fall overboard; I don’t want to leave the safety of the ship I call school. It’s been my life, my family and my routine for so long that I cannot seem to comprehend a life outside.

The end of term atmosphere compounds my inner terror. While the children wind down, kept calm with their favourite games or DVDs, the teachers run around frantically preparing for the next academic year; new set lists need to be compiled, new timetables written and new books allocated to new classes. The last few weeks of term require a final burst of energy from staff in charge of these tasks; the final push to ensure their completion before we too, can escape for the summer. Only this year I feel somewhat like Cinderella whilst these preparations go on around me; colleagues’ excitement and anxiety about what September will bring to their classroom buzzes throughout the department. I watch, an impartial observer; a fly on the wall. People comment ‘Oh you don’t need to worry about that, do you?’ meaning to be kind but compounding my feelings of emptiness and exclusion. I feel left out of it all; the odd one. Discombobulated. It reminds me of those horrible times as a child, knowing you would be last to be picked for the team. Feeling like nobody wants you to be part of their game.

I know that these feelings are totally irrational and yet I am unable to halt their progress. I’ve felt physically unwell this week end; overwhelmed with exhaustion I space- walked around the house as if my mind was not attached to my body. I snapped at my husband more often than usual; resenting his absorption in his own work, I became a petulant child demanding his attention. He thinks my physical state is due to stress; maybe he’s right. Maybe I've just fallen victim to one of the prevalent, persistent bugs which seem to circumnavigate the curriculum constantly. If someone were to offer me my old job back, in my terrified desperate state, I’d probably accept; in fact if anyone is listening, I'll take anything...cleaner....caretaker...cook...please just let me stay...

In reality, I know that I have to get through my last week without going into emotional meltdown. I must say goodbye to colleagues, to classes and to friends. I have last lessons to oversee and my last supper to attend. I am on the brink of the end of an era.....I just wish I had the next one mapped out more clearly.....

The continuous learning curve

So how has my season gone so far? Well let’s put it this way – with all the wake up calls I’ve had so far, I should be an insomniac! So why hasn’t it gone to plan? Firstly the pressure of leaving teaching has made me try far too hard. Additionally I’ve been long listed for the 2* event team (for the European championship to be held in the UK in 2011) whilst I am thrilled, inevitably this has added to the pressure I put upon myself. I don’t want to be mediocre, I don’t want to be average; I want to be as good as I know I can be. At the moment, I just seem to be doing a great job in sabotaging my own success. I accept that competing in any sport involves constant development; I just want to create a learning curve with a steadier incline – to eradicate the dips.

My self-belief has been shaky for a while – no reason in particular although exacerbated by my health scare last autumn. Inevitably this has a negative impact upon my state of mind; for me, this is the most detrimental factor upon my performance. When I venture beyond my comfort zone, push myself to the next level (the time when I need extra resilience) the doubts creep in. They enter through devious channels and in unexpected ways; they make me view things in an entirely negative light and beat myself up for minor mistakes. Most significantly, they make me physically tense during competitions which impacts (quite drastically) upon my horse’s performance.

Following a disappointing three-day performance at Houghton Hall in May (where I let myself down, my horse down, my husband down, my trainers down... even my dogs down ) I sought out a sports psychologist recommended to me via word of mouth; this method of sourcing seemed preferable to the media hype surrounding the mind-bending promises I found on-line. The Mind &Body Guru offered me ‘A new body, mind and way of thinking...’ for only £300 a month I was promised personal, instant counselling. Although the hype sounded amazing (really?) clearly it wasn’t a viable option. I decided to go for the local, cheaper version. I arrived at his ‘office’ – a shabby porta-cabin in the middle of a small-holding. Well, I reminded myself, I had opted for this over the glitzy, gilded guru for economic reasons, so I couldn’t really judge the location.

I had to hang around for a while before he appeared, apologetic for having been stuck in traffic and glistening slightly due to the heat. He didn’t strike me instantly as someone who might inspire me with confidence, but I tried desperately hard to keep an open mind. He sat me down in his rather ramshackle office where pictures of successful sports men and women peppered the walls; presumably testaments to his success. My optimism given a slight boost, I wondered if maybe he could help me after all. Even despite the distraction of his rather bizarre goatee beard (it looked rather like a tramline running down the groove of his chin; all I could think was why? What did it really achieve?) He lectured me about the theory of sports psychology when what I wanted was practical ways of managing my nerves; frustratingly, all I could focus upon was his chin. I left feeling disappointed and disillusioned. When he contacted me a few weeks later to suggest a follow up ‘deep cleansing’ session, all I could do was laugh hysterically.

I have worked hard on managing my nerves since; finding practical solutions of my own which help me to stay in the zone. I have been better; I’ve managed to keep softer hands (the key to my success) in all three phases. Yet I still manage to make the most frustrating blunders. The latest was at Barbary Horse Trials; selected deliberately as a high profile event where I could test myself under pressure. The first two phases (dressage and show jumping) were more measured on my part; not perfect, but nonetheless better. The final phase (x-country) doesn’t usually cause me as much concern as I can ride in my positive, attacking mode; yet this time, for some unknown reason, I rode a sequence of fences in a particularly random way, resulting in Bow deciding to run past one. Totally my fault. Totally frustrating. The course was relatively straightforward. I really can’t explain what came over me. All I need to do is to ride more consistently, so why can’t I do that? I can and I will...

....Our next big test is The Festival of British Eventing, held at Gatcombe at the beginning of August, where Bow and I are entered for the Intermediate Championship. It will be our first time competing there. It will be our first attempt at advanced level. I must ride at my bravest , at my best and at my most consistent....It really is a case of mind over matter......at least I hope it is....

Whose Quest? Which Rainbow?

The Rainbow in question has four legs, a mane and a tail; aka Western Rainbow (for competitions) or Bow (to friends and family) He's a 10 year old skewbald gelding who I have owned for nearly 6 yrs; a quirky, cheeky and cool character. He is, I confess, a child substitute; any maternal urges I might harbour are entirely fulfilled by him. A superior model -he doesn't need a babysitter, he doesn't answer back and he can jump quite a large fence (with me on his back - even when I've eaten too many buns). I'm not entirely sure that I know any children who could match his spec. The quest I am embarking upon is to see just what I can achieve with Bow without the time restrictions of teaching; we currently compete in affiliated events at international 2 * level and hope to progress to 3*. I'm not sure whether either of us is up to the challenge, but we'll never know until we give it a go. I also need to find other ways of making money; not quite sure how I'm going to do that just yet.

It may seem like a risk - pitching all my hopes upon one four legged creature, but Bow does have an understudy - Roger; a dutch warm blood who rides like he's on springs. He has the most powerful engine I have ever ridden and jumps with jet propulsion. However, his elevated paces might prove to be his undoing - he is currently laid off with an injured suspensory ligament. At least I'm hoping that it was his extravagant movement which caused the problem and not the consequences of my chocolate addiction! Having two horses has always been the plan; so that Bow isn't laden with the entire burden of my expectations and endeavours. It also gives me more practice at keeping my eye in; inevitably I ride far better when I'm riding more horses, more frequently. The best-laid plans often fall apart in my world; poor Roger has been sidelined for nearly as long as I have owned him.

Teaching is one of the best jobs in the world(cheesy yes, but no, it's not a myth) yet also one of the most inflexible. You are correct if your assumption is that teachers are given lovely long holidays; frequent sarcastic allusions to this are a constant reminder of the deep-rooted jealousy suffered by those forced to survive upon the statutory 28 days a year. I've lost count of the snide comments aimed at me because of this; 'On holiday again are you?', 'Gosh, only two weeks off for Easter...' And yes teachers do get long holidays but they are fixed. Whilst most other professions allow employees to choose their holidays, teachers are confined to the parameters of the school calender. I need to be able to take days off to compete and train as necessary; many of the higher level competitions are on week days. And so my competitive equestrian pursuits have become incompatible with my teaching; I've selfishly decided to follow my heart.

Having had the means (Bow) for a while, I now need to see if having the ways (flexibility) is enough to fulfil my quest......

The final few furlongs....

During the summer term I become the Scrooge of sunshine. Attempting to teach thirty sweaty teenagers in a classroom hotter than your average sauna is not my favourite occupation. Imagine the consequences of rising temperatures: the mood swings increase in velocity and frequency; the battle of body odour and deodorant becomes more volatile; picking up a pen requires a super-human effort. My role as a variety show entertainer is replaced by that of cajoler, nag and eventually slave driver. Students who previously hung off my every word (well some words) can barely keep their concentration inside the classroom.

With less than three weeks to go until the end of term I am beginning to adjust to the concept of life beyond the institution; aided in this by the unsettled atmosphere which perpetually prevails in a secondary school at this time of year. Primary schools can busy themselves with nature trails, treasure hunts or the school play. The high school timetable is polarized between academic pressure and the constant interruptions of more serious extra-curricular activities; Duke of Edinburgh expeditions, sporting fixtures and extra-curricular activities prioritise student's energy. Admittedly these are all worthy endeavours which broaden the children's minds and reduce their risk of obesity. However they also seem to mysteriously drain any remnant of academic thirst or self motivation they might once have had. Setting work becomes impossible, 'Oh we won't be here to hand it in miss, we'll be in The Forest of Dean....' or 'We won't be able to finish this on Wednesday miss, it's sports day..'



It's the time of year when even the most affable students become awkward, evasive and even hysterical; when the lovely child becomes an ogre. Already made fractious by the heat and the lure of sunshine they become increasingly disinclined to work. The enticingly imminent prospect of the long, lazy summer holiday merely exacerbates the problem. They 'don't see the point of poetry', 'can't be bothered with the Brontes and tell me (more often than usual) that 'Shakespeare sucks'. My constant nagging is met with a barrage of increasingly elaborate excuses; 'I'm sorry miss, I couldn't do my homework because I was making cakes for the school fete...' (funny that - we don't have one!) or 'Sorry miss, I couldn't finish my course work 'cos I was working on my tan...It is really important miss, I don't want to be too white on the beach do I?.'....How do you respond to such rational arguments? The sixth form don't argue, they just absent themselves by finding countless university open days to attend; in all honesty, are they ever likely to attend the University of Newquay or The college of Cornwall? 'Maybe not miss, but they do have great beaches....'



You might think that because I'm leaving, I could match their apathy. That I could respond with 'You are right, Shakespeare is stupid....don't bother to finish that essay.. or let's forget 'Frankenstein' . I would just say 'Forget everything; let's sunbathe!' If it weren't for my love of Literature and for my conscience I might do just that. Yet I feel compelled to tie up every loose end and make things tidy for my successor; my conscience wins. We will complete our course work, we will write those essays and we will practice our precis. Yes, this will become a power struggle but the teenage tantrums will also ease my departure.... they will be a reality check - a reminder of the trials of teaching; that I've only loved nearly every minute of it all...

Deciding to follow the road not taken

So how do you come to such a momentous decision? To follow the unconventional route in life is a daunting prospect; essentially I am a conformist, a follower. Yet my whole way of life is about to change.

When my husband suggested that I take a break from teaching last September I was excited. It wasn't a total shock as we'd discussed the possibility before; I was optimistic at the prospect of such an opportunity. I felt lucky to have such a supportive husband; who wouldn't? He's always been amazingly tolerant of my habit (see - about me) but this was the ultimate evidence of his faith in me.

Poised to begin the new academic year, I planned to wait before handing in my resignation. I would have to give a term's notice anyway and it seemed rather unfair on my new classes to abandon them almost as soon as we'd begun. The school timetable and the distribution of classes is a complete lottery every year. Meeting each new class is like meeting your in-laws for the first time; destined to spend time in their company, you pray that they are, at the very least, tolerable.

Typically I was assigned some lovely classes that term. This complicated my decision as it would mean handing them over to another teacher half way through their respective GCSE and A level courses. Why hadn't I been given difficult classes like I'd had over the years? Groups of teenagers in which the sheer number of big personalities in the room at one time made it almost impossible to teach them anything. Classes like the one which almost made me leave teaching altogether. Leaving 10g and 12b was going to be tough; like a spoilt child, I hated the idea of someone else sharing their success.

During the October half-term I faced an unexpected delay to my plans; further fuelling my procrastination . I'd say I've always been one of the healthier members of staff. I didn't really do illness; I rarely visited the doctor. I treated disease with impatience; I didn't have time in my schedule to be ill. But then I encountered a technical hitch which delayed my resignation even longer; I had serious health scare. Following a mystery virus in the spring, I'd been struggling to breathe all year - both whilst running and riding my horses x-country. Believe me it's quite unnerving jumping a course of solid fences whilst gasping for air.

My GP eventually sent me to a specialist. It was the asthma clinic (who carried out a routine blood test to check my haemoglobin levels) who discovered that I was seriously anaemic (my level was 6.4 - normal is between 11 and 15) Initially I didn't really understand the full implications of this - only that it was probably why I couldn't breathe properly. Further research revealed that I'd been operating in a physical state similar to being at high altitude. No wonder each hill I'd attempted to run up had felt like Everest; with each climb I'd been pushing my heart to its summit.

Having failed to test my blood themselves, my GP surgery went into panic mode. My own doctor (the one who had advised me to carry on running as it would be good for me!) was on holiday so I received an urgent call from from an Indian locum offering me a transfusion. He informed me that 'if I were an old person I would likely be dead...' I declined; the thought of having someone else's blood didn't seem right. After all, I was still standing. Despite these scare tactics, I couldn't get an appointment for a full blood test for another week - the fact that I might have been dead by then made little difference to the receptionist - she insisted it really was the only availability. You might think that at the very least (being the perpetrators of the fear within me) they might corroborate their patient details. Apparently, the NHS doesn't work like that.

On my next visit to the GP she calmly informed me that anaemia is a symptom of more serious illnesses such as cancer; she thought it highly unlikely but she had to warn me of the possibility. She said that I might be bleeding from my gut and would refer me to a gastro-enterologist. I faced the prospect of a gatsroscopy (camera down) and a colonoscopy (camera up) - or a top and tail as the medical profession like to call it. My rational mind accepted this; I had no other symptoms and was relatively young and fit. But how do you stay logical when faced with even the slightest possibility? When you have watched your own mother die of the same merciless disease? I tried to quell the fear, the panic, the thoughts of death....The waiting began...

My husband suggested that I hold back my resignation until we were given the all clear - ever practical, he suggested that it was probably better not to be going self-employed just as I might be facing long term illness. His pragmatic support was typical. Its normality was a comfort to me; ironically it probably enabled me to survive the waiting process. Too much sympathy might just have encouraged my self pity.

By Christmas we knew they hadn't found anything; sinister or otherwise. I revelled in relief over the holiday. The last few months really had forced the realisation that I must sieze the day. If I were to die without having pursued my dreams I might regret it; forgive the paradox. I made the decision final and planned to approach the headmaster in January. Then came the snow and several weeks of interrupted teaching. Finally towards the end of the month the weather improved. I made my way to his office to deliver my news - I wanted to resign with effect from the end of August. I expected an abrasively dismissive response; I was a small cog in a complex mechanism after all. Infact he was very positive; he told me I was making a very brave decision and at least I wouldn't look back and wonder what if?

It's only now that I realise just how right he was - how daunting it is to step out of your secure comfort zone. To discover if you really can survive in a very different world: to choose the road not taken.

Balancing on the brink

It's only a few weeks until I gain my freedom. Until I escape the rigid routines of the ancient institution which has been my life for the last 12 years; a state high school where I've been teaching English. I'm about to take a sabbatical in order to pursue my life-long passions; writing and riding my horses. You're probably thinking 'what's she got to worry about? She's going to be living her dream, enjoying her moment; she'll be a lady of leisure...' Hopefully your predictions are correct. So why do I feel physically sick at the mere prospect of my liberty?

I should be dancing in the corridor, singing in the shower or galloping wildly over the moors. In reality, the very thought of endless days spent without the structure provided by the school bell, are terrifying. Like an extended summer holiday; a black hole of empty time. Being a creature of routine and industry, this prospect terrifies me. I feel like I am balancing on the brink of a deep, dark abyss; poised to hurl myself into oblivion. Will I fall or fly? There will be no more lessons to plan, essays to mark or reports to write; all tasks I have bemoaned in the past. Yet during my last few weeks of teaching I am clinging to these last few vestiges of normality like the wreckage of a ship. They have become driftwood to someone drowning: me.

At first I kept these thoughts to myself (foolishly believing that if I ignored them, they might dissipate) but then my inner terror began to affect my competetive performance. I began to place too much pressure upon myself; after all I had resigned from my job to pursue this more seriously. I started trying too hard to succeed, to force myself to perform. This of course is diastrous to any sporting endeavour. Serious sports people from all disciplines will recognise the need to maintain a relaxed attitude in competition; that 'letting it happen' is the key to success. This is why I have decided to voice my fears. I hope that a thorough aring will be cathartic; that I might pause the self destruct process.