Back to reality...

It’s amazing how quickly life can change. Within the last month I’ve become an auntie (to the gorgeous George Henry) made my first ever Christmas cake (thanks to my very good friend Sophie for her help... I think I might find an alternative career as a master baker!) and signed a new contract to go back to school.
Thanks to my amazingly supportive husband, the last year and a half of my life have been extremely self indulgent; a time of equine, literary and domestic bliss. But after 18 months ‘off’ to indulge my habit I couldn’t go on living in denial for ever; it was time to wean myself off daytime television, start earning some real money again and put something back into the pot.
Having explored many avenues, supply teaching seemed like an enjoyable way to earn, whilst still maintaining the flexibility necessary to pursue my competitive ambitions. Great in theory; not so great in practice. Having signed up with two agencies, I sat and waited for the frequent phone calls I was sure to get... and waited...only they didn’t come. Apparently the whole system has changed in secondary schools but the agencies failed to tell me that bit as I spent hours filling in their endless paperwork.
Luckily there was a plan B; having approached several local schools directly for work, my old school contacted me about a maternity cover contract beginning in January. They agreed to let me keep some flexibility (Houghton, Bramham and Blenheim are still pencilled in on the 2012 calendar) So that’s where I’m heading next week, school bag winched down from the attic, pencil case dragged out of temporary retirement and brain cells extracted from the muck heap.
Students be warned, quite a lot has clearly changed in my absence and I may be a little rusty, but I’m definitely keen to get back into the classroom. You might just need to give me a little extra, occasional guidance.
Faithful followers of my blog may find me unusually silent; if I fail to post anything over the next few months it will probably be because I’m buried under a large pile of marking.
Here’s to an even better 2012 for all!

Blenheim.... an ambition achieved but not quite fulfilled...

So did the experience, the one I’d been planning for, dreaming of and longing for all year, actually live up to expectation? Yes and no: the positives - I was extremely pleased to complete with a sound horse; the negatives - I couldn’t help but feel unprepared with a less than perfect build up, I felt the absence of Chris and his horse (one of the unlucky few below me on the list) and nothing went quite to plan. A case of three stars but not quite three ticks....

I confess that watching the wait list became something of an obsession for me in the weeks leading up to the big event....making me as twitchy as a love-struck teenager... I watched but little changed.... a few horses shuffled places at the top.... I convinced myself there was little hope... even with the start of Burghley (where several horses were double entered) the list remained static... I resigned myself to following plan b - an expensive ferry trip to Ireland the following week...

....that was until the Monday of Blenheim week.....stuck at the yard that morning I’d asked Marcus to check the list..... at 10.30 am I received a text telling me I was 2 away from getting in .... unbelievable... I’d gone from having at least 10 in front of me to being within a whisker..... he rang me an hour later, ‘You’re next on the list....’ his words took a while to register... how could the situation have changed so drastically? The impossible suddenly seemed possible and I wasn’t even slightly ready... nothing packed....I made a few lists... a few tentative piles of clothes and waited ... and waited.....nothing that evening....

......9.30am the next morning...still nothing... The bright spark of hope which had kept me awake all night, faded to a pale glimmer as I rationalised that if anyone else was going to pull out then they’d have done it by then.... the secretary’s call came unexpectedly at 11.50 am.... ‘Sorry for the late notice but you’re in...’ Oh my God – is this really happening? Shock stunned me before I switched to auto pilot: feed....hay...rugs....tack...clothes....food (no time to visit the supermarket) ...mental lists of everything I needed to do before departing the next morning reeled through my head..... with help from a valuable friend the lorry was packed by late that afternoon...the same friend texted me prior to my solo departure the next morning... How do you feel? My reply.... Lucky, excited and extremely nervous!

Without a vehicle pass my entrance to Blenheim estate was more a tangle of red tape than a fairy tale.... even in a horse box I had some trouble convincing the security man of my credibility... I had little time to worry how my helpers (arriving at erratically staggered intervals and in less appropriate vehicles) would fare....

Thankfully I had Friday dressage giving me a little time to adjust to the reality of actually being at Blenheim.... riding within the walls of the beautiful estate... walking the awe inspiring xc course... stabled next to eventing legends... I tried to play it all down...telling myself it was just another local event... but somehow there was no denying that it was a pretty big moment in my life: first time at Blenheim and first CCI3*.... realistically it was probably one of the biggest occasions.... second perhaps only to my wedding day....only I’d felt better prepared for that occasion!

Our dressage test was unspectacular: Bow was a little tense in the main arena but didn’t actually make any mistakes. I managed to stay calm and soft but Bow had his mouth open and tongue out throughout; both signs of resistance which the judges commented negatively upon and awarded us a subsequently disappointing mark of 66.7...

Our 1pm xc start time gave me a chance to watch a few horses before I needed to get ready; some fears allayed and some amplified in the process. Thankfully I was unaware of two bad falls at one of my ‘bogey’ fences – huge table to even huger corner – but I still felt numb as I warmed Bow up... unsure as to how he would cope with the relentlessly big fences....successive hills....crowds of people and the longest course we’d ever tackled.... as a result I reverted to cruise control over the first half of the course.... he jumped the first few fences well until we got to fence 7 .... with me not fully in charge Bow did what I’d feared and put in a big jump at the table element giving me little chance to put in the planned curving line and extra stride to the second element.... he took charge, locked on to the corner and took a stride out.... not the plan especially as the corner had a big drop on landing.... he cleared it by a foot evoking a huge cheer from the crowd....

.... it speared me into asserting control ... I knew that we couldn’t afford to take chances like that... he jumped the next few fences well apart from jinking left at an ornately carved element of one fence taking the flag with us.... we jumped back through the water out over the brush to corner and up a steep bank... at the summit a fairly innocuous drop fence... but Bow dropped the bridle and failed to respond to my frantic kicking.....he stopped uncharateristically throwing me onto his withers.....BANG! Somehow my air bag had gone off... but I was still in on-board... damn....... my mistake - if only I’d given him time to draw breath instead of hustling him...

....desperate to continue I had a quick consultation with the fence judge before taking off my number and air jacket... replacing my number and representing at the fence in a more organised fashion... no problem second time...... In fact we had no problem with any other fence, even when he got a bit tired, given time, he sorted himself out........ it was a relief to cross the finish yet any potential elation was marred by disappointment..... although he’d run past skinnies in the past, he’d never stopped before and I knew it was my fault....

Passing the trot up the next morning was a relief – although Bow had seemed fine, having seen quite a few sore horses around had made me even more anxious... but there was little chance to draw breath as having accumulated 55 time faults I was last of the finishers and so first to show jump.... despite having jumped big tracks all season, the course still looked enormous and my nerves (which I’d managed to control all season) affected me again... as I waited to go in one of the pros made one of the very worst statements anyone could have said to me that point in time..... ‘We’re all watching you...’

As I entered the arena I felt a bit like a rabbit must feel when caught in car headlights; frozen, impotent, blank..... I saluted the Duke and began my round... but the nerves clouded my judgement and I became intent on just getting round.... forgetting the processes, the strategies I’d learnt to employ over the season.... and pole after pole clattered to the ground.... I could blame his tiredness but realistically even if that were a factor, I didn’t ride him very well....

So we completed (yaay!) but I can’t quite shake off a sense of disappointment that I didn’t ride him better..... God willing we’ll have the chance to do it all again next season and I’m determined that I’ll do a better job!

A Waiting Game....

And so to Hartpury CIC 3* and our last chance to qualify for Blenheim.... Despite trying desperately to think of it as just another competition, my nerves were amplified in the knowledge that it wasn’t – it was our third and last attempt at a CIC this season. I tried not to feel the pressure but however hard I tried to suppress them, those thoughts lurked surreptitiously within my subconscious.....
Having fallen off at Barbury and then tripped up the step at Aston Advanced we hadn’t had the best of build ups. But both blips served as a wakeup call as I realised that I’d been riding xc in cruise control..... letting rather than making it happen.... that needed to change if we were to go clear at Hartpury!
Walking the course too far in advance is never good for my nerves but this time I had little option if I wanted advice from Chris. I’d heard it was big and walking it confirmed the rumours; a tricky double of corners and the second water complex were my ‘bogey’ fences. Chris advised me to take the long route at the corners which were made more difficult by the undulating ground. I had several sleepless nights as my mind took me around the course on a never ending track of anxiety...
This time I had thankfully been given Saturday dressage (meaning that I competed over two days instead of three) although it did also mean a very long wait between phases - about 5 hours to deal with my nerves, watch and contemplate the potential significance of a bad round. My section were jumping indoors – better than out because he was less likely to become long and flat but worse because the fences looked massive! Bow rose to the occasion and really tried to jump the jumps – the two we had down being due to rider error. The relief was immense but not complete.... it was all down to the xc the following day....
Being scheduled to run at 15.30 created time management issues .... if my nerves had been bad the day before, they were likely to be far, far worse before the final phase. I planned my morning at home to include a few mundane chores to keep my mind occupied before heading off with time to walk the course again and watch a few horses over each fence.
Seeing the fences ridden successfully usually gives me confidence but I hadn’t banked on seeing quite so many people fall off....especially in the water... knowing only too well how that feels by the end of my walk I felt sick...but I knew that I had to hold my nerve and stick to my game plan.
A good warm up was essential: walking Bow down to the start I tried to block any negative thoughts and focus upon how I needed to ride him. He felt keen, alert and responsive. I trotted and cantered him before beginning to jump; keep a good forward, controlled rhythm I reminded myself. Bow seemed to sense the occasion and answered every question I asked of him; all we needed to do was maintain that and we’d be fine.... I patted him firmly on the neck; we were as ready as we could be. We had to wait for a few more horses in front of us but I wouldn’t risk jumping anything else just in case...
The steward signalled to me; our turn. The knot in my stomach tightened as we headed down to the start... ‘Good afternoon Sophie.’ said the starter, ‘just over a minute and a half...’ I nodded, keen to get going and shake off the sickening nerves which I knew would disappear as soon as we left the start box. Seconds later my heart sank as the red light flashed up on the control box accompanied by the warning tone. Another hold; not what I needed. I looked to the starter for information but thankfully he told me little of what was happening out on course. After our round, my supporters who were watching anxiously at the first water complex, told me that the two riders before me had fallen there. Had I known that....?
Several minutes later the green light flashed on again. I picked up the reins agian, hoping I wouldn't transmit my nerves to Bow.‘Okay to go in just over a minute Sophie?’ I nodded, my mouth too dry to reply. ‘Thirty seconds.......10..’ I walked Bow into the white railed start box, ‘9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Go. Good luck!’ Squeezing my heels onto his sides and we were off.... we cleared the first three fences easily before heading onto the embankment where he was a little surprised by the double of skinny hedges. A positive kick gave us a better jump over the next big hedge before the water. A good shot in .... over the cascade and out... surviving that first real question gave us confidence and he jumped boldly (albeit a little high at times) around the rest of the course. We survived a couple of slightly hairy moments – one at the second water where he jumped the first element so high that he fitted an extra stride in before the rail – good job I was riding defensively there! But crucially we’d jumped a clear round. We’d finally done it! We’d qualified for Blenheim... That night I felt a mixture of relief, euphoria and exhaustion as we toasted the day.
Entering our first CCI3* the next day I tried to be rational. I was lucky to get to this stage; entering was one thing but actually getting in was going to be a lottery.
Several agonisingly long, anxious days followed as we waited to learn our fate.... desperate to know but hardly daring to look....19th on the waiting list. I’d anticipated disappointment but any ounce of optimism I’d dared to cling on to was overwhelmed by a sense of defeat.... 19th .... a seemingly impossible position.... I couldn’t wish the 18 horses above us to suffer misfortune but without that happening we surely had little chance of realising our dream....
All I can do now is bite my nails, watch the list and wait......

Barbury.... just not meant to be....

And so to my next attempt at qualification.... Barbury castle... .do you ever get that feeling that some things just aren’t meant to be...? I suppose Barbury was like that for me.... having entered Roger in the novice on Friday, I asked for Friday dressage with Bow.... my request went unheeded.....Roger’s otherwise double clear was marred by 4 faults in the show jumping for an impromptu reverse.... then on the way home on Friday Marcus had to perform an emergency stop at a roundabout and both partition arms snapped off on impact.....
.....Saturday’s drama involved the customarily cool Bow suffering a minor meltdown in the dressage arena - not only did we have the cross-country going on next to our warm up, in the main arena we also had to contend with hunting horns, hounds, loud cheering from the Country Fair – he just wasn’t listening to me and we made several mistakes....
Sunday began relatively smoothly in the show jumping arena but when I got down to the xc start I learnt that there was a hold on course and that three of the first 15 horses had fallen in the water (at least two of which had been taken off in the horse ambulance) A brief rider/ steward meeting followed where we were ‘reassured’ that the falls had been inexperienced rider error and that the water had been checked..... it was our choice to run.
Desperate for my qualification I psyched myself up as they restarted the course ....I told myself Bow would be fine.....but although two more jumped through without problems, another more experienced combination fell and they did then, after another hold and discussion, take the fence out.....thankful I wasn’t going to have to risk injuring Bow in the same way, I shoved any negative thoughts aside as we were counted down (nearly an hour late) and determined to ride positively we set off in a good rhythm, Bow made nothing of the first few fences and I began to relax.
Approaching the owl hole I reminded myself to sit up so that I was prepared for the next combination..... following my own plan I felt my head brush through the fence as we jumped through....losing my hat silk in the process ... really not a good look! We negotiated the next ten fences well and approached the undulating part of the course, the quarry Bow jumped in well surprising himself and me by bouncing down the step....possibly as a result he was a little suspicious of the next drop fence and left a leg... throwing me onto his neck.... he stumbled on landing and despite desperate attempts to stay on ....I was unable to recover..... I landed on my most well padded asset.... anything dented?...only my pride! GRRR...! I swore under my breath as I recovered my composure, unclipped my air jacket and walked dejectedly towards the lorry park...Bow bouncing along beside me wondering why we’d stopped.... It’s taught me a few more things...duck through owl hole fences and shorten my stirrups again.....
And so another failed attempt at qualifying for Blenheim.... I’m forcing myself to be philosophical... at least we’re both okay .... if it’s meant to be and all that.... Afterall if we don’t qualify this year then it will be because we’re not ready! Hartpury is our last chance this year... here’s hoping it’ll be third time lucky....

Chatsworth 2011 ..... a moment of miscommunication...

I’ve already notched up a few ‘first time’ experiences during the course of this milestone year; competing at Chatsworth horse trials in May was another.... our first CCI3* and my first time competing at the spectacularly picturesque venue in Derbyshire.
As ‘first times’ go it went relatively smoothly, but in terms of the grand scheme (Blenheim this Autumn) it didn’t quite meet the necessary criteria. In order for the master plan to succeed, Bow and I need to achieve one qualifying score at Advanced level (completed at Weston Park) and one at a CCI3*.... and having come so close to pulling it off, I confess that the sense of achievement at having completed my first 3* was marred by the disappointment of having collected an avoidable 20 penalties x-country.
We completed a satisfactory dressage test; as always there was room for improvement. My nerves, which don’t usually affect me in the first phase, caused Bow to become a bit tight. As a result we completed an under par performance to score 56.5 – respectable but not our best. Watching the show jumping in the main arena the following morning made me feel sick with nerves; when the pros have several fences down it inevitably makes me feel the sense of occasion even more intensely. Trying desperately to banish any self doubt and put our blip at Withington behind me, I told myself firmly, ‘It was just an anomaly.... he won’t make the same mistake again...’. Bow didn’t warm up very well but we managed to jump our round with only two poles lowered; the relief was immense. Not our best round, but certainly not our worst either.
Saturday night had been a restless experience, I don’t sleep very well in the lorry anyway but with my mind replaying the course on a continuous reel... my worries intensified and fences were magnified... particularly the fourth and fifth – two huge box hedges on a curving line.... A second course walk early that morning helped to put everything back into perspective although being early on, I was unable to watch how it rode.
My renewed confidence was soon challenged by the commentator whilst waiting at the start, ‘...and there has been a fall at the fourth fence causing a hold on course ....and unfortunately we hear of a stop at the fifth for....’ both horses I knew had form at two star level.... I couldn’t help but wonder if Bow, or I for that matter, were up to the challenge..... I supposed I’d know soon enough.... what was it Chris had told me? Something along the lines of ‘...if you reach fence six then you’ll know you’ve got a 3* horse underneath you....’
.... By the time we were flying the fifth I’d left the nerves behind me and began to enjoy our round.... Bow was a bit green at times but seemed more overawed by the crowds than the fences so I stuck to my game plan at the brush corner; situated at the base of a steep bank I knew I needed to have him listening to me so at the top I applied the brakes...only on this occasion Bow responded too literally and broke to a trot.... unclear as to what I wanted... I tried desperately to kick him back into action but with our momentum broken the entire question became ambiguous and we trickled past the fence.....damn! Negotiating the alternative successfully I galvanised myself to put it behind me and we completed the course without further incident..... but that familiar elation on passing the finish eluded me as disappointment quickly overrode any sense of achievement....
Watching others opt for the long route after many problems at the same fence did little to assuage my frustration.... on the long journey home I couldn’t help but beat myself with a battery of ‘if only’ scenarios. But at least I know one thing.... I do have an amazing 3* horse and more importantly, we survived to fight another day... an awful lot to be thankful for in such a game of chance.....

Crashed... not burned....

Sometimes life goes to plan and sometimes, unbelievably, it just doesn’t.... last weekend was one of my favourite occasions on the eventing calendar – Withington Manor – with both horses doing day before dressage, I was all set for a three day equine fest.

Things began well on the Friday afternoon; Roger did a good test and some much needed rain fell onto already well prepared ground. Perfect. I walked the novice track which looked challenging but fair; the water looked like the hardest test with a jump straight into water (my greatest fear – proven unfounded - was that he might over jump and submerge us both!)

Saturday also began well – Roger stayed calm for his show jumping – so although we had two down I was pleased with him. He gave me a fantastic, safe ride cross country...phew... Bow did a good test despite putting in an impromptu flying change. So far so good....or so I thought....

Having put the boys out for a few hours r & r before tea, at approximately 18.30 hrs on that fateful sunny evening, I happily climbed back into my lovely husband’s cherished open top sports car to ‘whiz’ back and put them to bed. We have a close neighbour with a large white van, so it was with great care that I reversed around him (not so easy with v. limited rear vision) Sighing with relief at having navigated that obstacle I accelerated a little.... BANG...CRUNCH .... OMG... SHIT... where had the 4x4 come from (parked in the middle of the road!)?

I tentatively climbed out to survey the damage...greeted by a very angry, leather-trousered lady who shouted at me instantly as I interjected profuse apologies... she clearly thought I’d done it on purpose despite the fact that my car had fared far worse! My silent prayer that my husband would hear the commotion and come out so that a. he could protect me from abuse and b. I wouldn’t actually have to tell him what I’d done...went unanswered...glancing up at the window it was clear that I was on my own.

Worse was to come as I realised that my bumper was actually hooked onto her tow bar....and was grimly informed by scary lady ‘you’ll have to pull yours off...I’m not moving mine!...’ How humiliating is it to have to rev husband’s sports car in order to disentangle it with crash victim? VERY! Thankfully I have the most understanding husband in the world but that didn’t really lessen the feelings of worthlessness.... guilt...stupidity....

So it was with slight trepidation that I headed back to Withington on Sunday morning; I needed to make up for my blunder and give Bow a good prep for our first CIC 3* at Chatsworth. I fended off my nerves by focussing on the process...soft, light, collected forwards.... and not the outcome. He warmed up well; jumping cleanly and confidently.

We cantered into the ring with assurance. The bell rang.... we cleared the first five fences easily, turned to the sixth, a big upright.... a little tight around the corner maybe but on a good stride...or so I thought...Bow clearly thought otherwise as he went to chip another one in, realised there wasn’t room...veered sideways into the wing... demolished the fence with a familiarly loud CRASH...and deposited me feet first, confusedly, next to him.

Oh shit...I’m on the floor, what now? Bow had scraped his chest but seemed ok. Had to think for a moment; was I allowed to get back on? ...Decided yes... but needed a leg up... much to my relief a very generous spectator came to my rescue....had to wait whilst they re-built the offending fence....Bell... ready...deep breath... gave Bow a reassuring slap on the shoulder... approached it confidently and cleared it easily... we completed the course without further error.... in fact without that blip it was a clear round!

What happened? I don’t know...and having watched the video several times over I’m none the wiser...maybe he misread it...lost his focus.... one thing I do know is that I’m not going to dwell on it. Having checked him over thoroughly and pulled myself together, I at least made sure that I gave him a good ride cross country...

Here’s hoping that it was just one of those inexplicable equine anomalies..... and that I don’t repeat my crashing crusade...

So does life really begin at 40?

When I was a twenty-something, 40 seemed positively ancient. If anyone had asked me back then what life could be like beyond the age of 39, I’d probably have mumbled something about anyone who got ‘that old’ being incredibly boring, aged, out of touch.... I can just hear myself saying dismissive things like ‘people over 30 think that making a fashion statement is like buying a new pair of velvet slippers or a paisley dressing gown....so un-cool..’ I just couldn’t imagine being that old. But now that I’ve passed the milestone I honestly wouldn’t turn back time and put myself back in my youthful self.
Whilst a few less wrinkles and a little more flexibility would be good, why would I want to return to that penniless, paranoid, precarious time of life? The decade when I tortured myself through a turbulent love life, struggled with self-critical shame, vacillated over the variety of vocational routes open to me and tolerated a long queue of overly zealous advisors. The fact is, I don’t really feel any different than I did in my twenties apart from having become more my own person; or, as some might argue, more like my mother.
No, I really do think that despite the fact that it can be more difficult to mobilise my overworked body in the mornings, I’m happier now than ever. Having stepped off the teaching treadmill, I am living the dream and loving every minute of it; it has to be said that working outside in the amazing weather we’ve been having recently, certainly makes it feel more like a holiday!
Maybe I am experiencing some kind of mid-life crisis but I’m incredibly lucky to have many things during this stage of flux in my life: a wonderfully supportive, loyal and lovely husband who is letting me live my dream; two amazing horses who I’m living it on; an extremely tolerant trainer who facilitates my equine aspirations; many very understanding and supportive friends (one of whom made me the cake pictured here!).
This critical combination of factors must be working because I’ve already achieved two critical check points within a month of passing the major milestone: the first draft of the ‘book’ is finally complete... all I have to do now is get it published - no problem there then! Bow and I also recently and successfully, completed our first advanced event....taking us one adrenalin fuelled step closer to Blenheim..... Who knows what else I, or as I should say, we, can achieve in my milestone year? At the moment anything seems possible.....

And they’re off....

On what’s already a rollercoaster ride...although Bow’s white cell count had been on the way up I decided to have him re-tested two weeks before our first event; disappointingly it had gone back down again. What to do? The vets advised me to carry on as normal but with our first advanced scheduled quite early on in the season I opted to try something I’d never tried before; the Black Box. A friend recommended a Radionics practitioner; I sent her the required hair, picture and other details and waited. She told me that she thought it was something to do with his liver and that he’d picked lead up from somewhere, recommended a liver tonic, said she’d treat him and we’d see what happened. He’s been firing on extra cylinders ever since. Purely coincidence? Who knows.
Our first outing, the unaffiliated at Aston Le Walls, was an experience on the wild side. With the dressage arenas situated in the middle of the cross-country, the combined proximity of loudspeakers, galloping hooves and chilly breeze was enough to put most horses on the sharp side of fresh and mine were no exception. Roger (the understudy) almost managed to contain himself and had almost settled until we entered our arena; from there he could see another fence which nearly blew his mind completely. I struggled to keep him between the boards as we performed some lovely movements that weren’t actually in our test; I thought we might gain a few extra marks for our ad-lib half passes and flying changes but the judge clearly disagreed and we were placed almost last. Bow felt similarly fresh and managed to get his tongue over the bit twice before his test. I had to jack his bit up so high that he looked somewhat like a Cheshire cat but it worked as he did a good test; his score placed us a more respectable third in his section. Both boys jumped double clears although Bow’s performance was considerably calmer than Roger’s and he finished third.
Our first affiliated outing was at Tweseldown; making the most of my new flexible lifestyle I was able to enter the Thursday OI on Bow. A slightly calmer test preceded a respectable show jumping round; although we had two fences down, I rode him well. After a slightly hesitant start (on my part) I got my act together and he flew around the xc. Roger was also slightly calmer in the dressage but tried to take off around the course of show jumps before letting me ride him more calmly over the twisty xc course. No prizes but a promising start.
Then came my fortieth birthday weekend but with Roger at Swacliffe 100 on Saturday and Bow entered at Aldon OI on Sunday there was little time for partying. Roger was calmer in all three phases although his show jumping still felt out of control. Bow was the star of the weekend and helped me to celebrate my milestone with 2nd place; a good test, one fence down and a clear fast xc round left us on a score of 34. Having ridden well I was elated especially when Horse & Hound published our picture; with their accompanying caption I reasoned that at least I wouldn’t have to tell everyone how old I’d turned!
Gatcombe followed swiftly. With Roger’s continued wildness in the show jumping I wasn’t sure whether to take him to his first novice but decided to give it a go. He was still wild but jumped a double clear giving me a really good ride xc. Thinking about trying the black box on him; anything’s worth a shot to harness his talent.


Perhaps I should have anticipated my nerves escalating on Bow in the AI; having opted to do day before dressage I thought hanging around at home would be easier than a long gap on the day. I thought I’d get loads done on Sunday morning but instead spent the entire morning worrying a lot and achieving very little. Arriving on site did little to ease my mind; with the tragic news of Spring Along’s death combined with the vision of a tricky sj track, my stomach twisted itself into tight ball. Rescue remedy eased the tension briefly but wore off before my turn came. I entered the arena surrounded by all too familiar faces and simply overrode to have four down. Frustrating and disappointing as Bow had been jumping really well. Next time sod the rescue remedy, I’ll be having a nip of brandy before I go in; maybe then I can let Bow jump the fences!
Deciding to run xc for fitness I set off determinedly; with our first advanced only two weeks away I wanted a good run. Having jumped the first few fences well we approached the double of corners. On our approach a fence judge walked onto my line. I thought I was about to be stopped; I should have shouted at him but instead just froze. We got to the fence but had both lost focus and Bow decided to run past the first corner. Having turned the air blue and given Bow a hard smack, our second attempt was foot perfect. He flew around the rest of the course.
Although very disappointed, especially following our previous success, I’m not going to over analyse it; I’ve learnt from it and am moving on. Future fence judges who get in my way had better beware; next time I’ll ride on (and over if necessary!) regardless, unless someone actually waves a flag at me. After all, at least we’re both fit, well and ready to fight another day.

Preparing for the off...

January always seems to drag its heels through a fog of cold, dank darkness. I always struggle to lift my spirits above the depressing emptiness which follows the festive social frenzy; with only the crumbs of the Christmas cake, the hazy memories of friends and family and what was once a chocolate mountain reduced to a remnant, every day seems like an effort.
But with February just around the corner, I am fending off the winter blues with thoughts of the imminent start of the eventing season – only six weeks away and counting. Poised upon the brink of a new phase of my ‘new life’, I feel a new optimism for the year ahead. Without the demands of teaching my stress levels have diminished along with my anaemia. Purely coincidence? Surely not.
Looking back, I was living on adrenalin as I tore myself in too many different directions. That can not be a healthy state to exist in. So without that pressure? I have more energy, am more relaxed and feel happier. I have more space in my mind to put things into perspective, no longer overreact about trivial problems and have more time to think about what I’m doing and how.
Apart from the book (nearly finished – still no agent!) the competition season is my main focus. Riding lots of different horses has given me a greater edge of confidence; I am riding more consistently and with a far greater feel. New challenges are exciting rather than terrifying. Self doubts are replaced more quickly by positive thinking and self belief; those distant goals seem somehow more obtainable.
My new life style has enabled me to fit in more training, more practice and more fun; with the luxury of flexible time, it all seems more manageable. I now have time to think about how I ride my own horses, more time to put theory in to practice and more time to enjoy them. Consequently they are both on very good form. We’ve been out to a few shows and performed well; we’re already looking forward to the next. Although we’ve already had some highs and lows this season, I’ll be taking each day as it comes and keeping things well in perspective. Bow Roger and I are definitely ready for the off!

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.