Amy, Amy, Amy..

When you write a song, you have to remember how you felt, you have to remember what the weather was like, how his neck smelt.... - Amy Winehouse

Now I was a sucker for Winehouse's talent.  Whatever her personal struggles were, she was a talented songwriter, and a voice from another time.  Although it is a simplistic description above, this quote can not only be applied to any encounter in life, but in a clinic environment it serves to remind us that learning it multi-faceted experience.

You have to remember the participation, the detail from your involvement.  What it evoked in you, not just how it made you feel at the time, but how it made you feel afterwards.  Did it galavanise something within you?  Or strip back what you thought you knew and set you on a different path?

When recollecting my time at Aintree I take a leaf from Amy's book; although I have no sense of smell so that one is lost on me!  I try to remember how my horse felt, how my emotions affected him and the situation,  what the environment was like, and what the clinician and other participants brought to the mix.   Now that's a whole load of information right there, and that's before any breakdown of what was actually being taught at the time...  It's a heady mix of information, feel, emotion, skill; topped off with a lashing of vulnerability as to maximise your learning you have to be open to what is being presented in front of you.

Doesn't that all sound exciting?  Well it was.  It was exhilarating, enthralling and somewhat exhausting!

Day 2 was an eye opener.  After a good meal and decent nights sleep at my friend Layla's house, we drove back to Aintree the following morning.  Throughout the journey, my brain was on a bitter diatribe loop.... I'd survived day 1, I could just go home now couldn't I?  Now, I know that's not actually what I wanted to do, but my old best friend 'doubt' had woken up bright and cheery.   This was further exacerbated by how Tuff was; slightly tucked up, and perceived by me to be stressed from being in all night.  I know this horse inside out, and as soon as he had his halter on he let down somewhat, but the wheel of perpetual self doubt was in full swing.  My emotional state fuelled his and he went down to the arena like Seabiscuit.  He was not actually doing anything dramatic, he was obedient and to anyone else he probably looked fine.  But I could feel every bit of insecurity course through him, straight back into me like a circuit.   By the time we were in the arena and warming up, it all felt too much for me.  I quietly got on with what we were doing and as we worked around the arena, I came across fellow participant Ann who took one look at me and said, "Are you ok?"  

There's that timing again.

I confessed to Ann that it was all feeling a bit too much this morning.  Ann reassured me we all felt the same, including that we've survived day 1, let's go home! feeling.   Wow, did that make me feel better....  Ann then encouraged me to go and tell Buck how I felt.  "WHAT??"  My brain was screaming "Go speak to Buck when I look like I'm emotionally unhinged!!!???!!!!  Are you SERIOUS??"  

Luckily poor Ann did not hear my mental outburst, I simply replied I couldn't possibly, I didn't want to embarrass myself, or look foolish in front of someone I respected.  Ann appreciated that my week had been unusual with what happened to Dad, and hugged me.  As she did, I started to cry.  

At that moment Buck walked into the arena, and I tried to pull myself together.  Ann turned to me and said,

"Go and speak to him, I'll come with you.  If Buck knew you were struggling, and you didn't ask him for help, he would be disappointed as that's what he's here for"  (I may be paraphrasing here, but I think I covered the main bits Ann?)

So Ann and I approached Buck just as he was sorting out his microphone, (which he turned off as we spoke).  He asked me if I was ok and I said, "I'm not a crier, but..... " (then I cried a little, slightly mortifying)
I told Buck I felt that I was unravelling emotionally, that my horse didn't feel connected, and I was unsure what I needed to do/or that if I could do this.

Buck was as calm and serene as usual and said, "Ok, let's see what you've got going on", to which Tuff and ran through our groundwork.  Buck then said, "Well, he looks alright to me.  Go and take your time, get him moving out some more and when you're ready, get on".  I thanked him, he gave me a smile and said, "You're welcome".

As I walked away, the floodgates opened a bit, and there was a passing of tissues between old and new friends.  I set about continuing my groundwork while everyone had mounted up and was listening to Buck, and it was not too long before I joined them.  The relief and release I felt was immense.  In a short interaction, Buck had simultaneously taken the immense pressure I'd put on myself from me, and redirected me in a positive way.  He hadn't given me sympathy or help me wallow and stay in a place of turmoil, he hadn't belittled me or been frustrated at me for being upset;  he simply redirected me to where I needed to be mentally, where I could find comfort and relief.  

Treat them how you want them to be, not how they are.  Doesn't just apply to horses.   

(It works very well with husbands too.)

It wasn't about my horse, it was an amplified version of what was going on within me.  But I think Buck knew that.

The second day saw two distinct things happen for me:

• Firstly, I hands down had the best ride on my horse ever.  He was absolutely amazing, and gave me his all.  He was a DUDE!
• Secondly, the wheel of doubt has been put out of commission.  Permanently.  There has been a seismic shift within me, my confidence is growing and I know I can do this.  It's reinforced the horseman I am, and the horseman I'm yet to become.  
• Thirdly, (ok, I know I said two things but this is pretty important).  The people I met at the clinic were all awesome.  But to those who gave me support, or I experienced a shared kinship with,  I am so glad our paths crossed and I hope we will meet again. You are all like minded souls and special people.  Ann, thank you for your help that day.    

As for Buck, I'm sure he didn't give a second thought about our chat that day, as that is the level of respect and consistency he gives everyone and every horse.  But I am still very grateful.

The picture at the beginning of the blog is of our conversation that morning.

The Road to Buck will never be over for me, but it's one I am enjoying travelling on, and since the clinic has lead me to this... :)

See you on the flip side x