BY LESLIE MCDONALD
Riders are master day dreamers who constantly envision themselves perfectly aligned atop sleekly groomed four-legged partners who obediently respond foot-perfect to the subtlest aids. They diligently train and study, practicing dedicated hours to excel in the art of their chosen discipline, proudly recording and sharing key victories in framed 8 x 10 wall hangings and online video chats.
But another much intentionally ignored art form is found in the reality check of ingloriously parting company with their partner via a misinterpreted moment of brilliance gone awry. The ever-present threat hangs in the shadows for anyone who has ever ventured to step into the stirrups, whatever their level of expertise. Written about, sung about, and most definitely joked about, disengaging with the saddle is the airborne ejection dreaded by all riders.
There are many triggers, known and unknown, to initiate the launch sequence of a fall. It may begin with the horse’s “I’m not happy” dance. A subtle weight shift away from the rider’s leg, an inattentive lift of the neck, a jaw-twisting grab of the bit, followed by a final warning tail swish that launches into a sonic blast across the ground.
A spooking trigger may be activated from a movement in the grass unseen by you, but visible in vivid 3-D to your partner. Another stimulus is a change in the barometer heralding an approaching storm that rocks the arena with an unexpected wind gust guaranteed to rattle more than the walls and roof of the building. Even a slash of sunlight through the arena windows can bring to life the threat of the ethereal specter of dust rising menacingly from the ground. And who has not been startled by the flash of the barn cat racing across the arena in hot pursuit of a frantic mouse, totally oblivious that it’s crossing directly in front of your canter across the diagonal.
Sometimes the most daunting threat is the dreaded phantom of the corner. Although neither of you can see it, the indiscernible reality exists deep inside your partner’s head. Unfortunately, you can never be certain when the phantom will materialize as your partner reacts without warning when the invisible certainty of his imagination kicks into gear. You do your best to exorcise the phantom, but sadly only your partner holds the key to when and where it will appear; a secret he seems unwilling to share despite your best efforts to reassuringly communicate confidence.
The moment your horse’s back starts rolling like an angry incoming Nor’easter about to crash into the shore, you’re forced to acknowledge the launch sequence has been activated. Realizing all your options to stay on board have been exhausted, it’s time to contemplate the form of your unintended dismount.
There are three important criteria to consider in the successful art of the fall:
1) Maintain dignity in front of the all-knowing rail bird critics despite any extenuating circumstances
2) Protect important body parts, including bruised ego, at all costs
3) Attempt to retain control of the situation even if only from your damaged perspective on the ground.
Many creative landing techniques exist that range from deserving style points to total discombobulated wipeout. Style points are earned for form and creativity, especially those that elicit an admiring “I’ve never seen that one before” from the rail birds who have lined up to take in the entertainment.
There are several primary landing style categories. The most desirable and least physically damaging is the one-point landing. Once ejected from the saddle, it requires the launched rider to remain in an upright stance upon landing on the ground with reins and horse still in hand, shaken but still standing.
In the two-point landing, the rider momentarily makes full body contact with the ground, but almost as quickly is back on her feet, centering her helmet and dusting off her breeches. A quick body parts check soon finds her in hot, determined pursuit of the errant horse to rerun the interrupted lesson.
Finally, the very unglamorous three-point splat takes a variety of punishing forms, all of which result in a graceless, frequently motionless landing. It can be a full-frontal drop, an over-the-shoulder fling punctuated by an inverted twist, a reverse lob over the hindquarters, or the very creative 180-degree frontal spin and toss resulting in an unrecognizable heap while the heartless horse disappears at warp speed in the opposite direction without the slightest care as to your condition.
The art of the fall is definitely influenced by the all-important surface of the landing zone. Depending on the composition of the terminus of your fall, you may wind up with sand or dirt lodged in places you don’t talk about in polite conversation. You may discover grass stains down the length of your tan breeches that would put an NFL linebacker to shame or enough caked-on mud to challenge the best Kenmore washing machine.
Although your body may be shaken and your ego a bit akilter, your spirit remains unbroken. You struggle to your feet with as much dignity intact as possible as you go in search of your disobedient horse, determined that this is not the way that his day or, more importantly, your day is going to end.
He may have knocked you down. He may have won that round, but you’re still standing, so he has yet to knock you out of the game. Remind yourself that you’re the one who sits on top, proud to acknowledge that ultimately, in the end, you will master him and the art of the fall.
Leslie McDonald is an award-winning poet and novelist. A Grand Prix level dressage trainer with over 50 professional years in the industry, she lives at Full Cry Farm in southern Ohio where she happily trains horses, teaches riding lessons and writes books about the special people and animals in her life. Connect with her at: Fcfarm@aol.com
