It's Been a Minute

The blog is back!!

To say I’ve had a few things change would be an understatement.

• Finished my Masters of Research with a thesis in Rider Biomechanics

• Moved from NSW to QLD

• Enrolled in Veterinary Science at University of QLD

• Became an acknowledged retrainer for the Queensland Off The Track Programme (QOTT)

So yep, life is and has been a little busy. But I’m back now and open to hearing what topics you’d like me to dive into.

For the moment though, I’ve been having a thought recently and it keeps coming up. Here’s my thought:

I think we forget sometimes that horses never signed up for riding or work. It’s easy to say (I joke about it too!) that they have an easy life. They only work a few hours a week, unlike those humans who work hard to pay for them. They have everything they need (or that we think they need… but that’s another story). That they really do have a good life so there’s no excuse for a bad attitude towards work

The thing is though, horses don’t know any of that. They don’t know they’re doing less work than other horses, or than the humans around them. They don’t know that we only plan to ride for 20 minutes and we have an easy ride planned. They don’t know that if they just do ____ we’ll be done and the rider will get off.

They don’t know.

All they are faced with is the prospect of doing something potentially hard. They don’t know how often, for how long, what that hard thing is, and whether or not it may even hurt.

It’s like us going to the gym twice a week to do something that’s really damn hard. At best we end up a bit muscle sore, but sometimes we actually injure ourselves. Only horses didn’t join the gym. They can’t even justify that the exercise is good for them. Someone else signed them up for it, dragged them there, made them exercise and is most likely not able to understand or acknowledge when the horse says the workout is too intense, too long, or actually painful.

So I get it, I think my horses have an easy life too. I joke about it often. But there’s a difference between joking about it and forgetting how they truly view the world and their life within it.

So try this, every time you think of something from your horse’s perspective, check in: do they actually know what I know?

The Challenging Horses

Most riders at some point have had a challenging horse. I would go so far as to say that there are no “perfect” horses, there are only horses that are perfectly suited. For the record, I don’t believe that there is “perfect” anyone; horse, human, anything.

When you have one of these challenging horses, you will likely find yourself in an interesting place. You have a horse where things are not going smoothly for you in one way or another. There are those who say that if you ride for fun, riding should be just that; fun. If it is not fun then you’re better off moving that horse on and finding one that is. There are others that point out that no horse is perfect, and that perseverance through struggle is part of the journey. Odds are that you will have some people telling you that you are crazy for keeping this horse, and other people telling you that there is no way you should sell it.

I personally sit in the middle. I do believe that we learn a lot from the challenging horses. For myself, I know that a lot of the tools in my metaphorical toolboxes have come from time spent with the quirky horses in my life. There are those that have taught me to sit a good buck, those that have taught me how to deal with spooking, stopping, pulling back… you name it, they’ve pretty much done it. Some I have persevered with, and some I have cut my losses.

The truth is, I don’t believe that there are any bad horses (or people!). I do believe that there are unsuitable horses, but I also believe in taking every measure before deciding on that. Partly in order to give the horse a fair chance, partly for the learning opportunities, and partly because knowing that you tried everything prevents the next 20 years of “what if’s”.

The great thing about the challenging horses is that they force us to look outside the box. My more challenging horses have had me look into other forms of gear, different styles of riding, in hand work, equine psychology, equine biomechanics, alternative training methods, equine neurology, hoof care, nutrition etc.

It is these horses that have led me on such a beautiful path outside of just how to ride, or even how to compete. It means that I can approach horses from such a range of varied perspectives, and pick and choose what best suits the horse in front of me.

One of my challenging, but most rewarding horses was the horse in this photo. My beautiful Fox. My heart horse, who took me places I never dreamed I would go. Who also made me pull my hair out and stand in the paddock crying.

Fox is the most generous soul, and so I rarely had any behavioural issues with him. The one thing he did have in a big way was separation anxiety. When left on his own he would jump out of paddocks, break down stable doors, pull back, weave, and generally panic. Over the years this led me to try so many ways to calm him down.

I tried training, using groundwork and basic responses to help him stay rational and listen to me when other horses left. In some ways this worked, when he began to get stressed I would ask him to move forward and back, to turn his shoulders or his hind quarters, to basically keep his attention on me. I would do the same while riding, make the work more difficult or engaging so that he didn’t have the mental bandwidth to worry about his friend. It sort of worked - it meant that if I was riding, or holding him, that I could basically keep him with me. It meant that he no longer mowed me down in a blind panic. The disadvantage was that it only worked for me. If someone else tried to hold him they had no chance.

I bought a goat - having been told by multiple people that goats make great pets for horses with separation anxiety. The goat was cute, and Fox seemed to like him, but he didn’t like him more than the other horses.

I was given horses to be his friends so he wouldn’t be so attached to my other competition horses. In his case this didn’t work. He is very particular about his friends, and usually buddies up to one horse in particular.

I tried mirrors, with the idea being that when he was in the float, or in a stable (when we were forced to stable at competitions) that he would see another horse. This went down like a lead balloon. For some horses, this works, for Fox, not so much.

Finally it resulted in me taking him to a horse rescue so that he could choose a friend to take home. This earned us an ugly little grey pony, and a very happy Fox. I also gave in and just paid extra at the big competitions so that I could take a friend for him and stable them next to each other.

Not all horses are as severe as he is, but it also sent me down the path of researching separation anxiety. The sad fact is that all horses suffer from it. It’s just that we either don’t notice, or don’t really worry about it unless they display particularly troubling behaviours. As a result of owning Fox, I am very careful to never leave a horse tied at the truck on their own, to always wait for the last competitor if there is nobody left near the arena, and to make sure that every horse on my property can see another horse at all times. It has made me a far more considerate human (in my opinion) and someone who is highly conscious of the horses’ needs as herd animals.

in Fox’s case, there was no doubt that the heart ache, the time, the money and the effort were worth it. He is my best competition horse to date, and my equine soulmate. It makes me grateful that he gave me so many reasons to stick with him, even when other people thought I was mad (sleeping for 4 nights in a stable at a 3 day event springs to mind).

The next few posts are going to be some case studies from horses I’ve either owned or in some way helped to manage over the years.

Why a disc protrusion (or any other diagnosis) is like Alice in Wonderland

A diagnosis is like the title of a story, and just like the title of a story it is a way of expressing a greater meaning in fewer words. If I say “Alice in wonderland”, anyone who knows that story instantly has ideas around a girl falling down a rabbit hole into a mythical land with red queens and magical creatures. If I say “disc protrusion”, anyone who knows the term instantly thinks of back pain, inflammation, possibly about the dangers of heavy lifting, or the ways it might be treated. The same goes for any diagnosis; anxiety, broken leg, asthma... you get the idea.

Stories are really useful. When we hear a good story it gives us empathy for the protagonist. We get to live for a time in their world, feel things as they would, hear their point of view as if it were our own. They can give us warnings and ideas for behaviour that may help us navigate our own lives, Alice in Wonderland might teach us that resourcefulness is a gift, or to be wary of believing what the wrapper says. They can add meaning and connection to our lives; if the character is like us we may feel that we have a kindred spirit, that if Alice is also a “dreamer” maybe that’s okay, and maybe we’re not alone. They are a way of distilling a complex idea into a simple and often more meaningful form. They wrap a whole range of separate ideas into a single narrative. 

A diagnosis can do the same. By saying you have a disc protrusion, a radiologist can inform another medical professional in two easy words what they have found on a scan. These two words give the doctor/physio/chiro/whatever an idea of what is going on, what is likely to improve your condition and what is likely to make it worse, along with other valuable information such as how long it might take to heal, and how it’s likely to progress. A diagnosis can help you explain to your friends why you don’t want to join them on their hike - rather than having to go into a long story and explanation of how sore your back is, you can say “disc protrusion” and most people will get the idea. If they have had one, or know someone who has, odds are they will understand your level of pain and offer empathy for your predicament. It saves a lot of explaining and is far more likely to be met with understanding.

So, particularly as a health care provider (and avid reader!) I believe that both diagnoses and stories can be really useful for interacting with the world. However, in both cases, I think there are inherent risks. 

Just like a story, a diagnosis is not your life. Both are based upon a group of ideas that humans agreed to believe in. These ideas have been edited and added to over the years by various people and are open to the interpretation of the reader. They are a combined story of human existence, they are not your story. That lengthy tale of how you hurt your back, what that feels like to you and how you feel that is progressing, that is your story. Your own subjective interpretation of your life with minimal blurring from external sources (I say minimal because by nature of being human and the use of language itself there will always be conditioned ideas that you have inherited). And this is the problem; your story changes significantly over time, Alice in Wonderland has not. By describing your experience in terms of a diagnosis you are at risk of “freezing” yourself in that story - like reading Alice in Wonderland over and over again without ever picking up a different book. Now I love Alice in Wonderland, but I don’t want to read it for the rest of my life.

The next problem is around belief and identity. It sounds ridiculous that someone might read Alice in Wonderland and find themselves believing suddenly that they are Alice and that they are in Wonderland. That’s absurd, and yet we see it a lot with a diagnosis. How many people do you know that say they “have a bad back” due to a disc protrusion from 15 years ago? Or perhaps a better example, how many people describe themselves as anxious? Or autistic? Where then is the line between you and anxiety? In this case, I’m sorry, but the caterpillar was right; you’re not the real Alice. She doesn’t exist, she is an idea written on a page.

If we live in Wonderland, then every word of the story must be true. “Hey, I never noticed a flying talking cat, but there must be one somewhere cause I live in Wonderland now”. I’ve done this one personally. Having been described as anxious, I looked up exactly what that meant. Sure enough, most of it described my experience pretty well, some of it didn’t seem so accurate. Over the following weeks, however, I started taking note of those other missing aspects as they began appearing in my life. “Hey, maybe I do that thing after all?!” Now, maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Maybe this was a huge hit of self awareness, or maybe after reading about anxiety, my brain went about proving that all aspects of the diagnosis were accurate.

Now please understand me, I am a healthcare provider. I use diagnoses on a very regular basis, but I am so wary of the trappings they create when we over identify with them. As is often argued with regards to race, religion, sexuality... we are all human. To what extent we identify as “normal” is up to us. So I encourage you, if you have a diagnosis, can you question it? Just one aspect? Can you question the permanence of it? Or it’s prevalence in your life? Can you question whether you feel you need it for validation of your experience? There is nothing wrong with any of these things, but can you be mindful of what you think and feel, and can you recognise it as a story, and can you find where it might be separate from your story?

Can you see life from the perspective of someone experiencing the world in a particular way today. Perhaps tomorrow will be similar, perhaps not. Perhaps others will understand, perhaps not. Perhaps your experience is like someone else’s and perhaps it isn’t. Take the time to feel into YOUR story, your true story... and give someone close in your life the opportunity to hear that story, rather than the story the past collective has given you. Perhaps that story is agonising, and I am the last person to diminish that, but I want to hear what it means to you, today, in your words, so I can better understand. And tomorrow, tell me your new story, similar or different as it may be to today’s.

Don't wait for the face slap!

I’ve set the intention that in 2019 I am going to prioritise looking after my health. Not just my physical health, but my mental and emotional health too. This intention started coming to me around September last year, but it seems that everything since then has given it greater depth of meaning.

Each aspect; physical, mental and emotional, all warrant their own post. In fact they all warrant many... but this particular post is a plea to you. A plea to not wait until your health slaps you in the face before you take it seriously.

Riders are notorious for shaking off pain. Hell, I’m guilty of not going to the dentist, the doctor or a chiro for years at a time! At the end of 2017 I injured my knee something fierce and it took me weeks to bother getting a scan, and as soon as it was obvious I didn’t need surgery, I shrugged it off and went back to my usual daily life. It still clicks and grinds, but who has the time to worry about that, right?! The culture of riding (and our world in general) seems to be that your ability to absorb, and preferably ignore pain and illness is a badge of honour.

Honestly, its a badge of f***ing nothing.

There is no greatness in ignoring your body and having the privileged opinion that it will just continue to allow you to do whatever you like, regardless of how badly you treat it.

Ignoring your body is a privilege, not a right.

Brene Brown has found in her research that when we sit with people who have suffered a great trauma or loss, that the best way we can show that we care is by showing we are grateful for what we have. In her series of talks titled “The Power of Vulnerability” she says that “when you value what you have, you acknowledge what I have lost”.

So, value your damn body!

If I sound harsh, great, cause I needed a massive kick up the bum about this myself, and I’m appalled at how I got my kick:

I have an awesome friend called Sarah. We used to work together years ago in a less-than-delightful shop, and then I had the pleasure of looking after her gorgeous old horse in his retirement. Sarah was great to work with - kind, upbeat, fierce when she needed to be, and laugh-to-the-point-of-crying funny. Nothing’s changed there really! She also used to lecture me on my unhealthy choices in snacks and (soft) drinks, and I would shrug it off every time.

Last year Sarah had some abdominal pain. Not a biggie, she’s only 27 and there are plenty of reasons why that could happen. The doctors didn’t think it warranted a scan; she was young, healthy, ate well, and generally looked after herself. It took months before there were any real signs that something was quite wrong… and by then she was diagnosed with bowel cancer that had spread to her liver. She had 50% of her bowel removed, and is now waiting to begin chemo for stage four liver cancer.

She’s 27. It’s not genetic. It’s not her diet. It’s just sh*t luck… and it’s scary as hell!

So what is the lesson in this, other than life can be cruel? The lesson is to listen to your body.

If I stick to bowel cancer:
- It has traditionally been viewed as an “old persons” disease, and so screening is free after 50, but in the last decade, the incidence of 20-30year olds with bowel cancer has increased by 30%. Let me say that for you again; thirty percent.
-Because it’s not see as something young people get, by the time they do receive the correct diagnosis it’s often already stage 3 or 4.
-There is an excellent organisation called Bowel Cancer Australia, who are worth researching and supporting. I am also planning on (and recommend you do the same!) doing a screening test, though a full colonoscopy is the best as it can detect polyps before they become cancerous. In fact, if enough people want to get in on this, I will organise something around it - maybe a “Post-Poo” Clinic and/or party for after we all do it? If you’re in, let me know!

Obviously it’s not just bowel or liver cancer… my point is, our body tells us when there is something not right. We need to put down our ego and our attempts at being “tough” and listen to it! We need to tell our friends to do the same. We need to be grateful for our body - it’s the only one we get, and it does an amazing job for us, the least we can do is learn to listen to it before it has to scream at us!

So here is my plan, and you are welcome (encouraged) to join me in any or all of these practices:
-Get that check up, go to the dentist, go to the chiro.
-Take (and by take, I mean set aside!) the time daily to really listen to my body. To give it a chance to be “heard” and allow me to do better by it.
-Include at least 3 things in my daily gratitude practice that are specific to my body
-Donate blood - because Sarah is currently having a blood transfusion, and it is literally keeping her alive.
-Get my bowel screened, and find a way to support Bowel Cancer Australia, and other health organisations, in what they do.

If you are reading this, please, listen to your body. Don’t wait until your health, or the health of someone you love gives you a slap in the face, to remember how damn lucky you are. I see you. I care about you. I want you to look after yourself, and look after those around you.

If you do nothing else, please just take a moment, right now, to honour your body. As it is. For all it does for you, and all it has done for you. Maybe it doesn’t look the way you want. Maybe it aches, or creaks, or doesn’t quite move the way you think it should… but dammit, you’re alive, and it spends every minute of every day making that happen for you. So breathe. Take in the miracle that is your body. Honour it.

Don’t wait for the slap in the face, do something now, because really, now is all we have.

If you want to talk about health, ask any questions, or just say anything at all (this is all about starting a conversation after all!) please get in touch! Comment below, comment on my social media, e-mail me, text me, whatever! Talk to your friends. Talk to your healthcare provider.

Talk to your body.