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Fluga

An account of my experiences while riding Fluga, Susan Tilly’s Icelandic mare in a Centered Riding Clinic was published in the June, 2006 AIHA Newsletter.

In June, 2006, I participated in four-day TTeam/Centered Riding Clinic which was hosted by the Alaska Icelandic Horse Club, and held at the North Pole, Alaska-based Snowy Meadow Farm. On the morning of the Day One, Clinician Susan Faulkner-March talked about having a tool box, a metaphorical container in which one places their horse-related knowledge. The concept of a “visual picture” clicked with me. Prior to this clinic, I’d only ridden well-schooled Icelandics. But I subsequently did something that I previously considered to be an impossibility – I rode Fluga, an Icelandic mare who (I’d been told) had had minimal arena training. In part, conjuring up Susan’s image of a toolbox made this challenging feat possible.

Day #1: Taking a Look inside my Toolbox
As my partner Pete and I checked out the dozen or so horses that were milling about in the Snowy Meadows pens and paddocks, a bay mare caught our attention.

“That one looks kinda wild to me,” Pete said.

I observed the lanky Icelandic, who was trotting the length of her narrow enclosure.

“I’ll bet you that’s Fluga,” I said.

“You’re not going to be riding her, are you?” Pete asked.

“No, I’m going to be riding that one,” I said, as I gestured towards Alaska Icelandic Horse Club President Sue Tilley’s horse Glacier. The pinto, upon hearing his name, looked up, and then resumed grazing.

“Good choice,” Pete said, as he headed back in the direction of our vehicle.

A few minutes later, Sue informed me that Glacier was sore, and instead suggested that I ride Fluga. She appeared to me to be more energetic than the other Icelandics that I’d ridden. Right then, I wished that I’d brought Tinni, my bombproof lease horse with me to Fairbanks. I’d left him at home because I feared that an ongoing Parks Highway fire might exacerbate a recent heaves-related cough.

I finally agreed to ride 12-year old Fluga, because, well, I felt like I knew her. In August, 2004, I met her owners, the Castors, who were looking to sell her. Her original owners were Lake Minchumina-based Miki and Julie Collins, which meant that she had considerable trail savvy. Fluga also had excellent bloodlines – her dam was Harpa fra Bakkoti and her sire was Lettir fra Ey. I considered purchasing her, but instead opted to buy Siggi Halastajarni, a colt that was within my current price range.

I was scheduled to ride in the third afternoon group. Susan Faulkner-March began the hour-long riding sessions by helping those in the first two groups find their neutral pelvis position. Susan explained in an earlier lecture that this is the optimal pelvic position for strength, balance, and freedom of joints. Susan next asked for volunteers to lead the horses, and then for all riders to close their eyes. As I understood it, this, as well as complementary relaxation exercises would increase body awareness. I figured that this lesson would be easy. I figured wrong.

As Fran Buntzen, Mary Gleason, and Theresa Harmon gave me a hand with stirrup adjustment, Fluga became increasingly more antsy. Once I was seated, Fluga neighed repeatedly and crab walked in the direction of the arena fence. I could hardly blame her; the miles-on-end of white sand had to be unnerving. In fact, a tune from Lawrence of Arabia began going through my head. My thought, that I should abandon my camel, was quelled when Theresa offered to lead Fluga. Susan then did the above-mentioned exercise with me and my other group members, John and Mary Wheatley, and Kayla Trickey. I closed my eyes. The good camel Fluga jigged, stopped, and lurched forward. I opened my eyes wide because I feared that I was going to fall off. This exercise then became an exercise in trust. I did as Susan said, and attempted to relax my leg muscles. Fluga began moving in a more steady fashion, so I again closed my eyes. This time, I felt her belly sway from side to side, and as well, the slow, rhythmic motion that is the central characteristic of the four-beat walk gait.

As I dismounted and exited the arena, the image of my proverbial toolbox returned to mind. I’d acquired my orange artist’s box in March, 2004, shortly after I purchased Raudhetta. I’d been tossing various and sundry items into it; however, I hadn’t yet taken the time to organize its contents. I opened my box, and threw my latest horse-related bit of knowledge into it. This was it: rather than fear the consequences of riding unknown horses, I should instead welcome such opportunities, for this would up my confidence level. Having stored this bit of information in my kit, I slammed down the lid and fastened the shiny metal hasp.

Day # 2 Adding a Centered Riding-related Item to my Toolbox
For the better part of Day #2, my tool box remained closed. Like most, I’m swayed by first impressions. I’m also a selective listener, and as such spend considerable time attempting to verify initial observations. Instead of recalling my previous day’s revelation, I clung tightly to what I’d observed and what others had told me about Fluga; that she lacked confidence, was green broke, and edgy. Her being in heat also contributed to my belief that she was too much horse for me to handle. This was why, when it came time to tack up, I told Sue Tilley that I’d decided to forego the day’s lesson.

“Centered riding clinic is really about you,” Sue said, adding, “If you like you can ride Glacier, that is providing you take it easy on him.”

I stood thinking for a minute, and then spoke.

“No, I’ll ride Fluga,” I said.

What surfaced, (when I took a second to listen to my inner voice) was that riding Fluga would make it easier for me to back Raudi next spring. The English translation of Raudhetta is Little Red. When I told my neighbors this, they dubbed her “The Little Red Firecracker,” a moniker that has stuck. The chestnut filly is agile, nimble, and quick on her feet. As these very same neighbors have also said, she’s going to need a rider with considerable expertise. I knew then, as I said it, that my statement to Sue was bringing me one step closer to being this person. Having committed myself to the second day’s ride, I told myself that riding Fluga unassisted would be no more difficult than sea kayaking in seven-foot waves, ice climbing in sub-zero temperatures, or mountain bicycling in near-blizzard conditions; all things that I’d done before the horse bug bit me.

The second day’s lesson was similar to the first. Since Fluga again moved around like a thirsty camel, I asked Theresa to accompany me. As on Day #1, Susan’s more imagistic way of teaching resonated with me. For instance, she recommended that we do as Sally Swift suggests, and hold our hands as if they contained baby birds. Envisioning two sparrows in my hands, as well as a helium balloon on each arm allowed me release my death grip on the reins. Fluga’s more tangible response (which was to lower her head and sigh) made subsequent directives even easier. I did as Susan suggested, and backpedaled—that is, alternately moved my seatbones in accordance with Fluga’s motion. These, and the other lesson exercises centered me. And at the same time, they centered Fluga. By the end of this, our second hour-long lesson, Fluga and I were walking independently of Theresa – and in a straight line. As I untacked her, I had yet another insight. For the past two days I’d been creating a mobius strip situation, one in which Fluga continually picked up on my tension, and I continually picked up hers. Should this happen again, I’d cut the strip by using centered riding imagery. Smiling, I concluded the lesson by slipping this item into my toolbox. But this time, rather than close it, I left it open.

Day #3 The Acquisition of a New Toolbox
On the morning Day #3, I walked over to Fluga, who when she saw me, trotted to the far end of the pen. I’ve always considered the majority of animal channelers to be unabashed anthropomorphizers. But, I thought, maybe their central claim, that animals are more in tune with our mental states of being is legitimate. If so, Fluga could be indicating to me that I need to take charge. How, I wondered, do I go about this? I hadn’t a clue.

The image of my toolbox again popped back into my head. It was now time to do some serious sorting. I undid the hasp, lifted the lid, and rummaged about. My storage container was half-empty because after a twenty-year hiatus, I’d recently resumed riding. The term “muscle memory” is not yet in common usage because the belief that is still in vogue is that the brain is the storage site for all forms of memory, both physical and mental. But in the past two years, I’d had several moments in which I’d again been one with my mounts. However, the ability to sustain connection over a period of more than a few seconds had been lost. So had the source of this knowledge, which I’d tossed into my original, but long-abandoned toolbox.

My orange toolbox was half-full because for the past two years I’d spent considerable time ground training my two young horses. Both Raudi and Siggi now stand, walk, whoa, back, come, give their feet, and pick up the wand. Their progress isn’t related to happenstance; rather, I’ve had good training. In July-August, 2005 I attended the eight-day Colt Training Clinic at the Icelandic Horse Farm, and became acquainted with TTeam and TTouch training. Upon my return home, I read and reread Linda Tellington Jones’s Lets Ride, and Christine Schwartz’s Joy of Icelandics and More Joy of Icelandics. I also read all the back issues of the TTeam Newsletters that I’d been able to stuff in my backpack.

Reflecting upon what I know usually enables me to break through what I call stuck points. This was another one of those times. Fluga, who was by now wondering why I’d been standing motionless, walked over to me. As I often do with Raudi and Siggi, I did light circles on her head, neck, and body, and then put a body wrap on her. Fluga then stood quietly as I next did ear sides, python lifts (on legs and back) and tail work. Like Raudi, Fluga enjoyed the ear slides. This was evidenced by the gradual softening in the muscles around her eyes and mouth.

Fluga and I entered the arena feeling a little wary about what was to come. But our collective sense of unease dissipated as we both made favorable associations. I saw a TTouch Playground of Higher Learning. And Fluga saw a quasi trail course. The white sand was still there, but in addition, there were cones, a labyrinth a star, a plastic tarp and cavellettis. It was just like at our respective homes. While waiting for Susan, we went over and around the obstacles.

Once again, her directives complemented her earlier hands-on demonstrations. When she again brought the image of a tree to mind, I further imagined that my toes were pushing out roots which were extending far into the soil, and that my head was sprouting branches, which were reaching far up to the sky. Back went the slumped shoulders. And down went the tight calf muscles. This was what I felt the first time I rode my bicycle solo. I continued to do as Susan said, but at the same time, I began doing half halts, circles to the left and right, and one rein stops. The end result was that Fluga was less concerned about what her equine friends were doing, and more attuned to the situation at hand.

After, I continued to think about the lesson, which for me had been a turning point. Having both done the TTouch work and having spent time on the playground made me feel focused. Feeling focused had provided me with the impetuous to push the tree image further. And pushing the tree image further had made easier to do the remaining relaxation exercises. And doing the remaining relaxation exercises had enabled to take charge. Taking charge: I was now at a stage in my riding career when I could do this. There was not enough room in my toolbox for all this, so I further envisioned a new one. It was blue, and the size of a large fishing tackle box. Later that evening, before going to bed, I carefully put the contents of the old box, into the new one.

Day # 4 Another Addition to my Toolbox
At the end of Day Three I’d been informed that my group would ride first on Day Four. This meant Pete, who’d been dropping me off in the mornings and then leaving in order to spend time with family members, would be able to observe my group lesson. Together, we walked over to the mare. Pete watched, as I again did TTouch work on Fluga.

The fourth day’s lesson started out well and got progressively better. For the first time in three days, Fluga held still as Susan adjusted my seating position, and then, as she ran her hands lightly down my legs, used the imagery of melting chocolate. The overall effect was that I relaxed my leg muscles. She next tapped on the bottom of my feet. I involuntarily wiggled my toes, which further reduced tension. Fluga then walked in a fairly relaxed fashion, as Susan lead us though suppling exercises, some of which included circles, serpentines, and walking and stopping. Then came the moment that I’d been dreading; Susan indicated that it was time to pick up the pace.

I fell in behind John’s horse Dalla, and Mary’s horse Teiger, and prepared to tolt. I slowed my breathing, sat deeply in the saddle, and squeezed the reins lightly. Fluga responded favorably, by shifting her weight to her rear legs, raising her head slightly, and took up the four-beat gait.

“I’d now like Mary, John, and Kayla to trot,” Susan said, adding, “And Alys, ask Fluga to tolt.”

Could I get this horse, who preferred to tolt, to trot? It was worth a try. I shifted my center of gravity forward, pressed my wrists down on her withers, and eased up on the reins. There, I felt it: the shift from the four-beat to the two-beat gait. Fluga trotted for approximately ten seconds, and then took up a textbook-perfect piggy pace. Rather than pull her down to a walk, I squeezed my legs, and asked her to pick up her speed. This must have been the right thing to do, because she resumed tolting.

There are some moments in life that we’d like to last forever, and this was one of mine. Icelandics are strong-willed, have wonderful dispositions, and extraordinary stamina. The tolt is a joy to ride because it embodies these, and the Icelandic horses’ other attributes. I was ecstatic because I was riding a horse that I’d erroneously presumed was beyond my abilities as a rider. And I was tolting. Quite obviously, I’d erred in my thinking. What Fluga most needed was someone with direction to take charge. And this someone was me. I also knew that I had to give credit where credit was due. Susan’s more imagistically-based approach had enabled me to both isolate, and then relax bodily sources of tension. And Fluga’s quick responses were a reinforcer. Susan indicated that the lesson was over, so I brought Fluga back down to a walk, and rode on a very loose rein. At the conclusion of the lesson, Pete met me at the gate.

“Nice job,” he said. As others echoed this, I scratched Fluga on the neck. Unbeknownst to all, my four-day clinic experience had changed my self-perceptions as a rider. I’d previously envisioned myself as a physically stiff and rigid individual who was destined to spend the rest of her riding life feeling like a bouncing sack of potatoes. Now I was moving in unison with a feisty Icelandic. No surprise here—that spirited beast was Raudi, my little red firecracker. This bit of knowledge – I put it in my new toolbox.


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