When I started Tristan, in January 2006, basically everything was difficult.

Every day, I would catch him in his paddock, lead him into the indoor, and groom him.

He was so nervous that he would tremble, sweat, or spook away, to the end of the lead line. When he got back to his paddock, he would drink gallons of water; the stress dehydrated him.

Eventually, I could groom him inside. Then I could longe him. Then he wore tack while longeing. Bridling was especially difficult.

I cried a lot. I am not really a person who cries from frustration. Adversity usually makes me grit my teeth, get angry, and push through. I cry at other people’s pain, real or fictional, but not at my own. So when I tell you I cried a lot, that should give you some idea of how miserable I was. For months.

Early on, my trainer gave me one tip that really helped, and I used it for years.

Always keep emergency chocolate in your tack trunk.

I bought peanut butter chocolate bars, much like the one I have pictured above, only not nearly as nice. They were 2/$1.00 at the grocery store, and even that was a stretch, because I was on a really strict budget so I could afford my horse.

But I always found money to keep one in my tack trunk. On really bad days, I would put him back in his paddock, and I would go sit down on my tack trunk. Sometimes I would not even turn the light on in the tack room. And I would eat some chocolate.

Blood sugar is no one’s friend. Stress does crazy things to my blood sugar. Forcing myself to sit down, have a moment of pleasure, get some sugar into my stomach, and breath deeply for a few minutes, was a key part of readjusting and getting myself ready for the long, cold drive home.

I haven’t kept chocolate in my tack trunk in years, because even our very worst days now are lightyears better than even our very best days were that winter.

But it was still one of the best pieces of advice I ever got for training a young, green, volatile horse.

Not the best ride ever last night.

Riding, for me anyway, is all about plateaus and valleys.

Mostly, we sort of cruise along, plodding ahead. Adding fitness, adding a little bit more suppleness, a little bit better transition.

Then we fall off a cliff.

And we hit bottom and I sort of stare around, dazed, wondering what the fuck happened, and Tristan thinks I am a worthless idiot. Then we wallow for a while, and everything is awful, and nothing works, even the stuff that worked flawlessly 48 hours ago.

Then we start slowly, painfully, crawling back up the other side. Eventually, we hit a spot that’s maybe 1″ higher than it was before we fell off a cliff.

So we plod along for a while. Then another cliff. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Sometime late last week, we fell off that cliff.

And right now Tris is wondering what the hell is wrong with me, anyway.

So right now we cannot: bend, go on the bit in the canter, trot forward, change direction on the bit, back up, turn left in the canter, breathe, relax at the base of the neck, use stifles. We can sort of get on the bit in the trot. We can in the walk if we want to crawl along flopping on the forehand. Which, obviously, is not ideal.

We also cannot, absolutely CAN.NOT. behave sanely outside. Un-possible. Out of the question. How dare I even think about it.

To be fair, this is his first year in four years when he’s arrived into spring both a) very sound and b) very fit. Right now, he’s banging out long trot sets and short canter sets and he’s tired but still bright-eyed and willing to go. (On days that are not overly warm, anyway, since he’s still got a lot of winter coat to blow out.)

But yeah.

Every single time in the last two weeks I’ve taken him outside there has been some kind of major shit fit. Last night, I set a goal of walking and trotting sanely in the outdoor. 20 minutes of walking, and he finally let go of the tension in his back and his neck – or enough of it, anyway – and I asked for a trot. Tons of little mincing steps, angry head-flipping, flinging shoulders side to side later, and he started to soften to the bit.

And then we got to the far end of the ring and he went sideways in this great scrambling leap, and UP, and down and then up and down a few more times. Still going sideways. Fast, toward home. I swore a lot and sat deep and yanked his head up and then kicked him on. Then it happened again. Then it happened again. I kept him walking.

Then I looked up to see that the barn manager was leaving, and I had one of those moments of utter defeat. I realized if I kept pushing this, I was going to end up on the ground, and there would be no one else around to catch Tristan. I can roll. Tris would head for the hills.

So we went inside, and we spent another 20 minutes attempting to get some semblance of “better than we started.” Which was for the most part unsuccessful. I tuned up the trot-canter transitions a little bit. I got some changes of bend on a 20m circle. I got a couple of steps of leg yield. That was it. He was blowing hard, because he had spent the entire time fighting me, grinding his teeth, not breathing.

I called it quits. I stripped his tack. I took him back outside to one of the dry lots, and I let him roll, and then I curried him up and down. It was windy, but sunny, so the strong breeze took the hair away as fast as I could get it off him, and he still wasn’t relaxed – he kept pacing, nosing at the hay and not really eating it, but he seemed to hate me a little less by the end of it.

Ugh.