The
Olympic Sport of Eventing
Michael
Hillman
The Equestrian sport of
combined training, or 'Eventing', traces its origin to
the days when each country depended upon the cavalry in
battle and horses were a vital part of the Army.
Friendly boasting at the end of a day's campaign as to
the relative courage, speed, and stamina of particular
horses evolved into a series of tests to prove these
claims. In track and field, the decathlon represents the
ultimate in testing the all-around skill of an athlete.
In equestrian sport,
combined training is considered the ultimate test. This
competition encompasses three separate tests (hence, its
name): dressage, endurance, and show jumping, each
scored individually but added together for the final
score. Unlike other sports where only the human will and
body are working against the clock, in combined
training, two minds and bodies have to work as one, and
a true partnership between horse and rider is necessary
to win.
I began riding on a
dare at the ripe old age of 21 and became quickly
addicted. My ridding career has been governed by
the advice of my first instructor: "Always seek out
the best riders and learn from them; and when you think
you have learned it all, it's time to quit, because its
all downhill from there." True to this guidance, my
short list of past coaches reads like a Who's Who of the
equestrian elite, including three Olympic gold medal
winners. Since moving to Emmitsburg, I have trained with
Julie Gomena, a long-time friend and internationally
ranked rider, in Middleburg, Virginia.
Soon after moving to
Emmitsburg, I lost my competition horse to a freak
riding accident and because of job commitments, figured
my competition days were over. A year later, however, I
found myself itching to get back in the saddle again,
and with the help of Julie, acquired Lt. Worf. Being
only 3 at the time, Worf's training began at the basics.
We had to teach him how to carry a rider, jump a jump,
patiently stand on cross-ties, and a plethora of other
things that go into making a winning event horse.
Recognizing the
potential in Worf, I made every effort to ensure his
successful education. For the past four years, beginning
in early March and continuing until early November,
twice a week, Worf and I religiously make the three-hour
trip down their coach's farm for lessons, and like all
students, between lessons, we practiced, practiced, and
practiced. I had to discipline myself to go straight to
the barn and ride when I get home from work. Everything
else comes after that.
At the beginning
of each year, a training schedule is drawn up that
details each day's activities, be they dressage,
jumping, galloping, hacking, and yes, even Worf's days
off.
Mondays are usually
Worf's day off. He's constantly under pressure to
perform. He needs at least one day off to unwind, relax,
and recover. Tuesday's fare usually consists of
half-an-hour of dressage and trotting for 40 minutes up
and down hills to improve physical stamina. Wednesday is
usually a lesson day, where the results of the most
recent competition are reviewed. Wednesday's lesson are
usually dedicated to expanding the scope of our
abilities, be it mastering some particular dressage
movement, tackling a technically challenging
cross-country obstacle, or improving Worf's agility over
twisting stadium courses. Thursday's workout is a repeat
of the Tuesday schedule.
Non-competition
weekends are usually spent hacking around the Emmitsburg
countryside. Competition weekends, however, are
dramatically different. I usually take off from work the
Friday before a competition. There's just too much to do
to get ready. First on the agenda is the 3-hour trek to
Middleburg to fine tune our performance.
Following their return
from the lesson, Worf is handed over to my wife, Audrey,
for grooming. Long before she met me, Audrey had
established herself as a highly sought-after,
world-class groom who served on the gold-medal-winning
United States Equestrian Olympic Team at Montreal and at
numerous world championships.
For Audrey at least,
competition weekends usually start long before the sun
is up. By the time I join her in the barn, Audrey has
seen to Worf's feeding, grooming, and is usually halfway
through braiding his mane. Just as she did when she was
a member of the Olympic team, Audrey pretty much calls
the shots on handling both equipment and the horse at
competitions, and after 4 years of competing together,
both Audrey and I have our routine pretty much down pat:
Audrey hands me the
horse all tacked up and ready to go for dressage. All I
have to do is get myself dressed. While I do my dressage
test, Audrey is getting ready for the cross-country
phase of the event. As I come out of the dressage ring,
Audrey will grab Worf and I'll head off to look at the
cross-country course.
The dressage test is a
series of complicated movements performed in an enclosed
arena. Precision, smoothness, suppleness, and complete
obedience show off the horse's gymnastic development.
Ideally, it should look as if the horse is performing of
its own accord. The test is scored on each movement,
rather like the scoring in figure skating, with overall
harmony and precision taken into consideration. The
endurance test is designed to prove the speed,
endurance, courage, and jumping ability of the true
cross-country horse brought to the peak of condition. At
the same time, it demonstrates the rider's knowledge and
skill at riding at speed over cross-country obstacles.
While Worf excels at
dressage, he's brilliant on cross-country, which is what
it's all about. Horses never get a chance to see the
obstacles on the course until they're asked to jump them
at a gallop. Obstacles come in all shapes and sizes—a
6-foot-wide ditch, a 4-foot-high hedge, or a 3½-foot
log in front of a 5-foot drop into water. As a result I
have to plan my cross country ride carefully, for a
single stop or fall is all that separates the winners
from the losers.
A typical cross-country
course will have between 20 and 25 obstacles. At
every one, I have to think, "How will Worf react
when he sees this fence?" Twisting and turning over
two miles of hills and broad plains, the cross-country
phase of the event usually takes 5 minutes to complete.
Just when you're getting into it, it's over, but it’s
the most addicting, thrill-packed, challenging 5 or 6
minutes one can have. Cross-country jumps are solid and
don't fall down; the horse and riders do.
Audrey rarely gets the
chance to watch Worf while on course. She's usually too
busy getting ready to see to Worf's post-run recovery.
We put a lot of effort into conditioning Worf, but on
hot days, he'll come off the cross-country dripping with
sweat. A proper cooling down regiment not only ensures
that he will be ready for stadium jumping, the final
phase of the event, but more importantly, it ensures
he'll not 'tie-up' or colic. Audrey will also be
standing by with a medical kit, ready to treat any cuts
or abrasions incurred while on course. Fortunately I've
never had to use it, but eventing is dangerous and
accidents do happen, so I'm always ready.
The last phase of the
event, Show Jumping, is designed to demonstrate that
following a severe test of endurance, the horse has
retained suppleness, energy and obedience. Following
stadium jumping, the penalty points incurred in each
phase of the competition are tallied, and the lowest six
riders in each division are awarded ribbons. There's no
prize money in this sport. It's definitely a financial
loss, however, because only the top horse and rider
combination receive ribbons, even a sixth-place ribbon
is highly prized, especially when you're competing
against past and present members of the Olympic team. In
combined training, it's the experience level of the
horse, not the rider, that determines the division in
which you participate. It's always neat to compete
against Olympic riders. They're a good yardstick to
measure yourself against. It's even better when you beat
them."
Once back on the farm,
tack and equipment must be unloaded and cleaned, and
friends are called. The first person I call is Julie,
who is always eager to hear me recount the day's events.
Back when Marcus—who was on the gold-medal-team at
Montreal—was alive, Worf used to seek out Marcus as if
he, like me, was debriefing his coach. Although I can
imagine Marcus making comments like "That's
nothing. Back in my days on the Olympic team, I had to
jump the Grand Canyon."
In a typical year, Worf
is capable of competing 13 times. An event takes a lot
out of a horse. The higher the level of competition, the
more it takes out of a horse, and the less frequently
you can compete. To compete successfully at his level, I
depend heavily on the support of many others. Julie, as
coach, is not only responsible for training Worf and I,
but also lays out the yearly goals and strategies for
achieving them.
Audrey not only looks
to Worf's physical needs, but more importantly, she
calls all the shots when it comes to his mental
well-being. Audrey's the only person Worf will come to
in the field. Everyone else represents work"
Lastly Gary
Kubala of the Emmitsburg Veterinary Hospital
oversees Worf's physical health. Gary's one of the best
equine sports veterinarians I've met. He clearly
understands what will be demanded of the horse, and thus
makes the final call on Worf's fitness before a
competition. One can be pretty well assured that if
Gary's not at home or on road calls, he's at our farm
looking at Worf.
Read
other Horse stories by Michael Hillman
Read
other stories by Michael Hillman |