Month: March 2016

I love my helmet camera. Well… I love the video from my helmet camera at least. The camera itself is big, bulky, heavy, and sometimes a fairly large pain in the butt to wear and operate. I deal with it for the sake of having the videos, but it does leave a lot to be desired. So when I came across the Cambox ISIS, I was pretty excited.

This thing is genius. First, it’s designed specifically for a helmet. The Cambox has a flat profile to fit across the front of your helmet, under the brim. It can even flex to match the shape. It has a 170 degree lens and a 40 degree tilt so you can choose exactly what view you want. It only weighs 38 grams (just over an OUNCE). It even comes in colors and you can have your name 3D printed on it so it doesn’t get lost. Leave it to those Europeans.

I have to think that something like this would be safer in a fall than a larger Go Pro or even the mid-size cylindrical shaped cameras. There’s so little to it… much less to get in the way between your head and the ground. In fact, they have a whole page on their website dedicated to the safety aspect. I’ve never been thrilled with attaching a brick to the front of my helmet (which also makes my helmet more likely to slip down a bit in front).

But what’s the quality like? The description says “Produces a high definition image with 1,280 x 720 pixel resolution; captures 30 pictures per second;  video sensor with 5 million pixels; output in AVI format compatible with most software. HD microphone with integral filter captures even the smallest sounds. Integral lithium-ion battery offers 90-minute operating time and recharges with USB charger. Micro SD memory card slot supports memory card sizes from 4GB to 32 GB. 8GB memory card included.”

So, video quality-wise, it’s about the same as my Go Pro. The only thing I don’t love is the operating time: 90 minutes with a full charge isn’t that long. It would probably work for most uses though. The price tag is around $290, which puts it in the lower-mid end of the typical GoPro price range.

Needless to say, I’m super intrigued. I need this thing in my life, STAT. Ya know… whenever I have money to burn. It also seems like such a small, sleek design would open up the world of helmet cameras to more disciplines and make it easier/less hideous for most people to wear. What say you, public?

 

Every time I’m at any kind of horse show I find myself sitting there watching people get ready to compete and thinking about how absolutely insane eventing is. And not just because of the whole galloping-and-jumping-big-solid-fences thing, but mostly because of how we try to be good at three very different sports that are all really difficult in their own right. When you take a step back and really think about it, we’re all completely certifiable.

Sometimes I miss the days of Jumperland where I could wake up in the morning at a show and go “Okay self, today you are going to remember your course and sit up!”. Now I wake up in the morning at an event (assuming I ever slept at all) and am so overwhelmed with all the things I have to remember that my brain pretty much just immediately explodes, then in the ensuing post-brain-apocalypse silence I think “Shit. I have to get up and braid.”.

Getting ready for dressage is an art in itself. You want a relaxed, obedient test from what is, most likely, a fit and fairly “blooded” horse. No one but the person showing the horse is allowed to ride it on the grounds, so forget a trainer ride. If you want enough horse left by the time you get to show jumping, forget a lunge or a long warm-up. Dressage is already really really hard, and we’ve managed to make it even harder. We have to remember the dressage test and all the tiny little things to try to maximize our score. And for the love of god, open your shoulders, look up, and keep riding inside leg to outside rein. Oh, and try not to look like you’d rather be anywhere else than in that sandbox.

Then we get to XC, where we want a horse that is bold, quick with it’s feet, moves efficiently across the ground, gets across the fence without wasting energy, and is enough of a “thinker” to get itself out of trouble. Totally different from what we wanted in the dressage test. We also have to remember the XC course (which requires at least 3 walks on my part – one to learn my way, one to make a solid plan, and one to re-affirm said plan) and everything we’re supposed to do along the way. Meters per minute. Minute markers here, here, here, here. Start your turn for that combination at that tree. Land slightly left here so your line works out better. Jump the right fences. Don’t fall off. I mean really… brain goes poof again.

Then there’s stadium, if you’re lucky enough to have survived all that other business. Now you get to remember a stadium course and all the little nuances that go into riding that cleanly (no pressure). You need your horse to be rideable, respectful, and careful, with lots of lift and power. Different yet again. So really, not only does the horse have to essentially be three totally different things, we have to be three totally different riders. Each phase has it’s own unique demands and styles of riding and to be successful we have to somehow be good at all of those things, all at the same time. Does anyone besides Michael Jung ever do everything right from start to finish? If you want to constantly feel challenged (and/or you have a touch of ADD) eventing is definitely for you. This sport is stupid hard and complicated and we are all 100% crazy for even trying to master it. And the fact that we do all of this while wearing head-to-toe white is all the proof you need of just how idiotic we really are.

We won’t even talk about all the different rules for each phase. Or all the tack. Or all the clothes. Alright.. admittedly I don’t mind all the tack and clothes, but packing for a show looks more like you’re just plain moving out.

All of these things combined are probably why most eventers travel with at least one kind of alcohol. On some level I think we are all overwhelmed, whether it be just 1% (oh, if we could all be Buck) or 101% (I’m looking at you, lady that looks like she’s going to throw up before she goes in the start box. High five girl, you’ve got lady balls!).

But this is also probably why we are all generally so helpful and supportive of each other. I’ve never felt more “at home” in any discipline. Everyone is welcome and everyone gets support from their fellow competitors. We’re all in the same big stupid boat together, just trying to survive through the end of the day and finish with a number, not a letter (because – minor detail – if you fall off or go off course, you’re out. Done-zo. Finished. There is no coming back later for another class, you have to pack your toys and go home. No refunds, but enjoy trying to get those mud stains out of your whites!).

There’s no doubt that nary a one of us has even a lick of common sense. No one in their right mind would do this, much less pay boatloads of money for the privilege. I’m pretty sure I live in a perpetual state of brain overload. But it’s a hell of a lot of fun, and I wouldn’t want to be any other kind of insane with any other kind of lunatics.

 

This is going to sound really really weird to anyone not familiar with the trials and tribulations of my dressage history with Henry, but last week in my lesson I actually had to KICK him. Like, a big wallop of a kick. And somehow that feels like a big achievement. Let me explain…

The biggest struggle I’ve had with Henry’s dressage is his natural level of tension and over-sensitivity. Most of our tests are a very very delicate balance of trying to keep him calm while still trying to get as many points as we can. Sometimes we’ve been successful at that, other times we haven’t. It’s remarkably easy to push his brain over the edge on the flat.

Last year at the June Texas Rose HT we got “lazy” written on our test TWICE and honestly it felt like I had won. More often we get “tense”. I’ll be honest, I’m pretty freaking thrilled if an onlooker thinks he looks lazy.

I spent all of last year not even cantering him in the dressage warm-up at shows, because in Henry’s mind if you canter once, you’re cantering forever after. My standard MO became 30 minutes of walking, trotting, halting, walking, trotting, halting, over and over. Basically I was trying to lull him to sleep a bit. Of course, that meant our canter work was never particularly great in the test, but it kept him more relaxed in general.

Since the end of last season I’ve been particularly mindful of doing all of his canter work toward the beginning of our dressage rides, with the bulk of the trot work after. I’ve been trying to get him to realize that cantering once doesn’t mean cantering always, and that it’s actually possible to have a normal, relaxed trot after the canter work.

This has slowly gotten better and better. Combine that with the suddenly more rideable horse I’ve had over the past month, and things finally came to a pinnacle in our lesson last week. We had done lots of canter work, including several trot-canter transitions (too many transitions are typically Henry’s undoing), took a walk break, did some trot work, then started working on lengthenings. We did a few at the trot, then picked up the canter again and started canter lengthenings.

Or rather… I TRIED to get a canter lengthening but it was actually taking a lot of squeezing just to keep him cantering in the first place. We came off the short side the first time and trainer says “Okay, BIG lengthening… it’s ok if he gallops!”… and I ask for the lengthening. Normally canter lengthenings are Henry’s favorite. Permission to YEEHAW in dressage? YES! Except this time… nothing happened.

Okay, no big deal, collect him back up on the short side again, come down the long side again, and… GO!

Crickets.

Oh my god. Wait. Is… is Henry… is he dead? Am I in the Twilight Zone? Did I pull the wrong horse out of the field? This must be a parallel universe.

I squeezed harder, then clucked, but nada. Nope. Henny happy to canter like normal, thanks much.