I hate my legs. Specifically, my right leg. sigh No, scratch that. Make it my whole right side. But mostly my right leg. For now anyway. My legs are short. Not that I can do anything about it. Nope, born that way.

As a teenager, I was very envious of my friend Lauri’s long lanky legs. She was all legs! If I stood next to her I think the top of my head reached her hip. Seriously, I’m that short. I even offered her a trade. In exchange for some of her height, I’d give her some of my butt. Seemed like a fair trade to me. Have I mentioned that I hate my butt too? Oh, did my family ever tease me, “Look at that Pollard butt!” Uh, that would be Grandpa Pollard.

“How does any of this relate to dressage?”
Patience. I’m getting there.

My right leg will not listen to me! It refuses to stay in a long, draped position around my horse’s barrel. It would rather be up under my chin. The horse isn’t causing this. It’s entirely me! Therefore, I hate my right leg.

I’ll give it the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps I’m gripping in the knee and that’s causing my leg to pull up. Maybe, just maybe, the horse’s motion is throwing me to the right and I’m clinging with my leg. It doesn’t matter though. Whatever the cause is I have to get into the correct position and maintain it. No matter what the horse throws at my right leg.

So what’s a girl to do?
Resort to Mary Wanless of course! In a trot it’s time to think about posting from my thighs. In the canter I also need to think about using my thighs. I’m allowed to grip with them if I need to but think thighs. “Oh, and tuck that butt!” See what I mean? Darn junk in the trunk.

You know what? It worked.
I guess I have something to work on, huh?