Why I keep a “good ride” list on my phone
My phone contains the usual collection of photos, messages, weather screenshots, and half-finished notes. It also contains a running list with a deliberately simple name: good rides. It is not a record of placings, perfect scores, or days when every stride looked polished. It is a collection of moments when the partnership between horse and rider felt real, effective, and worth remembering.
I started keeping it because competition days can distort my memory. A single mistake has a way of becoming the headline, even when the rest of the ride included brave decisions, improved balance, a good recovery, or a moment when my horse trusted me completely. By the time I have unloaded, put away tack, and replayed the round several times, the useful details can be crowded out by the thing I wish I had done differently.
The list gives those details somewhere to land. I can add a sentence in the lorry park, sitting beside the warm-up ring, or later that evening when the horse is settled at home. Over time, the notes have become a small training journal, a confidence record, and a reminder that progress in eventing is rarely as dramatic as a ribbon.
The moments that deserve to be remembered
A good ride does not have to mean a flawless ride. Some of the most valuable entries are attached to rounds where I made a mistake and then handled it sensibly. Perhaps I lost the rhythm in show jumping but rebuilt it before the next fence. Perhaps the dressage test felt tense, yet I kept riding every movement instead of mentally giving up. Perhaps a cross-country question looked intimidating and I made a clear, committed decision.
I also write down quiet wins that might disappear if I relied on memory alone. My horse may have walked calmly into the warm-up instead of arriving tense and distracted. I may have kept my eyes up through a difficult line. We may have found a better canter before a fence, or I may have noticed that my horse was trying to answer a question even when the answer was not immediate.
Those details matter because riding develops through thousands of small adjustments. The list helps me see the pattern between them. A good ride might be a new skill, a better reaction, or simply the decision to stay present when nerves were asking me to rush.
Turning a feeling into useful information
Writing “that felt good” is a pleasant start, but it does not give me much to work with later. I try to name the specific reason a ride belongs on the list. Was my upper body quieter? Did I keep a steadier contact? Did I breathe before the fence? Did my horse stay in front of my leg? Clear language turns a positive feeling into information I can use at the next schooling session.
The notes are usually short. I might write, “Kept the canter organized after the spooky corner,” or “Allowed the lengthened stride instead of chasing it.” On a difficult day, I may record, “Recovered my focus after the pole down.” These sentences are more helpful than a vague declaration that the ride was good because they point toward behavior rather than luck.
I sometimes include the setting as well: a particular arena, a new venue, a busy warm-up, a wet field, or a course with a question that had been worrying me. Context helps me recognize where confidence is growing and where I still need more repetitions. It also prevents me from judging a performance without remembering the circumstances around it.
A note can hold both progress and imperfection. “Best approach to a narrow so far, but lost balance afterward” is still a good-ride entry. The point is not to create a flattering version of events. It is to preserve evidence that something worked.
A better record than scores alone
Scores and results have their place. They show trends, identify weaknesses, and give competition days a clear framework. They cannot describe every useful decision, however. A lower score may come with excellent riding in conditions that exposed a new skill, while a strong result may conceal habits that will become problems at a higher level.
| What I record | What it tells me | Why it helps later |
|---|---|---|
| A specific effective decision | How I influenced the ride | Gives me a behavior to repeat |
| A calm response to a mistake | How I manage pressure | Builds trust in my recovery skills |
| A moment of connection | How the partnership felt | Keeps training focused on communication |
| A new challenge attempted | Where my comfort zone is changing | Makes progress visible before results show it |
| A detail my horse handled well | What he is learning | Helps shape future schooling sessions |
The list is especially useful after a competition because the official result can become emotionally louder than the actual experience. If I am disappointed by a rail or a time fault, I can read back through the ride and find the parts that still represent growth. That does not mean pretending the mistake did not matter. It means refusing to let one outcome erase the whole performance.
This habit also makes post-competition reflection more balanced. I can identify what needs work without turning the entire day into a failure. A useful review might contain one thing to keep, one thing to change, and one thing to practice. That is far more actionable than replaying the score sheet with increasing frustration.
Building confidence after the difficult rounds
Confidence does not always arrive because a rider has collected enough successful results. Sometimes it grows because the rider has accumulated proof that difficult moments can be managed. My good-ride list gives me access to that proof when nerves are making the next challenge feel larger than it is.
After a runout, for example, it can be hard to trust my own decision-making. The immediate instinct may be to focus on the refusal, question the approach, and worry that the same thing will happen again. A note about a later correction, a clear restart, or a successfully re-presented fence gives the story a second half. I have found it helpful to revisit recovering from a runout because recovery is part of the skill, rather than an embarrassing footnote to it.
This is where the list becomes more than positive thinking. It does not tell me that every ride will be easy or that preparation is unnecessary. It reminds me that I have already made good decisions under pressure. When I feel nerves before a horse trial, I can read a few entries and reconnect with concrete memories: a steady approach, a brave answer, a calm transition, a moment when I trusted the plan.
The effect is subtle. I am not trying to manufacture confidence by repeating a slogan. I am giving my mind a fuller set of facts. The difficult ride is still part of the record, but it sits beside the evidence of patience, adaptability, and persistence.
Learning from the rides around me
Keeping the list has also changed how I watch other riders. Instead of treating a competition as a stream of people to compare myself with, I look for decisions I can understand and remember. How did a rider organize the canter before a related distance? When did they soften? How did they recover when a horse looked at something?
Watching other rounds can be particularly useful when I am too close to my own nerves to see a problem clearly. From outside the arena, rhythm becomes easier to notice. So does the difference between a rider who is busy and a rider who is prepared. I have written down ideas after observing combinations that looked composed, committed, and fair to their horses. The practice connects naturally with watching other rounds, which has become one of the simplest ways for me to make competition time educational.
Some observations make their way into my own good-ride notes. I might write that I used a rhythm I had admired earlier, or that I remembered to leave space because another rider’s balance had shown me how important that was. The list is personal, but it does not have to be created in isolation. Eventing is full of shared learning, from trainers and friends to the riders warming up nearby.
It also helps me appreciate progress without turning every round into a comparison. Another rider’s strength can be a lesson rather than a verdict on my shortcomings. I can notice what I want to develop, then return to my own partnership and ask what the next practical step looks like.
Making the habit easy enough to keep
The best system is the one I will actually use when I am tired, muddy, or emotionally full after a competition. My list lives in my phone because it is always nearby and because a quick note takes less effort than opening a notebook, finding a page, and trying to reconstruct the day later. I do not aim for polished writing. I aim for an honest detail before it disappears.
A few simple guidelines make the record more useful:
- Write the specific moment, not just “good ride.”
- Include one action I took and one thing my horse did in response.
- Record small wins from schooling, hacking, and preparation as well as competitions.
- Add a note after difficult rides about how I recovered or what I learned.
- Read several entries before a major event, choosing evidence that supports calm, purposeful riding.
I try not to turn the list into another standard I have to meet. There is no required number of entries, and a quiet schooling session deserves space beside a dramatic cross-country round. Some notes are only a few words. Others grow into a reflection about nerves, family, the horse’s mood, or the strange mixture of relief and pride that follows a day at a horse trial.
The list has become a way of paying attention. It keeps me connected to the reasons I ride when training is repetitive, competition is unsettling, or the result is not what I wanted. It records the partnership in motion: the moments when my horse and I communicate clearly, the moments when I learn to listen better, and the moments when a mistake becomes part of a larger piece of progress.
When the next ride feels intimidating, I will keep returning to those notes before I decide what the day meant. A good ride may be waiting in a single transition, a brave approach, or a calm recovery after something goes wrong. Write that moment down while it is fresh, carry the evidence forward, and let the record grow alongside the partnership.