What My Cross-Country Video Taught Me About Riding

I used to think I remembered a cross-country round fairly accurately. I could recall the big moments: Archie jumping out of the start box, the drop into the water, the awkward turn before the corner, and the relief of crossing the finish line. Yet memory is selective. It keeps the exciting parts and quietly edits out the small decisions that shaped the whole ride.

Watching video of my own cross-country ride gave me a much more useful record. From the side of the course, I could see my pace, position, line choices and communication with Archie without the pressure of being in the saddle. The footage turned a vague feeling of “that was a bit messy” into specific observations I could take back to training.

What I noticed on video	What it revealed	What I changed
Archie landed running at several fences	I was allowing the rhythm to lengthen after the jump	I focused on a consistent canter away from each obstacle
My upper body closed early	I was anticipating the fence instead of waiting for the take-off	I practised staying tall and looking beyond the jump
The approach to the corner wandered	My preparation started too late	I established the line several strides earlier
I looked down near the water	My attention shifted from the exit to the obstacle itself	I kept my eyes on the far side and rode forward
The final minute looked more hurried	I was spending too much energy early in the course	I worked on economical turns and a sustainable pace

Memory Misses The Small Decisions

When I came out of the start box, the ride felt fast but controlled. The video showed something more nuanced. Archie was willing and energetic, but the canter gradually became longer after the first few fences. I had interpreted that as confidence. In reality, I was giving away a little control each time I allowed him to travel onwards without rebalancing.

This distinction matters in eventing because a horse can look keen without being properly organised. Cross-country riding is not simply about encouraging forward movement. The rider has to preserve enough balance and adjustability to manage a narrow fence, a related distance, a ditch or a change of direction. On the video, I could see that Archie was making some of those decisions for us.

I also noticed how much my memory was dominated by the most dramatic fences. I remembered the brush and the water because they felt important, but the ordinary fences between them were where the rhythm changed. That was a useful lesson: a round is usually shaped by a series of quiet choices rather than one spectacular moment.

My Position Changed Before The Fence

At home, I had been working on staying in a secure two-point position and keeping my lower leg underneath me. I expected the footage to show progress. Instead, it revealed that my position became less consistent as soon as I felt a fence approaching. My shoulders came forward, my hands followed Archie’s head too quickly and my seat left the saddle earlier than necessary.

None of this looked catastrophic. That was precisely why I had not felt it clearly while riding. The changes were small, but they affected the quality of the approach. By closing my hip early, I was telling Archie that the jump was imminent. By lifting my hands, I was making the contact less stable at the moment when I needed to remain soft and supportive.

The clearest example was a broad, inviting fence where Archie jumped cleanly but landed with more speed than I wanted. I had praised the jump in my head because there was no mistake. The footage showed that I had thrown my balance forward and then taken several strides to recover. A clear fence is valuable, but a balanced clear fence gives the next part of the course a much better chance.

The Approach Begins Earlier Than It Feels

The most helpful discovery was how early a good approach actually begins. While riding, I thought I started preparing for the corner four or five strides away. On the recording, I could see that the line was already drifting before I had made a deliberate correction. By the time I asked for the turn, I was trying to repair the approach instead of producing it.

This was especially obvious at fences that required accuracy. Archie generally goes where I point him, but he cannot guess a line that I have not clearly chosen. My job is to decide where we are going, establish the canter, and keep the line simple. The video showed moments when I was looking at the obstacle without really riding the route to it.

In the next schooling sessions, I stopped treating fences as isolated objects. I practised riding a line through markers, then maintaining the same rhythm to a small jump. I also rode past an obstacle when the approach was poor, reorganised the canter and tried again. That exercise made me more comfortable with the idea that preparation is part of the jump, not something that happens immediately before it.

Looking Up Made Archie Braver

At the water complex, my eyes dropped. I was not staring dramatically at the water, but I was looking close to Archie’s feet and the edge of the obstacle. The effect was visible: my upper body became tense and my hands shortened. Archie hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping in, even though he had previously walked and trotted through water confidently.

That moment changed how I think about rider focus. Horses notice where we direct our attention, particularly when the surroundings are unfamiliar. If I look at the problem, brace against it and stop riding beyond it, I make the problem more significant. If I keep my eyes on the exit and maintain a supportive leg, I give Archie a clearer job.

The video also showed that I looked down after a jump when I was checking whether Archie had landed safely. It was an understandable instinct, especially over uneven ground, but it interrupted our balance. I now try to look through the course: over the fence, towards the next marker, and then to the line after that. This does not mean ignoring the terrain. It means taking in the terrain without allowing it to take over my whole attention.

Pace Is More Than A Speed Number

Before the event, I had thought mostly about the required speed and whether we were likely to be close to the optimum time. The recording made me consider pace as a pattern rather than a single number. Archie was not travelling at exactly the same speed throughout the course, but the changes were sometimes unplanned. He lengthened on open ground, shortened near technical fences and then hurried away from them.

A useful cross-country rhythm has enough energy to jump confidently while remaining adjustable. It should allow the rider to shorten for a turn, lengthen where the track permits and rebalance before an obstacle. On video, my best sections were not necessarily the fastest. They were the sections where Archie looked relaxed, attentive and easy to guide.

This is particularly relevant at Australian events, where conditions can vary dramatically between venues. A dry course near Werribee can ride very differently from a wet track outside Sydney, and sandy ground around the Gold Coast creates a different feel again. Heat, dust, hard going and long travel days all affect a horse’s way of going. I need to judge the actual surface and weather on the day rather than rely on a memorised pace from the previous competition.

I have started checking the forecast, ground conditions and course map together. If the event is several hours from home, as many regional Australian competitions are, I also allow for the effect of the journey. Archie may need more time to settle, walk and drink before I expect a sharp schooling session. The video encouraged me to think of pace as part of the whole day’s management, not just the section between the start and finish flags.

The Footage Improved My Training Conversations

Video gave my coach something more useful than my post-round summary. After the competition, I would have said that Archie felt strong, the water was awkward and I lost time in the middle of the course. Those comments were honest, but they did not identify the cause. With footage, we could pause before each important fence and look at my preparation, line and body position.

My coach pointed out that I often made a correction with my hands when a better solution would have been to use my line and outside leg earlier. That observation connected my cross-country work with our dressage schooling. A horse that responds promptly to a half-halt, maintains a bend and stays straight between the aids is easier to ride across country. The disciplines are different, but the communication has to remain consistent.

I also shared the video with the person who helps me with Archie’s care. We discussed whether his way of going changed as the round progressed and whether he looked uneven, tired or uncomfortable. It is important not to diagnose every performance issue from one recording, but video can highlight patterns worth monitoring. Alongside regular veterinary and professional advice, it gives a clearer picture of how a horse moves under competition conditions.

The practical side matters in Australia too. Eventing is conducted under Equestrian Australia rules, with requirements around helmets, medical armbands, horse welfare and competition conduct. I check the current rules and event schedule rather than relying on old habits, particularly when travelling between states or entering a different level. The footage is part of that responsible preparation: it helps me improve without turning Archie into a machine that is expected to cope with poor planning.

Rewatching Turned Nerves Into A Routine

The first viewing was uncomfortable because I saw more mistakes than I wanted. The second viewing was calmer. I watched the round in short sections and wrote down only three priorities: keep the canter organised after each fence, stay open through the approach and look towards the next destination. Limiting the list stopped the review becoming a catalogue of faults.

I now try to watch a competition video within a few days, while I can still remember the feel of the ride. I first watch it without sound to study position and rhythm. Then I watch again with the sound on, listening to the hoofbeats, the breathing, my verbal cues and the reactions of people around the course. Finally, I compare the footage with my plan and the coach’s notes.

This process has helped with nerves before the next event. Instead of imagining every possible problem, I have a practical checklist. Before travelling from Melbourne to a venue, I can think about the route, the ground, Archie’s hydration, the warm-up and the first few fences. I can also remember that a difficult section is easier when I have prepared the basics repeatedly at home.

The greatest benefit is that the video made improvement feel measurable. I cannot expect every round to be perfect, especially when weather, terrain and competition pressure are involved. I can, however, look for a quieter hand, a straighter line, a more sustainable canter and a better recovery after each fence. When I watched the next recording, Archie and I still had things to work on, but the changes were visible. That made the ride feel less like a result to judge and more like evidence I could use.