Why I Schedule a Course Walk with a Friend Before Solo Events

There is a particular kind of nerves that arrives when I know I will be riding without my usual support crew. At a team event, there is often someone to compare notes with, check the timetable, hold a jacket, or quietly remind me to breathe. At a solo competition, every small decision feels like mine. That can be exciting, but it can also make a show jumping or cross-country course seem more complicated than it really is.

With Archie, I have found that a course walk with a friend gives me a steadier starting point. It does not replace studying the arena or listening to the course designer’s briefing. Instead, it adds another set of eyes before I have to make decisions alone in the saddle.

The useful part is not having someone tell me exactly how to ride. I still need to understand the lines, fences, distances, and time allowed for myself. A friend helps me slow down, notice details, and turn a collection of obstacles into a plan that Archie and I can actually use.

A second set of eyes reveals what nerves hide

When I first walk a course, I tend to focus on the fences that look intimidating. A wide oxer, a downhill approach, or a combination beside the warm-up ring can dominate my attention. While I am staring at that one question, I may overlook an easier but more influential detail, such as the turn before it or the change of rein afterward.

A friend can interrupt that tunnel vision. They might notice that the approach is slightly off the track, that a fence is more inviting from one side, or that the related distance will ride differently depending on my entry speed. Sometimes they simply ask me to describe what I see, and explaining it aloud makes the layout clearer.

This is especially helpful with cross-country. A solid-looking fence can have a hidden question behind it: a narrow brush, a drop, a change of footing, or a turning option that is easy to miss from a distance. Walking with company encourages me to look beyond the face of each obstacle and consider the whole question being asked.

The conversation also gives my nerves somewhere productive to go. Instead of silently imagining everything that could go wrong, I can discuss the actual shape of the course and separate genuine concerns from general pre-event anxiety.

Talking through the route builds a practical plan

I do not want a course walk to become an excuse to overthink every stride. The goal is to create a simple riding plan that I can remember under pressure. With Archie, I usually identify the rhythm I want, the places where I need to be especially accurate, and the moments when I need to make a deliberate decision.

My friend helps me put those points into plain language. “Keep the canter forward after fence three” is more useful to me than a long internal debate about whether the approach is perfect. “Look early for the turn to the bank” gives me a clear job. Short cues are easier to recall than a detailed script covering every metre of the course.

We also discuss alternatives where they exist. If the course offers a longer safe route and a tighter option, I want to know which one suits Archie’s confidence and my current form. A friend may remind me that the fastest line is not automatically the best line if it causes me to rush or lose balance.

That does not mean outsourcing the decision. I take responsibility for the final route because I am the rider, and I know Archie’s feel better than anyone walking beside me. The value is in testing my thinking before the start, while there is still time to adjust it calmly.

The walk helps me understand pace and position

Distances can look completely different from the ground than they feel on a moving horse. I may count a related line and decide that it is comfortably forward, only to realize that the approach is slightly curved or that the landing leaves little room to organize. Walking alongside someone encourages me to count carefully and consider the quality of the canter required.

For show jumping, my friend and I look at the space between fences, the direction of the turns, and where I can make a smooth change of rein. We talk about whether Archie will need a more supportive leg through a corner or a quieter hand before a vertical. These are small details, but they influence whether the round feels organized.

In cross-country, pace becomes even more important because the terrain affects the horse’s balance and confidence. We consider where I can let Archie travel, where I need to sit up, and where a turn or question means I should be more measured. I also pay attention to the footing and the likely effect of weather, since a dry, firm track and a wet, holding surface require different choices.

The conversation gives me a chance to connect the route with my training. If we have been working on keeping a consistent rhythm, I can make that the central aim of the round. If Archie has been unsure at a particular type of fence, I can plan to support him without turning that concern into hesitation.

Course-walk focus	What I check alone	What a friend helps me notice	Riding reminder
Fence sequence	The order and numbers	How one approach affects the next fence	Keep looking beyond the current obstacle
Related distances	Stride count and space	Entry angle, terrain, and balance	Protect the rhythm before adjusting
Turns	Direction and sharpness	Where to organize the canter	Make the turn early and deliberately
Cross-country questions	Fence shape and landing	Hidden elements, footing, and exits	Ride the whole question, not just the first part
Time and pace	Where to travel forward	Safe places to make up or preserve time	Choose a pace Archie can maintain
Personal nerves	The obstacle I fear most	Whether the worry is factual or emotional	Replace vague fear with one clear action

A friend makes the event feel less isolated

There is an emotional benefit to having company that matters just as much as the technical discussion. Before a solo class, I can become absorbed in logistics: collecting my number, checking the start list, finding the warm-up, and keeping an eye on Archie. A familiar friend makes the day feel more manageable.

They may notice when I am rushing. I have a habit of walking quickly and absorbing very little when I am nervous, so a friend who slows me down is useful. We can pause at a tricky combination, look from both directions, and then move on instead of circling the same concern.

There is also something reassuring about sharing the first impression of a venue. New arenas can feel enormous, and unfamiliar cross-country venues often have several tracks, gates, and landmarks competing for my attention. A friend helps me stay grounded in the actual route rather than reacting to the atmosphere.

That support does not need to be loud or dramatic. Sometimes it is simply someone carrying the course map while I count strides, or standing near a fence while I explain why I intend to ride it a certain way. The quiet presence reduces the sense that I have to manage every thought by myself.

The right friend matters more than a large group

I am selective about who I ask to walk with me. The best person is calm, observant, and willing to discuss possibilities without turning the walk into a competition. I do not need someone who will make every fence sound dangerous or insist that their preferred route is the only sensible option.

Experience helps, but it is not the only qualification. A friend who understands how I ride and knows Archie’s personality can offer more useful comments than someone with extensive experience who has never seen us together. They know that a forward approach may help Archie stay confident, while a sudden attempt to manufacture a perfect stride could make him uncertain.

I also appreciate someone who asks questions rather than giving a constant stream of instructions. “What will you do if he gets strong here?” encourages me to prepare. “You must do this exactly” can make me doubt my own judgment. The course walk should strengthen my decision-making, not replace it.

Before we start, I usually explain what I want from the walk. I might ask my friend to focus on the alternative route, help me identify the most important turns, or listen while I describe my intended pace. Setting that purpose keeps the conversation useful and prevents too many competing opinions.

I use the walk to rehearse the ride, not predict it

Once the route is clear, I like to make a mental rehearsal. I picture the canter, the first fence, and the way I want to leave it. Then I imagine the next turn and the feeling of continuing forward. Walking with a friend gives me a natural place to pause and check whether the picture is realistic.

This rehearsal includes recovery plans. If Archie lands looking at the next fence, I know where I want my eyes and hands. If I miss the ideal line, I remind myself to rebalance and continue rather than trying to force a correction. Thinking through those moments before the start makes them less alarming if they happen.

I do not try to memorize every stride. Course walks are valuable because they give me a framework, but the horse will always provide information that cannot be seen from the ground. Archie may need a little more support, the footing may be different from what I expected, or another competitor may cause a delay in the warm-up. I need to stay responsive.

My friend can reinforce that balance between preparation and flexibility. We may finish the walk with three priorities rather than twenty instructions: establish the rhythm, ride the turns, and keep my eyes up. Those priorities are easy to carry into the ring when the atmosphere becomes busy.

Small rituals turn preparation into confidence

I have learned that confidence before an event rarely arrives as a sudden feeling of certainty. It is built through familiar actions: checking Archie’s tack, reviewing the timetable, walking the course, and deciding what matters most. Scheduling the walk with a friend has become one of those useful rituals.

I try to do it early enough that I am not hurrying to the start box or the show jumping warm-up. If the course is open for several hours, I prefer a quieter period when we can see the fences clearly and talk without a crowd pressing around us. A rushed walk can create more confusion than clarity.

Afterward, I make a few notes on my phone or repeat the key points while grooming Archie. This helps me retain the route without constantly returning to the map. I also leave room for a final check closer to my time, especially if the course changes or the weather affects the ground.

For me, the biggest benefit is that the walk turns preparation into something shared while keeping the ride personal. I arrive at the start with a plan, but I am still listening to Archie. That combination gives me a better chance of riding the course in front of me instead of the imaginary disaster I created beforehand.

If you are preparing for an event where you will be managing the day largely by yourself, try arranging one calm, purposeful course walk with someone you trust. Bring the map, discuss the questions, count the important distances, and finish with a few simple riding reminders. Then take that clarity into the arena or out onto the course, and give yourself and your horse the chance to show what your preparation has built.