RR Stats Analyzed
The cosmic moment for me on race horse injuries came sitting on the side of a grassy hill at the Woodlands watching one of my horses gallop. A bit of stable history is in order.
Of my first seven horses only one could be remotely called successful:
Jeckimba Bay: raced to age 9.
Windy Lea: career ending suspensory. 4 races.
Smooth Machine: fractured pastern.
Smooth Spot: died.
Triptis: breathing problem.
Double Maggs: dangerous rearing, unraceable.
Jubilation Rose: fractured skull
To say the above qualifies as a desultory start in racing is one thing, but, with the effort, money and care taken, what happened to these horses, several with major talent was a disaster and cause for puzzlement.
To put things in perspective, I probably spent 6-7 hours a day on these horses seven days a week for seven years. There was constant intensive training, and by 1990 aiming for races. Generally these horses did as much on the track in a week as most horses in two months. Over that period I recall only the two career ender injuries. I'm unable to remember even any minor injuries besides those two. To put it in further perspective, we were without bucked shins, chips of any sort or anything else for seven years including about eight races.
The training in this period underwent continuous evaluation. In horse care we were going by the latest book, and the track exercise consisted of an experimental program consistent with principals of exercise physiology. It was very scientific in every definition of that word, and we had good horses that were going through the program.
Sitting there on the hill, that day in 1993, a lot was going through my head, but the main question was to figure out what it took to suceed at this horse racing thing. We were in a new year, another opportunity with JB at that time coming to hand off of 1.5 years on Ivers. And there I was looking at the various riders: this one failing to change leads, that one jumping around with his mount, the next one trotting his mount side ways, that one taking off at speed without a warm up, probably one in ten following instructions, and so forth
I had understood for a good long while that rider negligence and trainer ignorance are the bane of racing. But for me there was more. Somehow we had to guide the horses through unscathed. How was this to be done?
Given the quality and quantity of care in my program was the max, was anything more possible?
I suddenly had recognized after all these years and work that it was more than care that is required. Of all the things that happen, all the "variables" that affect training, the key to it all is "control". Really, what it is, the trainer must control all the variables all of the time. If this could be done, naturally we'd be in the Derby, and so the light bulb had turned on and the RR Rules were born.
RR Rule #1: Never do anything with a horse unless you are 100% certain you can do it without injuring the horse.
Next post I'll expand.
1/11/07: 15 min riderless paddock exercise. Horse walked alone under tack for the first time.
1/12/07: 10 min intense riderless paddock work in rain and mud.
1/13/07: Rest due to frigid conditions.
Of my first seven horses only one could be remotely called successful:
Jeckimba Bay: raced to age 9.
Windy Lea: career ending suspensory. 4 races.
Smooth Machine: fractured pastern.
Smooth Spot: died.
Triptis: breathing problem.
Double Maggs: dangerous rearing, unraceable.
Jubilation Rose: fractured skull
To say the above qualifies as a desultory start in racing is one thing, but, with the effort, money and care taken, what happened to these horses, several with major talent was a disaster and cause for puzzlement.
To put things in perspective, I probably spent 6-7 hours a day on these horses seven days a week for seven years. There was constant intensive training, and by 1990 aiming for races. Generally these horses did as much on the track in a week as most horses in two months. Over that period I recall only the two career ender injuries. I'm unable to remember even any minor injuries besides those two. To put it in further perspective, we were without bucked shins, chips of any sort or anything else for seven years including about eight races.
The training in this period underwent continuous evaluation. In horse care we were going by the latest book, and the track exercise consisted of an experimental program consistent with principals of exercise physiology. It was very scientific in every definition of that word, and we had good horses that were going through the program.
Sitting there on the hill, that day in 1993, a lot was going through my head, but the main question was to figure out what it took to suceed at this horse racing thing. We were in a new year, another opportunity with JB at that time coming to hand off of 1.5 years on Ivers. And there I was looking at the various riders: this one failing to change leads, that one jumping around with his mount, the next one trotting his mount side ways, that one taking off at speed without a warm up, probably one in ten following instructions, and so forth
I had understood for a good long while that rider negligence and trainer ignorance are the bane of racing. But for me there was more. Somehow we had to guide the horses through unscathed. How was this to be done?
Given the quality and quantity of care in my program was the max, was anything more possible?
I suddenly had recognized after all these years and work that it was more than care that is required. Of all the things that happen, all the "variables" that affect training, the key to it all is "control". Really, what it is, the trainer must control all the variables all of the time. If this could be done, naturally we'd be in the Derby, and so the light bulb had turned on and the RR Rules were born.
RR Rule #1: Never do anything with a horse unless you are 100% certain you can do it without injuring the horse.
Next post I'll expand.
1/11/07: 15 min riderless paddock exercise. Horse walked alone under tack for the first time.
1/12/07: 10 min intense riderless paddock work in rain and mud.
1/13/07: Rest due to frigid conditions.
posted by rather rapid at
1:59 PM
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2 Comments:
You're likely getting sick of my comments, but here's another long one that I like to share to anyone who's interested in the subject. To date, I have found little to argue with in the long post below. It, in my opinion, is one of the better pieces about "The Big Picture" that Tom, or anyone, has written. Feel free to disagree, but I hope it adds to the conversation about training:
[Slightly paraphrased] from a post by Tom Ivers on his internet forum, Jan 2005:
“When I started out in this business I knew nothing about horses. I didn't
particularly like horses--they looked like 1000 lbs of trouble to me. Still do,
after 30 years. Even so, it was my opinion at the time that I had them pretty
well figured out. 4-legged potential athletes about as smart as a dog, and
pretty much as obedient as a dog.
At the time, I was rubbing elbows with some of the "greats"--Stanley Dancer,
Harold Dancer, Curly Smart, and others that would come and go into my very
small perspective. the only good things about me at the time were that I had a
decent brain, was curious, and knew just enough about exercise to see the
opportunity.
But all the "greats" that rubbed elbows with me at the time, except for
Curly, walked away shaking their heads. I thought it was because they just didn't
get what exercise was all about. The truth was that they didn't care at all
about new exercise protocols--but they were shaking their heads at the horriffic
basics that they were observing. "Stuff" happened to me that didn't happen to
them, over and over again.
For example, they wouldn't be caught dead using the old worn out tack that I
was using. Leather lines that were half eaten-through with rot that nearly
cost me my life as I was training high speed works in company when a line broke.
Wheels on the jog carts that were wobbly and ready to fall off. Two bridles,
with two bits, total. Overchecks that would snap. Hobbles that chafed the
horses bloody. Water buckets full of crud. Horses that were out of control and
dangerous to everyone else training on the same track. Nutrition that had my
horses looking like skeletons 8 weeks into training.
You name it--everything was wrong. Top that off with exercises that looked
like I was trying to kill the horses. The Big Boys would just walk away, shaking
their heads, because I was so far behind in basic horsemanship that it didn't
matter at all if I had a better idea about training. I was doomed.
Curly was the only one that took pity--probably because he had a farm next to
my father's farm and wanted to be a good neighbor--to my father. His very
first question to me was "What's a nice college boy like you doing messing around
with race horses?" At the time he knew that my father and two brothers had
graduated from Yale, all with honors, and my biggest claim to fame was that I
was a musician who'd made a record when he was 16 and was a 100 yd freestyler
who was pretty hard to beat on a good day.
I drove Curly nuts--hung around him all day--he had about 25 horses moving
every day at the time. And I had a question a minute, spending hours with him in
the blacksmith shop, where he had to sit still for a while each day. More
hours on the "knocking bench" near the track where he'd watch his horses jog. If
I got up off the bench and tried to follow him around, he'd often say, "get
back on that bench and watch and you'll eventually learn all you need to know".
It turns out that what I needed most to know was not the things we discuss
here […..] What I needed to know was how to prevent "stuff" from happening to
me and my horses. I'd get so far with a horse and then something would happen.
Almost all the "stuff" was blameable on the horses, or the track, or the
equipment--accidents that zeroed in on me for some reason. I could not imagine "why
me". I was clearly the smartest guy on the backstretch.
Five years later, I was just starting to "get it". And "it" was very
simple--there are some things you do with horses and some things you don't do. And
these things numbered in the thousands. Every damned minute of the horse's life,
you were in charge. Any "stuff" that happens is entirely your fault. You are
God--you make it happen or you make it not happen.
Now, everyone on that racetrack (Delaware, Ohio) considered himself to be a
"horseman"--mainly because he smelled like horseshit when he came home at
night. Curly WAS a horseman, but I couldn't tell the difference then. I thought I
was a horseman--and a smart one at that. the truth was that I was a perpetual
accident waiting to happen.
I don't think I ever became a true horseman. Not like Curly was a horseman,
or Stanley. But sitting on that knockers bench, I did come to appreciate what a horseman looked like, what a horseman's horses looked like, what a horseman's stable and help looked like, what a horseman's equipment looked like, what a horseman's life looked
like. What a horseman did do and what he didn't do, what he allowed to happen and
what he didn't allow to happen. How a horseman avoided "stuff". How a
horseman protected his Big Horse. How a horseman took responsibility for everything
that happened in his stable, for everything that happened to his horses. How a
horseman MADE things happen or MADE them not happen. How a horseman
established absolute control of his environment and the horses under his care.
At a certain point, I decided that I could never become a trainer (even
though I'd passed the tests and had my license), a true horseman. My mind was not
set up for that. Not set up for the daily mix of paranoia and plain drudgery.
Not set up for 24/7/365 of that kind of thing. Instead, I became a coach's
coach. Kind of like what Curly Smart, in what spare time he had, had become to me.
As your "coach", what I'm trying to get across is that a truly professional
horseman can see disaster coming before it happens. MUST see disaster before it
happens. A truly professional racehorse is the same way--a creature of his
trainer's habits. And "stuff" doesn't happen to true professionals.
[A horseman who is not exerting control, even not badly out of
control--but just enough that some day, at the worst possible moment, will find that "stuff" is going to happen.] And that's what the "preserve" is about in Perserve and
Enhance. Maintaining rigid control of everything so that you're certain "stuff"
is not going to happen in your stable.
Yes, that's an impossible task--but it has to be done. It has nothing to do
with loving horses, or desire, or intuition. It's more of a "presence", an
esprit, a gestalt. Where every physical object and every mental process is
polished to perfection. Impossible, but necessary. “
Tom Ivers
first, kh, contraire. I appreciate you taking the trouble to put in the Iver's comment. hard to find one more appro pro to my last post than this. welcome any time!
I'm going to give my thoughts on this soon in a post, and my recent reading of Fred Kersley (Aus) standardbred trainer who read ivers and rejects the training. Fred's very analytic. interesting stuff.
i was at riverdowns '98 just after ivers came through. he had a facility at the time in S.Ohio. word was ivers unable to train due to being unable to get out of bed in the morning. "tom was a good guy, but, he just could never get up and get here."
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