Martial arts

My dressage trainer reminded me the other day that English horseback riding is, at its root, a martial art. In dressage especially, everything we strive for originates from the demands of ancient Greek soldiers preparing their horses for battle. In order to be able to effectively dodge a blow or strike an enemy, those equines needed to be balanced, “collected” with their weight shifted onto their hindquarters, flexible, obedient to the rider, and focused on the task at hand - precisely the qualities judges are watching for as they score a dressage rider in the show arena today.

This focus on fine details of the horse's posture made it possible for the first dressage riders to utilize their horses for more extravagant movements, like a canter pirouette to spin away from an opponent. The “airs above ground”, which today only performed by a handful of classical riders (such as those at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna), are the manifestation of horses as battle machines: the levade (a low rear, where the horse rises on its hind legs) or courbette (a full rear) would lift a mounted soldier out of reach of the enemy. A capriole (leap into the air and strike out with the hind legs) could deal a significant blow to the head or torso of an adversary on the ground. These moves are beautiful in a powerful, even violent, sort of way, but they were once also very, very functional.

Today’s dressage has come a long way from its military origins. Dressage trainers and riders focus on executing movements on the ground with much greater precision and balance than a soldier would have cared to spend time developing - the modern rider has no battle to charge into, no timeline save for their goals for the next show season. I appreciate that the riding and training I will do in my lifetime doesn’t have to be rushed by grave deadlines, but after the conversation with my trainer, I wonder what the sport may have lost in the shift away from its military origins. Urgency, discipline, purpose? Is your training less effective when you can’t really pinpoint why you’re putting so much effort into it?

Maybe I won’t be riding into battle any time soon, but I can still learn a few things from those first dressage riders: the basics are so emphasized for a reason. Horses are capable of much more than looking pretty and being fragile. The ability to take your time is a gift. It’s nice to know that there is, or at least was, a reason why my horse should flex around his 15-meter circles and be prompt in his canter-to-walk transitions beyond those things being prerequisite for the next level’s movements. By practicing dressage, I’m connected to a legacy of purpose - not to mention it's pretty badass to be an equestrian martial artist.