Counterbalance

The art of being strong enough to be stable and adaptable enough to stay out of the way.

It's about time I write about something I genuinely love to do and love to talk about. Riding. More specifically, counterbalance.

As a rider, one of the most important things I strive for is the ability to remain in constant balance with my horse. Not just to sit in the middle, look pretty, or hold a position, but to develop enough control over my own body that I can adjust my balance in response to theirs—and ultimately influence their balance through mine.

To do that, I have to be sturdy and strong, but equally adaptable. I have to be able to move with my horse, sometimes slightly ahead of them, sometimes behind their movement, and sometimes perfectly in sync. All without compromising my own stability or interfering with theirs.

When I was younger, someone told me something about athleticism that has stuck with me ever since. I can't remember the exact words, but the idea was that in almost any athletic endeavor, you never want your hands behind your shoulders.

I always think about leapfrog. It's never a good feeling on a horse.

And yet, how often do we see riders throw their upper bodies forward, drop their hands, or collapse their position in an attempt to follow their horses?

We mistake movement for following. We think that because we're moving with the horse, we must be helping them.

But sometimes we're just giving them one more thing to balance.

I think about this often when students are adjusting their position in the air. When trying to follow the horse more, they tend to want to fold over farther without actually releasing or softening their hands.

In reality, they're not giving the horse any more freedom. Instead, they're putting more of their weight onto the forehand, forcing the horse to adjust its own balance to help carry the rider.

When the correct response is often to follow more through the elbow while carrying their own upper body. This gives the horse more room to use its neck and shoulders without shifting the rider's center of gravity farther forward—and, in some cases, in front of the horse's own center of gravity.

It requires so much more core strength than many novice riders understand. It's much easier to fold forward than to have enough control over your own body to follow the horse without interfering with its balance.

And that's the distinction I want my students to understand. Following your horse doesn't mean surrendering your own balance.

Becoming Invisible

I think one of the greatest skills a rider can develop is the ability to become almost invisible to their horse's balance.

That doesn't mean being passive. It means having enough strength, body awareness, and independence in your position that your horse doesn't have to compensate for you.

My hands need to be independent of my seat. My upper body needs to be independent of my legs.

My center of gravity needs to be something I can consciously control rather than something my horse is constantly trying to manage.

I need to be able to follow their movement without being thrown by it. To absorb their energy without collapsing under it. To maintain my own balance without relying on the reins, my stirrups, or the horse's mouth to hold me together.

And perhaps most importantly, I need to recognize when my own position is contributing to the very problem I'm trying to correct.

Because how can I ask my horse to find better balance if I haven't learned to control my own?

I find this often in the way people post the trot.

The rhythm of my post and the amount of leg I'm putting on a horse should be independent of each other. Posting harder to try to influence the horse to go forward can actually hollow the horse's back and drive the hind legs farther away. 

My balance in the post should remain the same regardless. My weight in my legs should remain consistent, with no intention of collapsing my weight onto the horse to achieve what I'm asking for.

Sitting, posting, whatever I'm doing, should not change the weight in my feet or the stability in my legs.

That way, I can do all of these things with control of my seat. And only then can I begin to influence my horse without unintentionally asking its body to compensate for mine.

Sure, sometimes I'm required to slow my post or change my cadence to influence the horse. But those adjustments need to be intentional. I should never accidentally send my horse into a posture where it cannot comfortably achieve what I'm asking it to do.

If I'm asking my horse to lift its back, engage its hindquarters, or carry itself differently, I need to be aware of whether my own position is making that easier or harder.

It's not that my position should never change. It's that I should be able to choose when and how it changes.

And before I can use my balance to influence my horse, I have to be able to maintain it independently.

From Balance to Counterbalance

This is where riding becomes particularly fascinating to me.

Once you've learned to control your own balance, then you can begin using it to positively influence your horse's.

There is a difference between following a horse's movement and intentionally changing how they carry themselves. But first, you must understand how to follow.

I think that's an important distinction because if I don't understand how my horse naturally carries itself, or how my own position affects its movement, how can I know which adjustments will actually help?

Sometimes I need to allow my horse to move more freely forward. Sometimes I need to encourage them to shift more weight toward their hindquarters, engage their body differently, or find a greater degree of collection.

And sometimes I need to counterbalance them—not by throwing my weight in the opposite direction or exaggerating my position, but by making subtle, deliberate adjustments to how I carry myself.

A change in my center of gravity. A change in the way I distribute my weight. A moment where I stabilize my body instead of continuing to follow every movement.

The adjustments can be almost imperceptible to someone watching, but the difference in how the horse responds can be enormous.

And this is why learning to follow comes first. Until I can maintain my own balance independently, I can't always distinguish between an adjustment I'm intentionally making and one my horse is making for me.

Once I have that independence, I have so many more options. I can adjust my seat without unintentionally changing my rein contact. I can use my leg without disturbing my upper body. I can influence my horse's rhythm without relying on exaggerated movements of my own.

That's the part of riding I love. The idea that the better I become at managing my own body, the more subtle my communication can be with them.  

Strength Without Rigidity

One of the things I think riders misunderstand about developing a strong position is that strength and stiffness are not the same thing.

I don't want to be rigid. I want to be stable enough that I have the freedom to adapt.

My position should be able to change without falling apart. My horse should be able to accelerate, decelerate, jump, land, turn, or make a mistake without my balance becoming another problem they have to solve.

Being strong in my position doesn't mean holding myself in one place. It means having enough control over my body that I can adapt to whatever is happening underneath me without losing my own balance.

Sometimes that means following more. Sometimes it means stabilizing my position. And sometimes it means making a deliberate adjustment to help my horse find a better way to carry itself.

But none of those things should require me to become rigid or block the very movement I'm trying to improve.

And when I do need to influence my horse, I want to be able to be strong but elastic in my position. To be able to make that adjustment intentionally rather than reactively.

That's what counterbalance means to me.

It's not about sitting in one perfect position. It's about developing the strength, awareness, timing, and feel to know where my body needs to be at any given moment—and having the ability to put it there.

The Balance Between Us

Obviously, there is more to riding than just learning counterbalance. But it's a huge part of it, and I think developing that awareness allows us to have much better understanding and communication with our horses.

It's also something I continue to work on in my own riding. The more control I develop over my own body, the more aware I become of how even the smallest adjustments can affect my horse.

And that's something I want my students to understand. Becoming a better rider doesn't always mean learning to do more. Sometimes it means developing enough strength, control, and awareness that you can accomplish more by doing less.

I want to know when my horse needs me to follow, when they need me to stabilize, and when I can use my own balance to help them find theirs. And I want to be able to recognize when the problem I'm trying to correct is actually something I'm creating.

Once I stop asking my horse to carry both of us, I can finally start helping them carry themselves.

Ride with intention.