TFD Coaching

Riding in Your 60s, 70s… and Beyond

There is a particular look people give you when you tell them you still ride. It’s subtle, but it’s there. A slight tilt of the head. A small pause before they answer. “Oh… that’s wonderful,” they say, with that careful tone people use when they’re trying to be encouraging but also quietly calculating your age. Wonderful. As if riding past sixty is some charming hobby like knitting or watercolor, rather than the deeply physical, deeply emotional, occasionally humbling pursuit it has always been.

Let me tell you something honestly. You are not too old to ride. You are simply too wise to ride the way you did at twenty-five. And that is not a limitation — it is an evolution.

When I was younger, falling off was practically part of the curriculum. You bounced. You brushed the dirt off. You got back on before anyone could form an opinion. Your body forgave you in ways you didn’t even notice. In your thirties, you might evaluate the dirt before remounting. In your forties, you checked alignment. By your fifties, you checked your insurance. And somewhere in your sixties, you realize that falling off is no longer a casual inconvenience; it’s a negotiation with gravity that carries consequences.

That awareness changes how you ride — and, quite frankly, it makes you better.

In your twenties, you ride to prove something. You want to prove you’re brave, talented, competitive, and capable. There’s an edge to it. A drive. In your sixties and seventies, that edge softens into something far more powerful: intention. You no longer need to win arguments with your horse. You want to understand them. You don’t need to demonstrate toughness. You want harmony. That shift from proving to partnering is subtle, but READ ON - On the Ranch With LInda https://members.happyhorsehappylife.com/posts/on-the-ranch-with-linda-riding-in-your-60s-70s…-and-beyond

Sometimes the most radical act of self-care is simply… letting it go.

The comment.
The awkward moment.
The thing you replayed in the shower six hours later.
The situation that is absolutely not worth the energy it’s currently renting in your head.

Take a note from the horse.

They don’t spiral about what happened yesterday.
They don’t overanalyse the look someone gave them.
They don’t lie awake at 3am reliving a spook from 2014.

They shake.
They breathe.
They carry on eating grass like nothing happened.

So if today feels heavy, annoying, or mildly unhinged
pause, breathe, unclench your jaw,
and channel some calm, cross-legged horse energy.

You don’t need to fix everything.
You don’t need the last word.
You don’t need to carry it all.

Just… let that sh*t go 🐴🧘‍♀️✨

This is worth a read

Why Isn’t Your Horse on the Bit?

Here’s another common and misunderstood questions in riding: why isn’t your horse on the bit?

If I’m honest, it’s also a question that once held me back from exploring French classical training. I was uninformed and, truthfully, a little judgmental about what I was seeing until I took the time to read and understand the theory behind why we should wait before asking for poll flexion.

Even now, it’s a question that can make me feel a bit exposed when I’m working through those early, messy stages of helping a horse find balance.

In the School of Légèreté, we don’t start by putting the horse “on the bit” by asking for poll flexion. We start by educating the mouth.

Before a horse can seek contact, he must first learn to accept it; with confidence, not tension. That begins with a soft, mobile jaw. When the jaw is relaxed, the poll and neck can follow, and the topline opens up. Without that first conversation in the mouth, any contact risks becoming a constraint rather than a communication.

From there, we focus on bending and extending the neck, left and right, forward and out. This isn’t just about stretch; it’s about symmetry. By gymnasticising the neck, we free and lengthen the spine so the horse can move straight and without contraction. Only once the body is supple, balanced, and aligned do we add the final piece; poll flexion, the cherry on the cake.

I often think about this through my own body. I’m tall, with a long neck, and I struggle with neck and shoulder pain. To avoid strain, I need to tuck my chin slightly toward my neck; a small flexion at the atlanto-occipital joint, the human equivalent of the horse’s poll. It helps enormously, but only if I’ve first lengthened and aligned my spine. If I try it from a collapsed posture, the discomfort multiplies.

Try it yourself; it’s a simple but powerful way to feel why a horse needs a long, symmetrical neck before you think about flexing the poll.

So, if you see a horse being ridden with their head ahead of the vertical, it might not be because the rider doesn’t know how to “get him on the bit.” They may simply be taking the slower, more thoughtful route; ensuring every piece of the puzzle is in place so that, when flexion comes, it creates lightness and stability, not restriction.

If you were to strip away all of the accessories, leaving only the bare minimum, the saddle, a basic saddle pad, a headstall with browband, throat latch and a bit, what truths would you discover?

For every extra piece of tack or equipment, ask not “Do I need this?” but instead, “Why am I using it?”

And when you find that answer, look deeper still.
Is it there to manage behaviour?
To contain a reaction?
To solve a problem?

Now be honest…
Is that behaviour a message of pain?
Is that reaction a cry for help?
Is the problem rooted not in the horse’s will, but in their body and their ability?

Head in the clouds? Perhaps your horse isn't strong enough to carry himself properly and uses his neck to rebalance.

Tongue over the bit? Perhaps the bit doesn't fit, or his teeth are bothering him, or just the placement of the bit in the mouth.

We gag their voices with tight nosebands.
We muffle their movement with layers of gear.

We stack solutions on symptoms without ever asking:
What if the tack is hiding the truth?

You cannot listen with your hands full.
And you cannot see clearly until you’ve stripped away the clutter.

Let your horse speak.
You might be surprised by what they’ve been trying to say.