We also share our days with a couple of show jumping horses. They’re a big part of our everyday rhythm—early mornings, stable routines, and everything that comes with caring for athletic animals.
Now, here’s the twist: while I’m deeply involved in the horse life, there’s one thing I’m not allowed to do—ride them. That decision comes straight from my “boss” at work, who would very much prefer that I avoid injuries and stay functional on the job. Fair enough… even if it feels slightly ironic when you’re surrounded by horses every day.
That said, there’s still plenty to contribute. And over the past year, one particular task has become a regular part of my routine. One of our horses has been recovering from injury, which means long, steady rehabilitation walks—45 to 60 minutes, four to five times a week. Not exactly adrenaline-filled, but necessary work. And someone has to do it.
Recently, while walking a fellow stablemate’s horse—also on the road back from injury—around the riding arena, something clicked.
In just a couple of weeks, the AERIALIS Team Flyers will be heading to Denmark for two highlights of the season: the Nordic Kite Meeting and the Blokhus Windfestival. As part of the team, I’ve been deep in preparation mode, working to fully internalize the team routine and my role within it.
And there I was… walking in circles on a riding arena.
That’s when the idea hit me:
What if the arena could become my wind window?
So I stopped, looked around, and started mapping it out. Using the tip of my shoe, I marked the corners and center of an imaginary wind window in the sand. Then, with a horse in hand, I began walking through my part of the routine—step by step, movement by movement.
Did the horse understand what was going on? Not even slightly.
Did it work?
Surprisingly… yes.
I walked the routine several times, mentally syncing movement, timing, and positioning just as I would in the sky with a kite. Without lines, without wind—just pure spatial awareness and repetition. By the end of the session, I had not only completed the horse’s rehab walk, but also reinforced my own preparation for the upcoming performances.
Two completely different worlds—horse care and kite flying—merged into one unexpected training session.
Sometimes, the best practice doesn’t come from perfect conditions, but from creative thinking. When you remove the kite and still understand the movement, you’re no longer just reacting—you’re anticipating, visualizing, and truly owning the routine.
And if nothing else… it’s probably one of the more unusual training methods out there.
But hey—whatever works.
