DISPATCH FIVE: GUEST BLOG, I’M AFRAID
Today’s blog is written by my typist, my assistant, and my wife. . .who all happen to be the same person. (*Please feel free to send a message if you’re interested in guest blogging. Happy to hear what you have to say.)
Sometimes IT’S there and sometimes it isn’t.
“Um, my tack feels weird today. I don’t think I’ll ride.”
“The wind is blowing too hard. I don’t think I’ll ride.”
“Is he off? I think he’s off. Let me hop down.”
Yet, at other times, IT’S not there at all.
Fear.
I had two pretty scary, pretty bad accidents in a short period of time about a hundred years ago, and I still haven’t fully recovered. During one of those accidents, the Scary Incident, I truly believed that death was imminent. I couldn’t decide if I’d fall and my neck was going to snap or if my head was going to get slammed into a tree. Neither seemed like a good choice, but I was certain one would happen.
I didn’t die, though.
I had a pretty serious concussion. Of course, we didn’t discover that until after I’d gotten back on the horse, ridden him around, given him a bath, and tended to his wounds as well. We didn’t discover that I had a concussion until; after vomiting twice, I called my mother to tell her all about it, and the conversation went something like this:
“Hey mom. How ya doing? I just fell off a horse. Ha ha.”
“Oh my God, Amy, are you ok?”
(Silence)
“Hey mom! Mom? Hey! How ya doing? I just fell off a horse. Ha ha.”
“Amy, where are you?”
I don’t remember how, but my mother managed to get me to the hospital where, upon arrival, they put an ill-fitting neck brace on me and, as it was up almost over my mouth, I started making weird noises and saying “Hello Clarice” every time a nurse or physician came into the room.
I managed to escape CERTAIN DEATH with a few skid marks on my back from the sandy, Lowcountry soil, a cracked helmet, and a concussion. The only thing that died that day was my feeling of invincibility on a horse.
Honestly, I’d been pretty spoiled by really good horses. I was never prepared for a the situation that was presented to me that day. Until then, the worst thing that ever happened to me was “trading horses” with a girl at a local barn when I was eight years old. She wanted to ride Brandy - the “big” horse I was riding - and I desperately wanted to ride her pony, Trigger. He was a show pony and, save for his size, looked exactly like Barbie’s palomino. The only problem? Trigger wasn’t tacked up. I didn’t care. We switched and I grabbed mane and off we walked until someone decided to drop feed in a bucket, at which point, Trigger took off like a rocket towards the barn. Bareback and flying, I grabbed more mane as Trig jumped a cross-rail and came to a sliding stop outside the barn.
That was the “worst” and to eight-year-old me, it wasn’t even bad. It was so very, very, cool. Fear never entered the picture. It was just like Bush Christmas. (It’s an old Christmas movie that you MUST see, if you haven’t already.)
What is it about being young and innocent that keeps fear at bay?
Then again, maybe if I’d fallen more as a child, maybe if I’d gotten run away with a few more times, I never would’ve had the Scary Incident. Maybe I would’ve known what to do. Too bad we’ll never know.
What did happen after the Scary Incident, and the subsequent less scary, but oddly more painful, accident where I fractured my ankle, was that I lost faith in my riding ability and I lost my child-like trust in horses. It dawned on me that no matter how much I’d shown, or practiced or drilled, I wasn’t sure I truly knew how to RIDE.
I lost all joy in riding. If a horse stumbled, I’d want to hop off. If a horse switched it’s tail, I wanted off. If a horse swapped leads, I slammed on the brakes and wanted OFF.
It hurt so much. I felt such a deep longing to be in the saddle again, to feel like I used to feel on the back of a horse: free, invincible. I even had dreams of riding, flying across some green hill on Gitane and her rocking horse canter or swooping across the beach on my favorite Selle Francais, Mouse. I even dreamed of galloping Casper - a big old fella - who had a habit of getting a little silly, though he’d never done so with me. That’s all they were, though. Dreams. I couldn’t do anything on any of those horses when I was awake. Nothing beyond a trot after the Scary Incident, anyway. Otherwise, I wanted OFF.
I was on the verge of giving up completely when a dear friend of mine and a very large, kind and gentle marshmallow of an animal beathed life back into my riding.
Timidly, I started off proclaiming, “Ok. I’ll ride, but I won’t canter.” My friend and his horse coaxed me into cantering.
After cantered, I proclaimed, “Ok. I’ll canter, but I won’t show.” My friend and his horse got me to do that, too.
After showing, all I wanted to do was go to the show ring. Of course, that meant moving beyond my trusted friend and moving up to a horse more suited to the next level.
I was reticent to leave my 16.1 “pony” behind. He was the horse every girl dreams of: big, sweet, white as snow. Why should we part company?
He and I had faced so many things: my fear, cantering, forward movement, firecrackers, ground bees, falling off while trying to ride him bareback AFTER I’d given him a bath and covered him in Show Sheen, I didn’t want to move on.
Life happens, though. Weird things happen. I met my husband. I moved away from my barn, my barn friends, and those horses.
I rode new horses, great horses, but I missed my big, snowy security blanket.
Anyway, between foxhunting and riding around on the farm here, I was progressing in a two-steps forward, one-step-back kind of way until I was finally riding free again. Cantering, cantering, cantering. (I even cantered a Thoroughbred, which I’d previously said I’d never do, after one galloped away with me some years before.)
I knew I’d finally won when a friend and I, while fox hunting on what would be our last hunt, hauled ass to a line with a holla and I never once thought that it was a bad idea. We were both beaming.
Then it all came tumbling down again when our hunt season ended early, thanks to a broken ankle and shattered heel of the huntsman and, the following year, I was diagnosed with cancer. . .which I recovered from. . .and then had a second cancer the following year. FUN TIMES!!!
So, out of shape and out of practice, I’m here again. Starting over again. . .again. I feel like I might be too old for another re-start. I’ve got so much going on, I don’t know if it’s possible to put horses on the front burner, firmly where they belong.
I’m going to die one day, that is for certain. When I do, what will I be thinking? (Other than the requisite “Oh s**t, I don’t want to die yet.”) I know that I will be good with having told everyone that I love how much I love them. I try to do that every day. I know that I’ll be good with God. I talk to Him about it every day, too.
But regret? Will I feel regret? I don’t think there’s anything sadder than regret and I don’t want to die regretting all of the horses I left unridden.
A woman named Andrea Monsarrat Waldo has written an excellent book that I cannot recommend enough. If you find yourself with a “case of the spins” or you’re fine one minute and certain you’re going to die the next, if you spook yourself or even less dramatic, freak yourself out before a show, I highly, highly recommend that you read Brain Training for Riders.
It’s so helpful - especially for “why” people like myself - as she covers the physiological, psychological, and not at all logical reasons your fear gets in your way and how to conquer it, or at least, how to tell that little voice to pipe down while you ride.
Between improving my fitness and her book, I’m hoping to have an amazing season of riding in my life, regardless of the obstacles that seem to throw themselves in my way. Once upon a time, wind, rain, schedules, love, or work came in between me and my horses. I’d like it to be that way again.
You can the book on Kindle, but I recommend a physical copy (even a used one) that you can dog-ear, highlight, and scribble in. (Link to purchase at the bottom. Just sharing. We’re not making $$$ from it!)
Thanks for reading and thank you, Tommy, for letting me add a bit of my nonsense to your blog.
Best to all,
Amy
