3 words:
What the hell.
If you are friends with me on facebook, perhaps you have seen some photos of my horsey life. Truth is, it used to BE my life. Literally. My profession and my passion. And even when the latter waned, it was still my profession. My job.
When I started Grad School in the summer of 2009, the relationship with the local barn where I saw myself fitting in soured. Not unusual in this field, because to put it simply, 90% of horsepeople are crazy. Not always in a bad way, but in some way, they tick differently than the rest. No place else was in driving distance, and besides, I had my glory, my thunder, my moment in the sun. I had my memories. I was walking away with no long term injuries.
I was done with horses.
Even two weeks ago, literally, if you had asked me if I ever wanted to ride again, I would have snorted with derision, and replied in my best I Don't Give a Shit voice "No way, I could never ride a horse again and be absolutely content."
Except that I wrote a letter describing my background to a nice stable literally right across the street, asking if it would be OK if I flatted their horses once in a while, and when the owner said yes she would love to meet me, I almost peed my pants.
I went up to the place while the owner (let's call her Sarah) was teaching a lesson, and I stood in the ring and observed after receiving a very warm welcome. The horse looked extremely well taken care of, a "nice" horse. The ring had wonderful footing and a variety of safe sturdy jumps, all set up the way you would want. A few caveletti also dotted the grounds. Her instructions were clear, and oh so familiar. Like a warm cup of cocoa. Keep him straight. Establish your pace and stick to it. Eye up. Relax your elbow.
I felt at home home.
She introduced me to my horse, Gallo, and said that it was a do it yourself place, did I remember how and grinned.
I did indeed remember how. I remembered EVERYTHING. Showsheen in the tail to remove the shavings (NO SHAVINGS IN THE TAIL!!), mitt everywhere first before you brush, you can pick out both hooves from the same side, how to wrap w/ polos, how to fit the bridle in their mouth. It was all second nature. Even my uniform felt good to wear:
(no, they are not handcuffs)
(no, they are not handcuffs)
Then came the actual riding.
Ladies and gentlemen, when I say to you I have no earthly idea how I did it 8-10 times a day for a good portion of my 20s, I am not telling tales. I completely forgot the workout. Gallo was a bit stiff and jarring, but he knew what to do if you asked correctly. Emphasis on the last part, because he also had some tricks to get out of the "doing". Which I caught. Which he was NOT happy about. But I was.
I also forgot the mental concentration. Sure there were some jobs where I was no more than a human longe line, but to really RIDE a horse takes 100% focus 100% of the time. Are they straight? Are they leaning to one side? Are they behind your leg? Are your hands too rigid? Are they bearing down? Are they stiffer to one side than the other? (always yes) Do they pop their shoulders? Are they balanced?
It all came back. 2 years like yesterday. And I don't know why I should be surprised, I'm sure that pro bike racers, even at the lowest levels, can come back after 2 years and remember exactly how to pedal the bike, how to lube a chain, etc.
I even jumped one yesterday, sort of, a little grey mare named Bella who they are thinking of bringing in as a lesson horse.
The best part? The place. Sarah is unbelievably nice. Her horses are very well taken care of and obviously on the fancy side. Her clients are welcoming and chatty. The stable is clean and well organized. You have everything you need, from a wall of bits to a tidy tack cleaning station to a well provisioned groom stall. Too good to be true? Perhaps, but I don't think so. I'm not getting that vibe at all.
So here I am again. In the saddle. Running and riding and RIDING in Morgan Hill.
Whoever wans to say I Told You So, now is the chance to do it...
