Horsing Around

I recently began taking horseback riding lessons again. Since my aunt purchased a farm in Tennessee, I've been inspired to learn how to ride properly. One of these days, I'll get to Tennessee, even though it seems a bit out of reach right now. Regardless, I took lessons before I became pregnant with the boys and I decided it was time to get back on the horse. Well, there's one little thing I've since forgotten about: I've aged 5 years. So after my visit early this morning at the stable down the street, I brought home a sore back, sore butt, sore legs and a slightly bruised ego.

To begin with, they put me on this old clunker pony named Cupid. A boy horse named Cupid. That ought to tell you something about the horse. I basically had to kick the crap out of him just to get him to walk. Now getting back into the saddle isn't quite as easy as it sounds. It kind of reminds me of when I first learned how to drive- trying to coordinate gas, clutch, and brake with direction and speed. So after a few smacks on the rump with a crop, Cupid and I had an understanding. I was the boss and I was determined to kick his butt...or so I thought.

While trying to drive this animal, my instructor was yelling about 10 different things at me. Toes forward. Check your diagonal. More outside leg. Fix your stirrup. (This English style riding technique requires just a tad more discipline than we westerners are used to). So I responded by unintentionally giving this horse mixed signals, and as a result, he was all over the place. The first blow to my ego came when I could actually hear this horse thinking, "If you want me to turn left, stop kicking me with your right leg, you idiot." And, "You just told me to go forward so why the hell are you pulling on my mouth?"

Ego bashing incident number two came when it was time to canter. Now mind you, I was in a class with two ten-year-old girls. Me and two ten-year-olds. The ten-year-olds went first. They rode their horses around the ring with an expression of wisdom and appearance of grace. Then it was my turn with Cupid. After watching the girls ride, the salt was rubbed in the wound, when my fresh-out-of-college instructor said, "Now if you get too tired, feel free to take a break. I don't want to kill ya out here." Thanks. Maybe I ought to just get off this horse and go sit in a rocking chair.

So I warmed Cupid up with a trot, slowed him to a walk, and gave him the signal to canter. Nothing. I gave it again. "Yeah, whatever Lady", thinks Cupid. I would've had better luck if I was pulling a sleigh and shouted, "On Cupid!"

"Well... maybe we'll just try again next week," voices fresh-out-of-college-way-younger-than-me instructor. He won. The horse won. After removing his tack, I walked him back to his stall and hobbled to my car. Every effort was made to unfurl my legs from horse-squat position. I returned home in desperate need of Advil and a hot bath. "Hi Mom," says Joe when I walked in the door. "What are we gonna do today?"
Four little faces, filled with anticipation stared back at me. "Mom's going to go recover".