I’m on a horse.
I signed up for three horseback riding lessons over the summer, and had my first lesson Wednesday. I’d only been on a horse once in my life, and I loved every minute of it. Although somewhat painful, the experience forced me to take in everything as it bounced by, including that oh-so-pungeant scent. Studies show it stings the nostrils more effectively than Sex Panther, so make of that what you will.
I arrived at the farm a little behind schedule, but the farm’s owner’s teenage son is waiting for me. He then leads me up to the paddocks to meet Scout, my noble steed for the afternoon.
Scout is smallish, mostly brown with white markings. He’s clearly enjoying the fall weather and is a little hesitant to follow us to the riding area. We grab the saddle, martingale, bridle and 126 other items I can’t remember the names of before heading to the main building.
Before I saddle up, Scout needs a proper brushing. I didn’t realize until today why horses need to be brushed so often…to remove dirt and excess hair that could clump together and cause sores that could cause really bad health problems.Scout gets a thorough rubdown before the saddle goes on, in a fashion that I can only compare to securing sails on a sailboat. Leather, buckles, straps and clips galore.
About a half hour after I initially meet him, Scout and I REALLY get to know each other. I listen to the trainer as she discusses how to make him stop and go. I am sitting up straight as an arrow, the balls of my feet digging into the stirrups and my calves flexed. This is not as uncomfortable as it sounds. I find it empowering, my thumbs on tops of the reins, looking directly forward (you’re instructed to look in the direction you want to go…the horse can sense the shift in body weight with a turn of your head. They’re pretty smaht).
Once Scout walks around a bit, and I figure out how hard to kick him to make him go, the trainer begins to explain the trot, and how to post. When a horse trots, the rider is supposed to post, i.e. with the horse’s every bounce, the rider stands up in the stirrups, then sits back down in a rhythmic fashion. I begin to count Scout’s footsteps, 1-2-1-2-1-2-1-2-1-2-1-2, and get into a groove. Updownupdownupdownupdown. It feels like riding an incredibly large bicycle over a bunch of speed bumps.
This is when things get awesome. Before Scout trotted, the trainer asked if I had been an athlete, since I looked very natural on the horse and had an athletic build. This is the first time in my life I have ever been referred to as athletic. Once Scout started to trot and I fell into rhythm pretty quickly, she said I looked excellent, and she mentioned to another experienced rider how smooth I looked.
“You look like a ballerina! Did you ever do ballet?”
What in the world, I’ve found my calling.
Once the lesson is done, I get off (a lot harder than it sounds) and lead Scout to a stall to get brushed down and remove the 129 items from his back. I walk him back to his home stall, one hand under his chin and the other on the reins. He seems to trust my gentle lead. His eyes are big and kind.
He gets back in his stall and immediately goes for the food, a horse after my own heart. I’m back in the saddle next week, maybe back on Scout, maybe on another horse. All I know is I can’t wait.
