I’m in love with a horse that pushes my boundaries.
Go figure.
I start out with a plan. While I’m deeply in love with Flash, my pocketbook is draining. I started to creep on other stables for less expensive lessons. With two kids in college, it would be wise to get the most bang for my buck.
I try a new stable and horse, feeling like the worst adulteress. The stable is wonderful; they have a program to help the physically and mentally challenged ride. Everyone is kind, professional and welcoming. I wonder how to take this, I'm here for an able bodied lesson, but who knows how one is percieved?
But I digress....
Then they put me on a very safe horse. He trots slowly rhythmically like a sonnet. I, however, am all thumbs, and ride him like a piece of plywood. Where did all my albeit limited, skills go? I feel like a two hundred pound guerilla riding a mini-bike.
I am beyond embarrassing.
Again.
With spectators.
I come home and pour out my angst to my husband. He disengages his ear-piece to Malaysia Intel long enough to nod, and tell me to be quiet.
I cannot bitch. This is the man who is largely paying for my flight of fancy. Buck up and stop whining. There is no free lunch. I am gaining ground on a horse that flops me around, but improves my balance. As odd as that sounds.
Flash, you have my heart. You challenge me. You never let me get too comfortable. Somehow, I need you right now.
I want my Flash. He’s tall, he throws me out of my seat at the trot, and I have to adjust to him and his long strides. While he has lovely ground manners, will sit quietly while I tack him up, like most males, he’ll only take so much. When I’m on his back, he wants to move, and will have none of my nervousness or hesitation. He challenges me, every time.
What do I think about? I think about the eye-lift I would like to have. It’s not going to happen if I keep learning with this horse. He’s expensive, challenging, but worth it.
I will never look twenty-five again. But, man, I feel it, every time I regain and gain balance on Flash. I never felt this way at twenty-five, but I feel it at fifty, and it feels good.
As they say in horse-speak.
Walk on….
