I’ve been taking riding lessons since mid-August, and I’ve been meaning to write about it for some time now. I guess now’s as good a time as any, because last night it began to get fun.

I ride Porsche, a big bay mare with a white blaze up her face and two white socks on her rear legs. Despite her name, Porsche is a gentle horse who tends to be sluggish. To date I have learned the tricky art of the English posting trot, I have done a little cantering, and we have been working our way up to some jumping. I had been proud of the fact that, despite some close calls, I had managed to make it through an even dozen lessons without once falling off. All that changed last night when (during my thirteenth lesson, if that’s of any significance to you) I had my first unplanned dismount. Here’s how it happened…

We had been doing some jumping — our first jumping — over some poles set very low, maybe eight inches off the ground. That’s barely enough to make a horse jump; in fact, Porsche was often just lifting her feet high and trotting over them. I felt pretty good on the jumps, although I had one close call, which led Genna to suggest that if I was going to fall, could I please fall to the inside of the horse so I wouldn’t hit the rails at the end of the arena.

Porsche doesn’t like to go unless you really kick her and I was kicking her for all I was worth, yet barely getting her to move. So (and this was my mistake) I asked Genna for the crop. Porsche hates the crop, and I don’t even have to use it; just knowing I have it in my hand really gets Porsche going. Really going. To the point that I have a bit of trouble getting her to slow down. On my first time over the jumps with the crop, I was fine, and I landed fine, but Porsche knew I had that whip, and she really wanted to please me. I don’t know whether she broke into a canter, or just that fast trot she has, but when she reached the end of the arena and she took the right turn, I wasn’t well settled, and my momentum carried me straight. I felt myself sliding to the left over her saddle, and then . . .

WHAM!

I landed on my left side on the arena floor. I got up — a bit wobbly, but I’m always a little rubber-legged after riding — found my glasses, walked with Genna and Porsche back to the mounting block and got back on the horse. Genna wanted to make sure I was all right, but I didn’t want to lose my turn, so I rode another time or two around (without the crop this time) and took my jumps.

Wendy and Genna both made a big deal about how “brave” I was to get back on the horse and keep jumping… clearly these women don’t know what it’s like to be a little boy. I can’t remember how many times I fell off of bicycles, out of trees, and off of pretty much anything I was able to climb. It’s part of growing up for a boy. You fall, you laugh, and then you get up and try it again. True, I’m not the young pup I used to be, but falling off a horse is still just another short chapter in a very long book.

I really liked jumping and I want to do more of it. I clearly have some things to learn, though, to keep myself in the saddle afterwards. Genna told me about this saying that riders have: when you fall seven times, you’re a good rider. I’m 14% of the way there.

This entry was posted on Thursday, November 16th, 2006 at 5:06 pm and is filed under Doings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.