Back in the saddle?

Scrolling through Instagram, I see my friend’s daughter riding a pony, and I am overcome with longing. After decades of adamantly swearing I would never ride a horse again, I suddenly desperately want to take lessons.

As someone who checks Consumer Reports before even buying a pair of towels, I do something uncharacteristic: I don’t overthink things. I send a direct message to the stables that my friend’s daughter is at to ask if they teach adults. The owner replies quickly that she does. Would I like an intro lesson?

Would I? I hesitate. Would they welcome an almost-50-year-old woman with lower back pain, who has no desire to jump, gallop, canter, or frankly even trot?

“Do you have gentle, easy horses for nervous, middle-aged beginners?” I ask. It will all hinge on their reply.

“We have multiple!” she replies. I book an intro lesson.

I am not a complete beginner. I was horse-crazy in middle school. Lessons, camps, hours at the stables. I took a paper route to save up to buy my own horse one day.

Back then, and I say this with no judgement, I was not a good rider. Others could pick up skills faster than I could. I didn’t care. I just loved riding. What I didn’t realize then - because what does a 12-year-old girl does? - is that I could have decided what I wanted to learn and what I didn’t. Every rider around me was learning to trot, canter, and jump. Cantering always scared me; I don’t care for speed. Jumping involved leaving the Earth temporarily. On a horse. But much as kids who practice karate dutifully work towards a black belt, I went on to canter, and started jumping. And like most people trying to exceed their athletic limits, I got hurt now and then. Falls are to be expected; falling was one thing I seemed to excel at. During one lesson while cantering (did I mention I hate cantering?) I had a bad fall and lost consciousness, coming to in my mom’s car on the way to the doctor’s office. After being cleared to ride again, I got back on that horse the next week, but my heart wasn’t in it. Soon, riding and loving horses was something I used to do. I entered my teenage years and spent the money I had saved on a moped. (“Less upkeep!” my dad commented.)

Thirty five years later, I am ready to try again.

First lesson!