Back in the Saddle After 32 Years

We roll down a driveway and towards a large beige ranch style gate. As it opens automatically I feel a shiver of excitement. "Wow, it's just like Southfork."

Nobody but me can appreciate how wonderful it is to be inside my head right now.

After more than 30 years, I am returning to horseback riding and I cannot wait.

1980

My brain is going a mile a minute. I remember everything;  how, when I was a a kid, my father agreed to give me horseback riding lessons because he never wanted me to be at a disadvantage if I found myself amongst the privileged; how I fell off a horse cantering with no stirrups and was afraid to canter after that; how I had a grumpy instructor who made a painfully insecure 11 year old feel even worse; how ultimately these factors combined in my poor adolescent head and my awkwardness and fear overcame my love for horses.

But today, I get a second chance, a chance to start it all again. I am absolutely giddy.

The horse I get to ride is called Sky. He is gentle and sweet and for me it's love at first sight. Sky is perhaps less sure, but after fixing me in his big brown eyes and then sniffing my hands and coat sleeve, he lets me groom him. Sky belongs to Mr. Barolo's nephew O2.

O2 is also kind, gentle and generous of heart. He surrenders his horse to me for the afternoon.

While still grooming Sky, I meet O2's Grandmother, Anne. She is a highly accomplished equestrian. Over the course of the afternoon she she becomes the instructor I wish I had encountered over 30 years ago.

She reads me immediately and as we are walking out to the ring she says to me quietly,

"This horse can be a bit spooky. If you are nervous he will sense it and react. Take a deep breath and relax."

Once in the ring, I focus on her voice while I try and remember back to what I learned when I was a kid. I get on the horse. I take the reins and Sky and I walk around the ring. Anne speaks to me gently the entire time.

"Bring your heels down, place the balls of your feet on the irons and angle your toes out." I remember this was hard for me to maintain when I was a kid. It still is.

Sky and I walk around the ring.

"Now bring him to a trot. Do you remember how to post?"

I sort of do. In English style riding, when a horse trots, a rider lifts oneself up and down in the saddle. It's proper form to raise yourself when the outside foreleg comes forward.  First, we work on just the trot itself and then she says to me "you are doing well. Let's see if you can get the diagonal."  The fact that she says I am doing well makes me want to weep for joy.   I don't manage to synchronize my movements with the horse's outside foreleg right away, but eventually it comes. I ride for over an hour.  Sky and I get along just fine. I don't canter this time.  But I will.  I take the horse back to the barn with the resolve that I one day I will jump.

When we finally leave the farm I am at a loss for words;  there's Anne who has shown me such great  kindness, there's O2 for selflessly allowing me to ride his horse; there's Mrs. Barolo for driving my up to the farm; there's Mr. Barolo's sister and brother-in-law, the Glenfiddich's, who have made the arrangements for me to ride. This all has meant so much to me. All of these fabulous people have come together to give me a moment of redemption too complex to express with a simple "thank you."  Unfortunately those words are the only tools I have.   So I thank them for the day, knowing that this is also my way of thanking them for a new beginning.

Never quit,

Mary

Coming up next:  Kayaking , Toronto Women's 5km and a Caribbean Cruise