Back in the Saddle

I remember the first time I got back in the saddle.

May 1st, 2016.

I hadn't ridden a horse since 2010. Maybe late 2009. 

Previously, I had ridden horses for what felt like my whole life.

It doesn't really sound like that much time now. Six, maybe seven years. 

But for me, it was like not breathing.

I had stopped doing something I loved because it became too hard. Life was busy. I was injured.

I was in college. I let life get in the way.

Then one day, when I was sad and watching my relationship with my boyfriend fall to pieces in slow motion, I knew I had to go back.

 

I scoured Craigslist, I called stables, I researched lesson prices, I called all my old friends.

I pulled my saddles out of storage to clean and oil them.

I bought a new Troxel helmet.

I cleaned my paddock boots.

I tried on my breeches. Which to my surprise still fit.

But at the end of the day, all I had to show for it was a guest bedroom that looked more like a tack room. And still no riding.

 

Then I hit the perfect jackpot. In a Craigslist ad. An old rancher in the next town over had three horses that he needed exercised. An older Welsh/QH cross mare. A large palomino Quarter horse gelding. And a young Paint mare. I had always had a thing for Paints. This one was untrained, mostly unhandled, a Kill Pen Rescue horse. I had heard the term before. I had been around a handful of them.

 

I went to meet him. Which, if you knew me, you would know is very unlike me. I don't trust the internet. And I don't trust Craigslist. I don't like strangers. But if I was going to get murdered out in a field, at least I'd be a lot closer to a horse than I had been in a long time.

 

But it was the real deal. Old Rancher John saddled up his 15 year old palomino gelding. He told me he didn't ride much since he got his hip replaced. I gave him a leg up onto Sonny, who stands at 16.1 hands. He rode for a few minutes as if to prove to me that Sonny wasn't dangerous. He was a fat quarter horse, lazy but with a kind eye. I wasn't worried. The pacing, snorting paint mare in the next pasture was little intimidating, but Sonny seemed like a real gem.

 

John dismounted. And I hopped up on Sonny. And the calm that my life had been missing came swimming back into my body with every step I took. The wind kissed my face. The quiet bleat of the neighbor's goats rolled over the hill. I squeezed Sonny into a trot. I bounced a little until I was able to balance my hip and leg position correctly. And after some time, I decided to try a canter. It had been my favorite gait as a teenager. Sonny's canter was short strided and uneven but still, it felt like coming home.

 

And from that day on, I knew that I would never leave the Horse world again.

 

Sonny in the Summer of 2016