That’s why they call it pony love

So we’ve signed our life away. When I say we I mean me since I did the actual cheque signing, although D and I made the decision together. FYI – signing 12 cheques causes hand cramps when you’re out of practice because … really … who writes that many cheques anymore? Except at the start of the school year when we sign away our lives and everything else that goes along with that, in blood, even though our kids go to public school and you’d think taxes should be good for something other than as fodder for complaints, but that’s a whole other story and thank you very much – I’ve become totally distracted again.

This is what comes of reading well into the middle of the night.

PG is a pint-sized equestrian. When she was 6 years old she began pestering me daily to start riding lessons. After 5 months I finally cracked under the pressure of mental assaults delivered by a diminutive mastermind. She was relentless and assured me repeatedly that she was ready for this challenge.

We visited a few stables and settled on one that was the best fit. An involved owner who is committed to seeing equestrians of all ages and levels succeed and a welcoming atmosphere sold me. It’s not the closest to home, but quality trumps convenience any day.

After riding weekly for 2 years, taking part in weeklong camps during summers and showing at the beginner level this year, PG was ready for the next step. With her coach’s recommendation she was approved for a program that allows her to ride unsupervised an extra two days every week beyond any lessons she has. The stable requests a 12-month commitment from families – weeds out the wishy-washiness. This is where the ‘signing our life away’ part comes in.

PG now has a love of her life in the form of a pony named Sparkle. Know what I get to overhear several times a week? A girl cooing and speaking softly to her first love.

“Sparkle, I will always love you. You’re the best pony in the world.”

Those two already share something pretty special. Around the farm Sparkle is not known for her sunny personality and yet with PG she’s all soft and doe-eyed. There’s a grin that spreads across my daughter’s face as soon as we pull into the farm lane. We head out to find her pony together then she grooms, tacks up and hops on for either her lesson or an individual ride. I get to sit or stand back and watch joy radiate from a young girl in love. In love with a pony. In love with what she’s doing. I didn’t think children could develop such intense passion so young.

She’s dedicated, fearless and motivated to go faster, jump higher and get better. The passion is all hers. I just watch and give her feedback when she asks for it or needs it, “Maybe slow down a bit there Chiquita. This isn’t the Kentucky Derby.” Ponies passing horses twice their height means either the horse is sleeping or the pony (with encouragement from her rider) is out to break the sound barrier.

As PG gets older she’ll be able to take part in a work to ride program. Time spent helping around the farm will earn her extra time on a horse. She’s itching for that already.

There’s nowhere else I’d rather see our daughter spend hours at as she matures than a place where the kids work together to take care of animals. It’s a healthy environment and nobody is yanking each other’s hair out fighting over the latest fashion or popular boys.

The bond between a horse and rider is difficult to explain to the uninitiated. It is playful, deep, requires trust from both sides and teaches commitment and responsibility. For that I’ll gladly sign my life away.

First love

How to dust yourself off and get back in the saddle

I had no intention of writing about riding again. At least not so soon after last week’s love letter to my new man. There won’t be weekly lesson recaps – scratch that – I’m not making any promises. I reserve the right to change my mind when I have new material. Or the mood strikes. But tonight …. well, tonight is worthy of mention.

An evening lesson meant we rode inside. Keeping our horses at a reasonable distance from one another, as well as negotiating a tight space, and closer jumps was another first. We were in the smaller of the two arenas. Picture a large square with jumps set up at opposing ends.

Peewee is young and full of energy. Being behind other horses isn’t in his vocab and requires lots of braking and steering. The other riders must have heard, “Oops, sorry. Coming through. Slow down Peewee. Yikes…passing on your right,” too many times to count. Their patience with me is commendable.

The bulk of our warm-up was done at a trot in 2-point position. That’s butt lifted off the saddle (semi-standing), partially leaning over the horse’s neck, back straight, eyes forward, and with heels firmly down – otherwise known as the longest freaking squat I have ever done. Holy glutes Batman.

Then the real fun began.

We began the jump portion of our lesson and L had us riding two at a time. Three sets of pairs watching, learning, and cheering. Everything was going along swimmingly. Man…I rock this jumping thing. Olympics here I come.

Full stop.

It went more like this:

Canter – Jump – Canter some more – Peewee jumps way too soon – Me…loses stirrup…lands with a thud in the saddle…grabs mane – Peewee bucks in reaction – Me…lurches…holy shit…grabs neck…slides sideways…more holy shits…tries to avoid flying into arena wall…aims for the softish sand while not being stepped on.

Exactly what I looked like except for the staying on part.

In my mind I was quite graceful. It was all a gentle swoon to the left and a delicate plop to the ground. The reality was anything but. I must have bounced up at warp speed then walked over to where Peewee was trying to hide behind the other horses and hopped back on. Once more over the jump that just tried to kill me, and it was the next pair’s turn to go. Breather time.

Although moms don’t bounce as well as kids do, the extra padding served me well and I don’t think the bruising will be horror-movie worthy. Also I gave myself a fat lip. L and the other women in the class were quick to offer ice, help dusting off, and advice on rocking the sexy, big lip look. When you continually encourage your kids to literally and figuratively get back in the saddle, there’s no way to bail on doing the same.

I finished the lesson taking another four jumps at a controlled pace. I could say that it was to end things on a positive note, but I really did it because I love jumping. The speed is fun too. I may be addicted. Now hand over the phone please…I need to call my chiropractor and order a hot tub.

*** A G&T counts as icing a fat lip, right?

PSA: I can confirm that riding commando is the way to go.

They made me do it and I liked it.

There is nothing as supportive as a group of women.

That’s an idea you don’t hear bandied about regularly. Usually the snarking, backstabbing, and mean girl behaviour gets the airtime. Yet women are the best at supporting one another, and the others (who are in the minority) get attention simply because they snarl loudest.

When I began running it was women who were quick with words of advice and pompoms out ready to cheer. Last year I blindly and clumsily launched myself into the online writing world and women I’d never met encouraged and lent support. If we are open to it, a network of like-minded women is one we intuitively seek out.

Two years of watching from the sidelines as PG rode wore me down and early last summer I got back on a horse after an eon away. An hour of bliss and I was ready to make it a regular part of my life again. Then I was hit with the worst ear infection in the history of ear infections that left me with no hearing in my left ear and little balance for over one month. A trip to France followed by the chaos of back-to-school and back-to-hockey and here we are … November … and still no riding.

Until this Sunday.

Backtrack one week. I was at the stable with PG watching a group of 7 or 8 women riding in a lesson together. Laughing, encouraging, poking fun at themselves and one another, and I wanted in. A quick email to the owner of the stable made it official. I was in.

The horse I chose to ride (Peewee) is small and sweet. Small is key. Keeps you closer to the ground in case of a tumble – 44-year-old women don’t bounce as well as kids do. Like a pro, and with only a few creaks and adjustments, I got back in the saddle and joined the ladies in the ring. A big, outdoor ring. With jumps. Many, many jumps.

Here’s where you start questioning your sanity. “How much wine did I drink before sending the email?” and, “I’m sure no one will notice if I tiptoe out of the ring,” crossed my mind. Except everyone would have noticed, including PG watching her maman from the sidelines. Nothing like a kid to keep you on the straight and narrow.

The lesson began with each of us going through the basics of warming up – walk, trot, canter, change direction and repeat. I could have cantered all day. Coach L corrected our positions and made suggestions as we rode past while setting up jumps across the middle of the ring. WHAT?

Once warmups were done the other women began going through the course, while L assured me that these weren’t even jumps because they were so little. Uh huh. I sat on my horse, back from the group, and watched. They went around the course once, then a 2^nd and 3^rd time and still I watched – paying attention to positioning and pace, and letting my fear build. I hadn’t jumped in 30 years. No joke. All my later riding was of a different sort; dressage and galloping through fields and forests do not prepare you for jumping.

All the while these women were encouraging each other, cheering at a well-jumped course, or clapping when one regained control of her rambunctious mount. And they encouraged me, assuring me that I could do it … words of advice, pompoms out. I looked over my shoulder and there was PG, grinning and proud, leaning over the rail watching me.

What the hell. I’ve got nothing to lose, right?

I couldn’t sit there and not do it when every other sentence out of my mouth to my kids is, “Go for it!” I went for it. Peewee and I jumped the course and as we cantered over the last jump I heard cheers from my lesson-mates. A quick peek at PG to make sure we made eye contact and I was rewarded with the biggest smile. We went through the course a few more times and then headed out for a hack. That sealed it – the day was perfection.

I now have a standing date with a gorgeous blonde on Sundays. Good thing D isn’t a jealous guy.

Meet Peewee – my new guy.

PS. Underwear that fit like a dream when running bunch up in odd places when horseback riding, and picking at them while in a saddle is obvious to everyone within visual range. I was advised to go commando next time.

PPS. Anyone who says riding a horse is not a real sport because the horse does all the work please come over and help me reach the coffee mugs on the top shelf – every muscle in my body is yelling at me today. Also I’m black and purple in places I have no business being bruised.