While cleaning out my purse recently, I came upon a note I’d written to myself on New Year’s Eve 2014. It contained intentions for the new year. Be brave. Be confident. Be joyful. Say, “Yes and…” Lean into discomfort.
I began 2015 determined to challenge myself. I had goals to accomplish and boundaries to push. This was going to be the year when Joshua and I successfully moved up to intermediate!
Ask me a tack or horse equipment-related question. Go ahead. Try it. I own everything necessary for eventing, and yet I’m always perusing catalogs and websites to see if there’s anything new or different I might need for my horses. I own more breeches than pairs of pants, more horse blankets than jackets.
Another example of my obsession? When I got married, my bridal shower was actually a bridle shower, and I asked my friends to buy me horse stuff instead of the normal housewares. Because seriously, what was I going to do with domestic stuff for my house?
The day of my final ride while pregnant has come and gone. For the last several rides I tried to deny it, but it turns out that everyone who told me I’d know when it was time to quit was right. My body informed me in pretty adamant terms that riding is no longer an option.
Back when this baby-to-be was a bit smaller, I found myself in the doctor’s office discussing options for early screening and diagnostic tests. As a “woman of advanced maternal age,” (I’m 35), there are some increased risks. So my regular ob/gyn packed me off to a specialist to have a routine but slightly scary conversation about what I did and did not want to find out about my baby.
Common sense has never been my strong suit, and that sometimes makes for some entertaining times on the farm. Let’s just say that my first ride on Eli/Sweet Roll, my new off-the-track Thoroughbred, didn’t go quite as smoothly as I might have hoped.
I did start with a sensible plan. I picked a warm weekend day for our first ride. I talked my husband into being my ground person and videographer. But I began to veer off course as soon as I brought Eli in from the field.
Eli, aka Sweet Roll, is chilling out in the pasture with no shoes, so until I can update about him, I have a different story to tell.
Two years ago, I was eliminated in the show jumping at my first preliminary event with my former horse. The confident animal that skipped around at training level needed more support than I was providing coming into a triple combination, and he stopped, twice. Whistle blew. Game over.
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