My Pretty Show Pony (AKA Sadie) has won 3 ribbons in 2 outings this show season!
First and Third place at her first "real" dressage show...
Seventh place at her second "real" horse trial...
I'm so proud!
And maybe that's why I haven't written anything lately. I've been too busy getting ready and stressing out over shows. Every time I go to a show I wonder why the heck I do this to myself. It adds about 15 hours of chores to my already outrageous amount of horse chores. It makes my digestive system do funny things for the whole week before hand. The day of the show it makes me feel like I might die (perhaps exacerbated by previous show-related near-death experiences). It makes my mouth so dry and cottony that I almost gag. Sounds fun, right?
But it is! When it's all over. There's this nice adrenaline rush. There's the exhiliration that goes with reaching a goal, or getting closer to it, or learning what I need to do next time to do a better job of it. And sometimes there's ribbons to show for our efforts.... but it's not about ribbons. Really. It's about fun. And learning. And challenging myself.
So, here's to the next show and torturing myself!
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Death Wish
My husband says I have a death wish. This is purely based on the fact that I ride horses. I try to point out to him that everyone participates in "risky" activities... say, driving a car? walking across the street (I can't tell you how many times I almost get run over while trying to walk Roxy [best dog in the whole world] downtown)? eating sushi? ... and that we all just choose an acceptable level of risk with which we're comfortable. He does not buy this line of thought. He says things like, "Cars have seatbelts" or "Cars have airbags" or "Cars don't do neurotic things" or "Horses are crazy."
The problem is that Doug's introduction to horses was traumatic. Like many small children, he went trail riding on a family vacation. Like happens to many people, no one told him that horses do not really go on auto-pilot, they have minds of their own, they're prey and therefore flight animals (who seem irrational to those of us who are predators). And like so often happens on these kinds of trail rides, the horse ran away with the child version of my husband, who, of course, had not been told what to do in those circumstances. There's a reason why, when I teach lessons, I don't let my students go for rides outside the arena either until they can steer and stop and walk and trot on their own, or unless I have a lead rope attached to the horse. Anyway, let's just say Doug has a deep-seated belief that horses are scary and his relationship with me and my horses hasn't convinced him otherwise (yet).
It didn't help then, that Doug's first experience with me showing my horse was the aforementioned Fall #6 in which Doug thought I was going to die. Or that at my first "real" show with Sadie, he also saw me fall (#9 ). These are just two of the reasons he thinks I have a death wish and I suspect he probably has his own list of reasons besides.
Now, I'm not an especially brave person. I'm kind of a wimp, especially as far as horse girls go. I really don't think I have a death wish. Don't people with death wishes have to be daredevils? That is most certainly not me. I do like a good challenge and reaching a goal is one of my favorite feelings. More importantly, I just like horses. I like riding. I'm willing to risk being stepped on and bitten and knocked down (all of which have happened to me and which make me sound like a pretty masochistic person). I'm willing to risk falling off. I don't fall off a lot. So far (knock on wood) I haven't been hurt, and I always wear my helmet.
But every now and then, I do something that makes me think maybe he's just a tiny bit right about this whole death wish thing. Usually it's at the prodding of my Instigator Friend Mariah (now, she is brave. and a daredevil.). And so I find myself staring in the face of less than 3 weeks til my next competition. Sadie is just barely jumping the competition height (although we did compete at this level before... see Fall # 9). I don't feel ready, although I do feel more ready than last time we competed at this level, so that's got to mean something, right? I just hope I don't die. That's why I purchased the good-luck talisman that came in the mail today (and why I've been wearing all 4 of my good-luck green earrings for the last 2 weeks). People with death wishes don't buy good-luck talismans do they? Especially not ones in the form of praying angel lapel pins.
I do hope it works. I like winning. But living is even better.
p.s. Just in case it ever comes up, if I'm brain dead, please take me off life support. Really. And donate my organs.
The problem is that Doug's introduction to horses was traumatic. Like many small children, he went trail riding on a family vacation. Like happens to many people, no one told him that horses do not really go on auto-pilot, they have minds of their own, they're prey and therefore flight animals (who seem irrational to those of us who are predators). And like so often happens on these kinds of trail rides, the horse ran away with the child version of my husband, who, of course, had not been told what to do in those circumstances. There's a reason why, when I teach lessons, I don't let my students go for rides outside the arena either until they can steer and stop and walk and trot on their own, or unless I have a lead rope attached to the horse. Anyway, let's just say Doug has a deep-seated belief that horses are scary and his relationship with me and my horses hasn't convinced him otherwise (yet).
It didn't help then, that Doug's first experience with me showing my horse was the aforementioned Fall #6 in which Doug thought I was going to die. Or that at my first "real" show with Sadie, he also saw me fall (#9 ). These are just two of the reasons he thinks I have a death wish and I suspect he probably has his own list of reasons besides.
Now, I'm not an especially brave person. I'm kind of a wimp, especially as far as horse girls go. I really don't think I have a death wish. Don't people with death wishes have to be daredevils? That is most certainly not me. I do like a good challenge and reaching a goal is one of my favorite feelings. More importantly, I just like horses. I like riding. I'm willing to risk being stepped on and bitten and knocked down (all of which have happened to me and which make me sound like a pretty masochistic person). I'm willing to risk falling off. I don't fall off a lot. So far (knock on wood) I haven't been hurt, and I always wear my helmet.
But every now and then, I do something that makes me think maybe he's just a tiny bit right about this whole death wish thing. Usually it's at the prodding of my Instigator Friend Mariah (now, she is brave. and a daredevil.). And so I find myself staring in the face of less than 3 weeks til my next competition. Sadie is just barely jumping the competition height (although we did compete at this level before... see Fall # 9). I don't feel ready, although I do feel more ready than last time we competed at this level, so that's got to mean something, right? I just hope I don't die. That's why I purchased the good-luck talisman that came in the mail today (and why I've been wearing all 4 of my good-luck green earrings for the last 2 weeks). People with death wishes don't buy good-luck talismans do they? Especially not ones in the form of praying angel lapel pins.
I do hope it works. I like winning. But living is even better.
p.s. Just in case it ever comes up, if I'm brain dead, please take me off life support. Really. And donate my organs.
Friday, April 27, 2007
The Third Hip at Conception
Well, here it is. I can't remember for sure now, but I believe this photo was actually taken a week or two after conception. See the unblemished middle there? That's the third hip. Cute.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Photo Worthy Bruises (AKA My Third Hip)
Being a Horse-Girl means having lots of bruises. Half the time when I change clothes, I look at my legs and think, "Huh. Did I have that bruise yesterday?" or I spend several minutes cataloging my day's activities to see if I can pinpoint what exactly might have caused that one (like the new bruise on my inner thigh. It didn't take me too long to figure out it's from riding with no stirrups and the stirrup buckle digging into me. I kinda remember thinking it hurt at the time). Sometimes I do something (like walk into a retaining walk whilst looking the other way) and I tell myself that I must remember, when I discover the new bruise, how I got it. I might be a little bit of a masochist too, because sometimes I think, "Ow, what I'm doing right now really hurts" (say, riding in jeans) but I keep doing it anyway (what am I supposed to do? get off, change pants, and get back on?) and then I'm stupidly surprised when I put my pajamas on and see I've got jean lint stuck to my shins and then I realize that's because I've got oozy, rubbed-raw spots on my shins. Make real nice scars, rubbed raw spots do. Other times, like when Teacup shoved her way out of the horse trailer by slamming the divider directly into my nose and squishing me against the wall, I have no trouble remembering why body parts are bruised.
However, none of these bruises can ever compare to the most amazing bruise I have ever seen (no, not even the one my dad received at the hooves of Spot... see below). Not only was this bruise the largest bruise I've ever seen, extending from upper thigh (almost buttock) and nearly to knee, but it also had a glorious mingling of the rainbow of bruise colors: deep purple, violet, blue, red, yellow, green. It was the kind of bruise that when people saw it, they said, "OH MY GOD!" or a long, low "wowwww..." or just looked in stunned silence. And lucky me, the bruise was mine. All mine. If I can ever figure out how to put pictures on here, I will impress and astound you all. Really.
The Most Amazing Bruise in the Whole World has turned into the Third Hip, as I affectionately call it now. I have a nice half-of-a-tennis-ball shaped lump on my upper thigh. Given the fact that the bruise came into being a year and a half ago, I think the Third Hip is here to stay. Dammit.
So, how did I get this lovely modification to the shapeliness of my thigh? Well, a horse bit me. Really really hard. Excruciatingly hard. Hard enough that I swear I could feel the tissue tearing and blood vessels individually exploding. I don't think I deserved the magnitude of the pressure that Kanan put into the bite. I was just tightening his girth. I admit, I was in a bit of a hurry. I was helping my friend Mariah get ready to ride her dressage test and we were running late. But really? Did he have to bite me and then clamp down, with vice-like strength? And it's not like I was wearing shorts and the horse got me in an unprotected spot. Even with the protection of jeans, I had individual tooth marks evident in the bruise patterning, surrounding a nice, comparitively un-blemished center where the Third Hip now resides. The most annoying part about the whole experience (because, I admit, I had a great story to tell) was that the bite hurt so bad, I couldn't even retaliate. No, instead I hunched over in the stall and said "ow! that really hurt." I did manage to weakly swat Kanan, way after the fact, and right before I had to leave his stall to walk off my injury-induced nausea. It hurt so badly I spent the rest of the day icing the instantaneous bruise and popping Advil.
Now if only I could post that picture....
However, none of these bruises can ever compare to the most amazing bruise I have ever seen (no, not even the one my dad received at the hooves of Spot... see below). Not only was this bruise the largest bruise I've ever seen, extending from upper thigh (almost buttock) and nearly to knee, but it also had a glorious mingling of the rainbow of bruise colors: deep purple, violet, blue, red, yellow, green. It was the kind of bruise that when people saw it, they said, "OH MY GOD!" or a long, low "wowwww..." or just looked in stunned silence. And lucky me, the bruise was mine. All mine. If I can ever figure out how to put pictures on here, I will impress and astound you all. Really.
The Most Amazing Bruise in the Whole World has turned into the Third Hip, as I affectionately call it now. I have a nice half-of-a-tennis-ball shaped lump on my upper thigh. Given the fact that the bruise came into being a year and a half ago, I think the Third Hip is here to stay. Dammit.
So, how did I get this lovely modification to the shapeliness of my thigh? Well, a horse bit me. Really really hard. Excruciatingly hard. Hard enough that I swear I could feel the tissue tearing and blood vessels individually exploding. I don't think I deserved the magnitude of the pressure that Kanan put into the bite. I was just tightening his girth. I admit, I was in a bit of a hurry. I was helping my friend Mariah get ready to ride her dressage test and we were running late. But really? Did he have to bite me and then clamp down, with vice-like strength? And it's not like I was wearing shorts and the horse got me in an unprotected spot. Even with the protection of jeans, I had individual tooth marks evident in the bruise patterning, surrounding a nice, comparitively un-blemished center where the Third Hip now resides. The most annoying part about the whole experience (because, I admit, I had a great story to tell) was that the bite hurt so bad, I couldn't even retaliate. No, instead I hunched over in the stall and said "ow! that really hurt." I did manage to weakly swat Kanan, way after the fact, and right before I had to leave his stall to walk off my injury-induced nausea. It hurt so badly I spent the rest of the day icing the instantaneous bruise and popping Advil.
Now if only I could post that picture....
The Horse and I Go for a Spin
before
the rustle became a roar,
there were 4 feet firmly planted.
The horse statuesque,
coiled to spring,
Panic fluttering like careless leaves.
the spring unleashes
energy roaring through muscle.
grey whirling dervish dancing,
edging along the ridge
of sanity,
firm ground
becomes
firmament.
2 feet firmly plant
as 4 go flying
and the body leaves the mind
behind
the rustle became a roar,
there were 4 feet firmly planted.
The horse statuesque,
coiled to spring,
Panic fluttering like careless leaves.
the spring unleashes
energy roaring through muscle.
grey whirling dervish dancing,
edging along the ridge
of sanity,
firm ground
becomes
firmament.
2 feet firmly plant
as 4 go flying
and the body leaves the mind
behind
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Welcome to the Illustrious Falling-Off Club!
One of the worst things about horses (aside from snot on every clean shirt you ever owned, innumerable bruises you don’t remember having gotten, and scabs you’re obligated to pick whether you want to or not because if you don’t they’ll turn into proud flesh [my husband does not believe this. He thinks I just like to pick scabs. Which is also true.]) is falling off. If you ride for any length of time, falling off is inevitable. Because of its inevitability, we equestrians have all kinds of stories we tell ourselves to make falling off OK. Sometimes, at gatherings of horse people, we tell our favorite (aka worst) falling off stories. It’s kind of like the “man, this one time I was so drunk…” stories except far more entertaining because the storyteller actually remembers the details of what happened. Because we all fall off, there are also cute little phrases we repeat to convince ourselves that falling off is actually good. The Falling-Off Maxims go something like this:
1. If you’re not falling off regularly, you aren’t really challenging yourself.
2. If you can still actually count how many times you’ve fallen off, you aren’t a real horse(wo)man.
3. Everyone falls off. Even Olympic riders. Especially Olympic riders (hence, the membership to the Illustrious club).
4. Falling off itself isn’t bad. It’s just the thinking about falling off that’s bad.
5. Falling off is inevitable.
And then there’s that membership to the club thing. Membership to a club always makes one feel better, right? Of course, there are some problems with the membership requirements. For instance, does it count if you unintentionally dismount your horse but land on your feet? Does it count if your horse was at a standstill when you parted ways? What about if your horse falls and you just happen to stay on until he hits the ground? Are there special perks for falls that result in injuries? Or perhaps for falls that should have resulted in injuries, but didn’t?
And then there’s my own list of falls. I (sadly? I do so want to be a real horsewoman…) can still count my falls. Except that I remembered another one several days after I started thinking about this topic, so maybe I can’t actually remember them all and only think I can. So let’s see…
1. My horse Doc (see post below) spooked when a cat jumped out of a bush. We just happened to be walking on the road. He just happened to slip and fall. I stayed on until he hit the ground. In fact, I guess technically he landed on my right leg, although I was able to get “off” him while he was still on the ground, Damage? a hole in the knee of my pants.
2. Jumping bounces, I was “bounced” off Sahara. I landed on my hands and knees in the arena sand, which probably tells you something about my position in the saddle right before I fell off. Damage? Zero.
3. Teenagers like to do dumb things. I decided “once” to sit on my horse Spot with my butt in the saddle but my knees over the front of the saddle (ask any teenager, it’s really comfortable). That wasn’t the dumb part. The dumb part was forgetting that Spot has a wicked sense of humor (really. She does.). I decided to give Spot a hug while in the aforementioned position. Spot (wicked wicked horse) decided at exactly that moment to put her head down. Who knew a horse’s neck could turn into a slide? Who. Knew. Damage? Just my pride (it’s no fun when 10 other teenagers laugh at you).
4. Once, on a trail ride, Spot spooked when a deer jumped out of a bush (do you see a pattern here?), spun around, sent my dad, who had been walking next to her, and me, who had not been planning on anything other than heading straight, flying. I landed on one leg with the other one in the stirrup. It was only when I kicked my foot out of the stirrup that I fell on my butt. Damage? My dad got a really nice, photo-worthy bruise somewhere near his butt. (photo-worthy bruises are a whole other story)
5. Once, on a trail ride, Kharma (thankfully not my horse) spooked at rustling in the leaves. She really wanted to bolt. Bolting just happens to be my least favorite horse activity of ALL TIME. I took evasive action in the form of forcing Kharma to make a very small circle, but I neglected to remember that she was trained as a reiner (I still don’t understand the purpose of this training. At. All.). Thus I was very surprised when she went into a reiner spin and showed no signs of stopping. I made an untimely retreat when Kharma spun off the edge of the trail. Damage? My approval rating of reining training dropped to negative numbers.
6. My worst fall ever occurred when my horse Clue decided to bolt (ugh) at a horse show. Have I mentioned he used to be a race horse? He can run reeeaaaallll fast. In a complicated maneuver to avoid running over the open platform upon which the judge was sitting, Clue ended up slipping on pavement and spinning (hmmm… more patterns…). His spin sent me flying, which was a darn good thing because then he got stuck between the platform and a wall and proceeded to flail about. Damage? cuts, scrapes, a concussion, and a semi-permanent suspensory ligament injury for Clue. Blood-stained show clothes for me. (who decided white breeches were a good idea? Who??)
7. Jumping over the biggest jump I’ve ever “jumped”, I misjudged the speed, distance, and just about everything else one could possibly misjudge. Lady, the horse I was riding, did her best but clipped the jump (a nice, immovable, solid cross-country jump) and stumbled on landing. I went flying, did a nice somersault. Damage? Does getting the wind knocked out of me (my worst “injury” to date) count?. Lady cut the inside of her lip.
8. Jumping my horse Sadie, she dodged a jump (pattern anyone?) and I flew off in what is called a Zig Zag fall, as in my horse zigged and I zagged. Damage? None, unless all that sand in my mouth was bad for my teeth.
9. Jumping Sadie again, she got going too fast and got too excited and we jumped a tiny log. I was expecting a tiny jump to match, but Sadie sometimes likes to jump reeaaaallll big. She did and I went flying. Damage? My pride again, damnit!
So there’s my catalog of falls. Only 9. I’d better get working a little harder. Well, I did almost fall off today, jumping with no stirrups. I don’t know why my husband thinks I have a death wish….
1. If you’re not falling off regularly, you aren’t really challenging yourself.
2. If you can still actually count how many times you’ve fallen off, you aren’t a real horse(wo)man.
3. Everyone falls off. Even Olympic riders. Especially Olympic riders (hence, the membership to the Illustrious club).
4. Falling off itself isn’t bad. It’s just the thinking about falling off that’s bad.
5. Falling off is inevitable.
And then there’s that membership to the club thing. Membership to a club always makes one feel better, right? Of course, there are some problems with the membership requirements. For instance, does it count if you unintentionally dismount your horse but land on your feet? Does it count if your horse was at a standstill when you parted ways? What about if your horse falls and you just happen to stay on until he hits the ground? Are there special perks for falls that result in injuries? Or perhaps for falls that should have resulted in injuries, but didn’t?
And then there’s my own list of falls. I (sadly? I do so want to be a real horsewoman…) can still count my falls. Except that I remembered another one several days after I started thinking about this topic, so maybe I can’t actually remember them all and only think I can. So let’s see…
1. My horse Doc (see post below) spooked when a cat jumped out of a bush. We just happened to be walking on the road. He just happened to slip and fall. I stayed on until he hit the ground. In fact, I guess technically he landed on my right leg, although I was able to get “off” him while he was still on the ground, Damage? a hole in the knee of my pants.
2. Jumping bounces, I was “bounced” off Sahara. I landed on my hands and knees in the arena sand, which probably tells you something about my position in the saddle right before I fell off. Damage? Zero.
3. Teenagers like to do dumb things. I decided “once” to sit on my horse Spot with my butt in the saddle but my knees over the front of the saddle (ask any teenager, it’s really comfortable). That wasn’t the dumb part. The dumb part was forgetting that Spot has a wicked sense of humor (really. She does.). I decided to give Spot a hug while in the aforementioned position. Spot (wicked wicked horse) decided at exactly that moment to put her head down. Who knew a horse’s neck could turn into a slide? Who. Knew. Damage? Just my pride (it’s no fun when 10 other teenagers laugh at you).
4. Once, on a trail ride, Spot spooked when a deer jumped out of a bush (do you see a pattern here?), spun around, sent my dad, who had been walking next to her, and me, who had not been planning on anything other than heading straight, flying. I landed on one leg with the other one in the stirrup. It was only when I kicked my foot out of the stirrup that I fell on my butt. Damage? My dad got a really nice, photo-worthy bruise somewhere near his butt. (photo-worthy bruises are a whole other story)
5. Once, on a trail ride, Kharma (thankfully not my horse) spooked at rustling in the leaves. She really wanted to bolt. Bolting just happens to be my least favorite horse activity of ALL TIME. I took evasive action in the form of forcing Kharma to make a very small circle, but I neglected to remember that she was trained as a reiner (I still don’t understand the purpose of this training. At. All.). Thus I was very surprised when she went into a reiner spin and showed no signs of stopping. I made an untimely retreat when Kharma spun off the edge of the trail. Damage? My approval rating of reining training dropped to negative numbers.
6. My worst fall ever occurred when my horse Clue decided to bolt (ugh) at a horse show. Have I mentioned he used to be a race horse? He can run reeeaaaallll fast. In a complicated maneuver to avoid running over the open platform upon which the judge was sitting, Clue ended up slipping on pavement and spinning (hmmm… more patterns…). His spin sent me flying, which was a darn good thing because then he got stuck between the platform and a wall and proceeded to flail about. Damage? cuts, scrapes, a concussion, and a semi-permanent suspensory ligament injury for Clue. Blood-stained show clothes for me. (who decided white breeches were a good idea? Who??)
7. Jumping over the biggest jump I’ve ever “jumped”, I misjudged the speed, distance, and just about everything else one could possibly misjudge. Lady, the horse I was riding, did her best but clipped the jump (a nice, immovable, solid cross-country jump) and stumbled on landing. I went flying, did a nice somersault. Damage? Does getting the wind knocked out of me (my worst “injury” to date) count?. Lady cut the inside of her lip.
8. Jumping my horse Sadie, she dodged a jump (pattern anyone?) and I flew off in what is called a Zig Zag fall, as in my horse zigged and I zagged. Damage? None, unless all that sand in my mouth was bad for my teeth.
9. Jumping Sadie again, she got going too fast and got too excited and we jumped a tiny log. I was expecting a tiny jump to match, but Sadie sometimes likes to jump reeaaaallll big. She did and I went flying. Damage? My pride again, damnit!
So there’s my catalog of falls. Only 9. I’d better get working a little harder. Well, I did almost fall off today, jumping with no stirrups. I don’t know why my husband thinks I have a death wish….
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