HeresHoping
Well-Known Member
Last night I climbed on my saint of a new horse for a bit of a solid schooling session. I fully intended to work on transitions - and me sitting up with the weight in my heels. As I hadn't got long - 45 minutes or so, I thought I'd trot around our 80 x 40 arena a couple of times on each rein to loosen both of us up, with a bit of shoulder fore and a few circles down the long side.
It quickly became apparent, as I was trotting along with a not very tight contact, that my bra was not the right bra for riding in. I normally ride in a good sports bra but all four of them seemed to have tunelled deep into that mountain that is my washing pile. I thought this plain, no frills attached, job would be fine. But no. The straps kept slipping down my shoulders and it was intensely annoying. After the fifth time of pulling them up, I thought I had better tighten them. Still trotting. As you do.
St. Larry, the horse that has hardly put a foot wrong since arriving (well, we'll ignore the hosepipe in the grass incident the day before), at this point decided that the combination of his jockey with one hand on the reins and the other on her shoulder fiddling with her bra straps, two horses going off on a hack and the new youngster just arrived at the yard having a moment was just too good an opportunity to miss with regards to throwing a spook.
Of course, this was no ordinary spook - it was a leap sideways of at least 10m, and probably a good 1m into the air. "Aha," he thinks. "She was sitting squiff with her fiddling, and now she really is squiff. I shall now throw in four really big bucks to finish the job."
And he did.
I started riding again in October 2010 after an 18 year break. I managed not to fall off the lunatic KWPN mare I had for two years despite bucks and spooks galore. My strategy was simple - it was just too far to the ground and I was petrified I wouldn't bounce any more. I managed not to fall off my 16.2 and a bit ex-racehorse who scared me witless and tried to kill me with his daily bucking bronco act. Scared me to the point of shaking every time I went to tack him up. I held on for dear life because a) it was too far to the ground, and b) I didn't trust him not to turn round and finish the job.
So, almost three years later I have fallen off a 17hh giant. Well, it was a perfect faceplant out the side door. And I am hugely relieved. The fear was obviously far greater than the danger. But I'm never riding without a sports bra again.
And Larry's halo has been put on the shelf where it will stay until he can prove he's worthy of granny riding him again.
It quickly became apparent, as I was trotting along with a not very tight contact, that my bra was not the right bra for riding in. I normally ride in a good sports bra but all four of them seemed to have tunelled deep into that mountain that is my washing pile. I thought this plain, no frills attached, job would be fine. But no. The straps kept slipping down my shoulders and it was intensely annoying. After the fifth time of pulling them up, I thought I had better tighten them. Still trotting. As you do.
St. Larry, the horse that has hardly put a foot wrong since arriving (well, we'll ignore the hosepipe in the grass incident the day before), at this point decided that the combination of his jockey with one hand on the reins and the other on her shoulder fiddling with her bra straps, two horses going off on a hack and the new youngster just arrived at the yard having a moment was just too good an opportunity to miss with regards to throwing a spook.
Of course, this was no ordinary spook - it was a leap sideways of at least 10m, and probably a good 1m into the air. "Aha," he thinks. "She was sitting squiff with her fiddling, and now she really is squiff. I shall now throw in four really big bucks to finish the job."
And he did.
I started riding again in October 2010 after an 18 year break. I managed not to fall off the lunatic KWPN mare I had for two years despite bucks and spooks galore. My strategy was simple - it was just too far to the ground and I was petrified I wouldn't bounce any more. I managed not to fall off my 16.2 and a bit ex-racehorse who scared me witless and tried to kill me with his daily bucking bronco act. Scared me to the point of shaking every time I went to tack him up. I held on for dear life because a) it was too far to the ground, and b) I didn't trust him not to turn round and finish the job.
So, almost three years later I have fallen off a 17hh giant. Well, it was a perfect faceplant out the side door. And I am hugely relieved. The fear was obviously far greater than the danger. But I'm never riding without a sports bra again.
And Larry's halo has been put on the shelf where it will stay until he can prove he's worthy of granny riding him again.
I've already got a couple in there, I think. You'd have thought I'd grown up by now.
Older and wiser...
