Thrills and Spills

I fell off Francie during my lesson on Saturday. Things had been going moderately well--I'm still pretty timid when I ride, and this is reflected in my posture. I've developed a bad habit of hunching forward as a protective mechanism, which actually does nothing to protect me and instead puts me at risk of losing control and balance. I'm scared to ride without my stirrups, which used to be a fun challenge and great way to build leg strength. When it comes down to it, the prospect of falling off again is ruining a once merry pastime.

Saturday's lesson was going okay, and I had just rounded the corner of the arena in a posting trot when Francie was spooked by a horse walking on the trail outside the arena. She spooks every now and then, usually at mundane things like a flag blowing in the wind or a person running down the hill. After a sudden lurch and slight rear--while I grab her mane and the reigns and hold on for dear life--she recovers. This time, she kept lurching a little longer than usual. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but I didn't fight hard enough to stay on and found myself airborne. "Well, here we go again," I remember thinking, mid-flight. I braced myself for that horrible lifeless feeling when I broke my arm and sacrum last time. I landed in a heap in the sandy footing. Miracle of miracles, nothing hurt! I could tell immediately that I was fine.

"I'm okay," I yelled, and jumped to my feet. Francie, the little brat, was standing quite calmly a few yards away. I walked over to her, grabbed her reigns, and promptly began to cry. I was glad that her huge body shielded me from the stares of the other riders. (Of course, the riders in the advanced class were practicing jumps at the other end of the arena and witnessed my ineptitude.) My wise instructor comforted me but made me get right back on. After a fall, you really do have to get back in the saddle. We ended the lesson with some confidence-building walking exercises and just the slightest bit of trotting.

I landed on my right side, which proves that my broken arm is in fact now healed--it took the brunt of my fall like a champ. I'm still a little sore, but I suffered injury only to my pride and spirits. I get teary-eyed thinking about things. I'm sad that I'm not a more competent rider; I'm frightened by the certainty of future falls; I'm frustrated that I can't get over my fear; I'm mad that a pursuit that was once exhilarating is now terrifying; I'm puzzled by my inability to do something that even 10-year-olds can do quite nicely and with far less drama. But I. Will. Not. Quit. I am not a coward.

But I might be an idiot.