Why I Walked Away
The sun was shining, though the air had a bite that nipped at my ears and blew cold, damp breath on my cheeks. I walked across the small green field with my toddler in tow. She busied behind me, happily chattering as she dragged the lead rope along behind her. I watched and smiled as her chunky gloved hand gripped the plaited rope, her hat covered head bobbing as she marched over the ground in adorable fashion.
I felt like a dream was playing out in front of me.
A mother and her child walking outside in the fresh air, on their way to catch a pony to ride. It was a scene I could have only dreamed of. A moment I had imagined many times, but didn’t think was possible..
I was a mum. I had two young children and a husband who worked long hours. My son, who was at this moment at school, and my daughter currently out walking with me. We didn't have much in the way of spare cash at this moment in time. We were a young family starting out, planning, not even imagining what our lives would bring to us. But in this I was overjoyed to be sharing such a special time with my baby girl.
My mum had put me in touch with a friend of hers who had this pony who needed some exercise. I had been overjoyed, with definitely no spare budget to have my own horse, I missed being in tack so much that at times it was a physical ache.
I had accepted without pause, and after a few rides with the owner nearby, I had decided to work with the pony. It was an offer I felt I couldn't refuse.
We caught the pony, a stocky, flea bitten grey beastie with a mane that spiked up at all angles and a neck that wobbled from side to side. His ground manners were lovely, in fact I would go as far as to say, he was an angel I trusted to let my toddler and young son handle. though I had been warned his manners when someone was in tack lacked the same respect and gentle nature. I had ridden him a couple times before this moment and had not found anything to be too far above my skill set. I had decided that as soon as I was ‘riding fit’ again, then not much could put me off a free pony to ride whenever I liked.
I had never been a competitive rider, I never polished my riding style with coaches or lessons since I was a teenager, I never had the money to go any further than being a ‘horse rider’. But I had always been fearless and determined enough to enjoy it. I had also had the wonderful experience of working with a fantastic trainer and his wife as a groom a few years before I had kids. In fact, this was the job that, to this day, taught me the most about myself - bad things and good.
So, in my positive mindset, I decided this was a gift. I bought him up to the small yard. A block of four stables, built from a mixture of stone and timber. The tiny yard, so perfect. There was a small hay barn and a cold water tap. The yard stood on the edge of a small village, but far enough into the countryside that you were surrounded by only fields, cut in half by one winding, country road. Trees and hedgerows lined the yard I could feel my soul singing as I chatted to my daughter and showed her brushes and helped her to groom the pony. She was in her element as she trotted around happily. I think back now to this time and I wonder if this was when my daughter fell in love with horses, or if it was always in her genes?
I grew up as the only horse rider in my family. I had not known horses, but I knew I had to be with them. From the age of ten I became a barn rat. My mum would drop me off early on a Saturday, only picking me up when the barn closed, dropping me off on a Sunday again. It was an inevitable cycle every weekend. I had no interest in doing anything else, though, i'm sure my family did other activities at the weekend, I wasn't aware - or I don't remember because all I wanted to do was be at the barn.
I tacked the pony up and told Phoebe where she should stand as I entered the small outdoor arena. Knowing my daughter was enthralled by the pony, I trusted that she would not move from the fence post I had asked her to sit on. She sat looking adorable, in her many layers, probably too many, her little gloved hands clasped together as she wiggled her legs ready to watch her mummy ride. I got on and rode around. The ride pretty uneventful. The pony was feeling a little fresh as he tried to move his unfit, unbalanced body around the arena, but nothing I didn’t find frankly a little fun. I would chat to Phoebe as a I rode by, loving how happy she looked dressed in her many layers out in the fresh air.
The view from the little arena was so British, rolling fields of unusual shapes, low hedgerows, and the odd small car bombing down the winding road to the side of the barn. From my vantage I could see a brick road off in the distance and a driveway leading to a lovely home. The air was fresh, the sky was… probably knowing England, as blue as it gets in early October. But in my memories, it was a perfect Autumnal day.
I couldn’t believe my luck.
And so it went on for a few weeks. Whenever I had a morning free or an afternoon, I would go to the yard, sometimes with the kids, sometimes, if my husband was home i’d go alone. There was another lady who kept her horse and her pony at the same place who I would bump into occasionally. We rode out on a hack together once, though she was worried about how far we could go as the pony was barefoot. One day late in October, I went to the barn with both of my children, They were dressed for the chilly air, both of them happy to be outside as children always are.
I tacked up the pony and hopped on. I knew from the first ten seconds that it was going to be a ‘fun’ ride. I sensed his unease, I didn’t have his full attention and when a helicopter flew low over the small outside arena,
I couldn’t tell you that I was shocked by what happened next.
The heavy thump of the helicopter became louder and louder as it seemed to steer exactly toward us. It flew so low that, if I wanted, I could probably have told you what the pilot wore. It thundered past us, the air filling with the deep drone of its propellers, the sound changing pitch as it past us. The pony span on his back legs, terrified, he shook his head as I tried to ask him to stay calm, his body seemed to coil with energy until he burst upwards and forwards at the same time. Momentum threw me back but I hung on and sat there.
You can learn to jump, both in an arena over show jumps and in a field in a hunt, but nothing prepares you for the g-force that a spooked horse leaping forward can give.
I sat and asked him to calm, he vibrated with energy and anxiety.
As did I probably.
We calmed a little and just as I was asking him to work again, the helicopter came back for a second time. This time he flew even lower, i’m sure. I debated jumping off, but before the thought had formed, the pony bolted again. This time he ran at the fence surrounding the arena, he was head high and in full panic. I knew that the pony had gone from thinking about anything but getting the hell away. He leapt and bucked and twisted and, I don’t know how I held on, but I did.
the pony twisted and bucked again, but this time we were too close to the fence, he slammed up beside it and my leg got caught in a snagging piece of Barbed wire that I hadn’t even noticed was there. He dragged me along the fence line and bucked and twisted again. I held on - though I don’t know how. My leg was bleeding, my jodhpurs ripped, my hip ached deeply. But I somehow got the pony to calm enough to stop. I jumped off immediately and tried to catch my breath.
I looked up and all I could see was the shocked faces of my babies.
Now, this was by no means the worst injury I had ever got as an equestrian, not even close. So this scrape with the pony was trifling - but what had been unbearable was the look on my childrens' faces. I had frightened them. As I limped over, leading the now quiet pony - of course, because his ground manners were impeccable - I heard myself telling my kids, ‘Mummy is ok’ “Don’t worry’. My sons eyes locked on the ripped jodhpurs and my heart felt a heavy load of guilt and sadness.
As the situation calmed a little, my mind began to race. The voice inside my head chastised me, asking ‘What would have happened if you had been killed? What would the kids have done if you had been knocked out, or worse?” “How would your husband have kept working if you had broken your legs - OR NECK?” I couldn't disagree with that voice, I had no retort, though as it kept its steady threats of ‘What if’ up, I felt something inside me shift. What would I have done? As that question crashed inside my mind, I looked at my babies and knew that I had a choice to make.
Now I know there are many equestrians out there that have kids and still keep riding. Probably many riders would scoff and tell me that one bad ride couldn’t have put them off. And if that is you, then I think you are braver than me. The situation I was in, with my hubby the main breadwinner, and my babies both under 5, I felt, at that time, I was being selfish - that I was being childish to want to be a horse rider - an equestrian - and expect other people to pick up the slack if something happened to me.
And then I let anxiety burst in
My mind wound me back in the moments after the ride, to someone I had worked with in my teenage years. She had died during an eventing competition, a tragic end to a wonderfully talented rider, and panic squeezed my chest. I went home and decided that while my kids were so young, I would take a break from horses.
A decision, I regretted for years, but a decision that has led me to today. To Moose.
A mother and her child walking outside in the fresh air, on their way to catch a pony to ride. It was a scene I could have only dreamed of. A moment I had imagined many times, but didn’t think was possible..
I was a mum. I had two young children and a husband who worked long hours. My son, who was at this moment at school, and my daughter currently out walking with me. We didn't have much in the way of spare cash at this moment in time. We were a young family starting out, planning, not even imagining what our lives would bring to us. But in this I was overjoyed to be sharing such a special time with my baby girl.
My mum had put me in touch with a friend of hers who had this pony who needed some exercise. I had been overjoyed, with definitely no spare budget to have my own horse, I missed being in tack so much that at times it was a physical ache.
I had accepted without pause, and after a few rides with the owner nearby, I had decided to work with the pony. It was an offer I felt I couldn't refuse.
We caught the pony, a stocky, flea bitten grey beastie with a mane that spiked up at all angles and a neck that wobbled from side to side. His ground manners were lovely, in fact I would go as far as to say, he was an angel I trusted to let my toddler and young son handle. though I had been warned his manners when someone was in tack lacked the same respect and gentle nature. I had ridden him a couple times before this moment and had not found anything to be too far above my skill set. I had decided that as soon as I was ‘riding fit’ again, then not much could put me off a free pony to ride whenever I liked.
I had never been a competitive rider, I never polished my riding style with coaches or lessons since I was a teenager, I never had the money to go any further than being a ‘horse rider’. But I had always been fearless and determined enough to enjoy it. I had also had the wonderful experience of working with a fantastic trainer and his wife as a groom a few years before I had kids. In fact, this was the job that, to this day, taught me the most about myself - bad things and good.
So, in my positive mindset, I decided this was a gift. I bought him up to the small yard. A block of four stables, built from a mixture of stone and timber. The tiny yard, so perfect. There was a small hay barn and a cold water tap. The yard stood on the edge of a small village, but far enough into the countryside that you were surrounded by only fields, cut in half by one winding, country road. Trees and hedgerows lined the yard I could feel my soul singing as I chatted to my daughter and showed her brushes and helped her to groom the pony. She was in her element as she trotted around happily. I think back now to this time and I wonder if this was when my daughter fell in love with horses, or if it was always in her genes?
I grew up as the only horse rider in my family. I had not known horses, but I knew I had to be with them. From the age of ten I became a barn rat. My mum would drop me off early on a Saturday, only picking me up when the barn closed, dropping me off on a Sunday again. It was an inevitable cycle every weekend. I had no interest in doing anything else, though, i'm sure my family did other activities at the weekend, I wasn't aware - or I don't remember because all I wanted to do was be at the barn.
I tacked the pony up and told Phoebe where she should stand as I entered the small outdoor arena. Knowing my daughter was enthralled by the pony, I trusted that she would not move from the fence post I had asked her to sit on. She sat looking adorable, in her many layers, probably too many, her little gloved hands clasped together as she wiggled her legs ready to watch her mummy ride. I got on and rode around. The ride pretty uneventful. The pony was feeling a little fresh as he tried to move his unfit, unbalanced body around the arena, but nothing I didn’t find frankly a little fun. I would chat to Phoebe as a I rode by, loving how happy she looked dressed in her many layers out in the fresh air.
The view from the little arena was so British, rolling fields of unusual shapes, low hedgerows, and the odd small car bombing down the winding road to the side of the barn. From my vantage I could see a brick road off in the distance and a driveway leading to a lovely home. The air was fresh, the sky was… probably knowing England, as blue as it gets in early October. But in my memories, it was a perfect Autumnal day.
I couldn’t believe my luck.
And so it went on for a few weeks. Whenever I had a morning free or an afternoon, I would go to the yard, sometimes with the kids, sometimes, if my husband was home i’d go alone. There was another lady who kept her horse and her pony at the same place who I would bump into occasionally. We rode out on a hack together once, though she was worried about how far we could go as the pony was barefoot. One day late in October, I went to the barn with both of my children, They were dressed for the chilly air, both of them happy to be outside as children always are.
I tacked up the pony and hopped on. I knew from the first ten seconds that it was going to be a ‘fun’ ride. I sensed his unease, I didn’t have his full attention and when a helicopter flew low over the small outside arena,
I couldn’t tell you that I was shocked by what happened next.
The heavy thump of the helicopter became louder and louder as it seemed to steer exactly toward us. It flew so low that, if I wanted, I could probably have told you what the pilot wore. It thundered past us, the air filling with the deep drone of its propellers, the sound changing pitch as it past us. The pony span on his back legs, terrified, he shook his head as I tried to ask him to stay calm, his body seemed to coil with energy until he burst upwards and forwards at the same time. Momentum threw me back but I hung on and sat there.
You can learn to jump, both in an arena over show jumps and in a field in a hunt, but nothing prepares you for the g-force that a spooked horse leaping forward can give.
I sat and asked him to calm, he vibrated with energy and anxiety.
As did I probably.
We calmed a little and just as I was asking him to work again, the helicopter came back for a second time. This time he flew even lower, i’m sure. I debated jumping off, but before the thought had formed, the pony bolted again. This time he ran at the fence surrounding the arena, he was head high and in full panic. I knew that the pony had gone from thinking about anything but getting the hell away. He leapt and bucked and twisted and, I don’t know how I held on, but I did.
the pony twisted and bucked again, but this time we were too close to the fence, he slammed up beside it and my leg got caught in a snagging piece of Barbed wire that I hadn’t even noticed was there. He dragged me along the fence line and bucked and twisted again. I held on - though I don’t know how. My leg was bleeding, my jodhpurs ripped, my hip ached deeply. But I somehow got the pony to calm enough to stop. I jumped off immediately and tried to catch my breath.
I looked up and all I could see was the shocked faces of my babies.
Now, this was by no means the worst injury I had ever got as an equestrian, not even close. So this scrape with the pony was trifling - but what had been unbearable was the look on my childrens' faces. I had frightened them. As I limped over, leading the now quiet pony - of course, because his ground manners were impeccable - I heard myself telling my kids, ‘Mummy is ok’ “Don’t worry’. My sons eyes locked on the ripped jodhpurs and my heart felt a heavy load of guilt and sadness.
As the situation calmed a little, my mind began to race. The voice inside my head chastised me, asking ‘What would have happened if you had been killed? What would the kids have done if you had been knocked out, or worse?” “How would your husband have kept working if you had broken your legs - OR NECK?” I couldn't disagree with that voice, I had no retort, though as it kept its steady threats of ‘What if’ up, I felt something inside me shift. What would I have done? As that question crashed inside my mind, I looked at my babies and knew that I had a choice to make.
Now I know there are many equestrians out there that have kids and still keep riding. Probably many riders would scoff and tell me that one bad ride couldn’t have put them off. And if that is you, then I think you are braver than me. The situation I was in, with my hubby the main breadwinner, and my babies both under 5, I felt, at that time, I was being selfish - that I was being childish to want to be a horse rider - an equestrian - and expect other people to pick up the slack if something happened to me.
And then I let anxiety burst in
My mind wound me back in the moments after the ride, to someone I had worked with in my teenage years. She had died during an eventing competition, a tragic end to a wonderfully talented rider, and panic squeezed my chest. I went home and decided that while my kids were so young, I would take a break from horses.
A decision, I regretted for years, but a decision that has led me to today. To Moose.
Comments
Post a Comment