The awakening

I might've gotten a wake up call yesterday, or at least a reminder, of just how dangerous this sport that I have chosen to be in can be, how something can go terribly wrong before I'm even aware of it. That ought to teach me to not get full of myself and lower my guard.

I got a few rounds of good canter in, during which I was practicing my light seat, and did well. I also came off of a couple of good jumps, during which I practiced my release, and did well. Then I got complacent, and that was a mistake.

A horse spooking in the middle of a turn is one of the worst times for a rider, in my personal opinion. Snapping from a left turn into a right turn in one split second, physics just wasn't on my side. My body couldn't catch up to the sudden change in momentum. I always wonder how evolution managed to make us humans into the most highly developed species on this planet, and yet equipped us with the worst reflexes and the slowest reaction times. We absolutely suck at adjusting our bodies fast enough to match time and space around us, if you ask me.

My hands managed to get tangled in the reins on my way down, and I hit the ground beneath Candy's belly, in between her legs. Already spooked by whatever she saw/heard, and then shocked by my fall, she couldn't get away from me without literally tripping over me. In my panic and with everything happening too fast for my fight/flight response to register, I did manage to remember to curl myself up as much as I could manage, and shield my face with my arms. Despite all her efforts to land her feet around to avoid me, I still got a few solid hooves on me, and trust me when I say, I had felt each and every one of those hooves' impact on my body. Miraculously, my glasses, which had fallen from my face, survived intact. My schooling helmet wasn't so lucky. It was dented enough that I had to say good-bye to it for good.

A part of me had wished that Ezra was there to help me. Another part of me was relieved that he wasn't there to watch the whole thing. He would've freaked out beyond epically. The over-protective husband gear would've been pushed into full speed. He might've been furious at Candy.

All in all, I came out of this with a black eye, bruised ribs, a nasty scrape on my left side, a very sore lower back, aching tail bone and seat bones, whiplash, and stiff limbs. Nothing broke, no major trauma. I got lucky. After being trampled by an animal ten times my size, with rock hard hooves, two of which are steel shod, I was able to stand up on my own and walk away. It was an awakening. We experienced riders might get to a point in our lives when we tend to think that we have gotten pretty good at controlling a 1,200-pound beast and become complacent with our abilities to do so consistently. We ought not forget, at any time, that said beast is a very large and heavy prey animal who will always choose flight over fight at the slightest provocation that might be invisible to us, and that the graceful equine that we so often see easily flying over fences as tall as we are can also, without any warning, trip over its own feet or run from its own shadow.

I comforted Candy as much as I could afterwards. It was clear that she was upset about what happened. I hugged her, patted her, gently stroked her forehead and kissed her nose, reassuring her again and again that it wasn't her fault, that it was a freak accident that I was also responsible for, that I didn't blame her for something that she couldn't help, and that I wasn't one bit mad at her. Every fall is a lesson learned. I wasn't able to get back on after this one, but I had definitely learned something important from it. I didn't exactly choose badminton or table tennis for a pastime. Every time I put my rear end into a saddle, it could potentially mean my life on the line. I may allow myself to trust a very well trained and reliable horse just enough, but I should never lower my own defense and leave everything up to her. She is counting on me, her rider, the cognitively more advanced human to be there for her. I need to be someone whom she can depend on. I must never let down my guard again.