Over the years, there have been multiple trips from the saddle to the ground, courtesy of a horse spooking at this or that. Once, a gelding took off with me hanging onto his lunge line -- I swear that I was sailing six feet above the ground before I remembered to let go. It was a hard landing. My latest flying lesson, the one that occurred this afternoon, was a doozy.
We were testing a panel saddle on a mare that has been on and off the injured list for the past nine years and possibly longer. Our initial assessment was positive and the mare was moving out well and freely at both the walk and trot. Feeling hopeful, I asked for the left lead. Before I could react, the mare kicked up her hooves -- BIG TIME -- and I went tumbling over her head and neck.
Somewhere between A-okay and hitting the ground, my body automatically responded. I got my feet out of the stirrups, tucked my head between my arms, and cannon-balled into the arena footing. I landed squarely on my left rear ribcage and rolled back up onto my hands and knees. My trajectory put me directly in front and slightly to the left of the mare, who thankfully shied at the large oddly shaped object cartwheeling through the air: ME.
When my flying lessons happen -- it's always a surprise -- there isn't a lot that goes through my mind. It seems that my responses are purely visceral. Interestingly, there's a sort of protective mechanism to the whole affair. For example, I never recall hitting the ground or, in one case, the tree. One instant, I'm sailing through the air and the next, I've arrived at my "destination."
Tonight, I feel like I had the crap smacked out of me, but I'm also feeling very lucky and just a wee bit accomplished. It's taken a lot of years to get this landing stuff down.
"I'm very phobic about flying, but I'm also drawn to it." ~ Martin Scorsese
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