Sitting on my Bum

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT You’d think it would be unconscious. I’ve been sitting on my bum for years. Except, despite the evidence of the architecture, as it were, there are about ten million different ways to sit on one’s bum.

Right now I’m a little bit forward, as I tap away on the laptop, and I’m actually sitting on my thighs.

I roll back a little— hmm, those are the seat bones, maybe?

I shift so that the position of my legs approximates the distance they acquire in the saddle. I lean, lean, lean back— nope, that’s the base of my spine.

Where is my bum?

Believe me, you can’t miss it… but where exactly is that suddenly elusive part that will be the ultimate measure of my success?

I think I felt it yesterday— no, I know I felt it, I’m just unsure as to the precise geography of the thing. I was coming down the H side of the arena, looking where I was going, my back was astonishing straight, and my pelvis was tilted— ah, just got it, just now in my desk chair.

So my bum bone’s connected to my hip bone. Gotcha.

The thing is, I was also conscious of my legs being really long, and my heels being very down, so my bum bone’s connected to my hip bone—

And my hip bone’s connected to my leg bone—

And my leg bone’s connected to my heel bone—

That song’s going to be in my head all day.

How Much Do I Love this?

A LOT  Undertaking my twenty minute walk to the bus after my forty minute lesson, I looked around, at the blossoming trees, the burgeoning furze, and I was suddenly awash with how much I love doing this horseriding thing.

Most Thursdays, my legs feel broken not so much from the lesson— although it’s a contributory factor— but from the fast walk to the bus, a bus that adheres to its schedule imperfectly, one that I hate to miss as the next one doesn’t come for twenty more minutes and my legs are broken from the lesson, the fast walk…

You get the picture.

But as I regarded the myriad colours of the foliage, the deep, deep deciduous green, the flaming red, an ethereal grove of birches, all clustered together like a painting, I shrugged and left it up to the gods of public transport. I loved everything, and that included buses that I might miss.

I got several ‘very goods’ and one ‘very good’ in the lesson today. Reb hates the wee fences, so the jumping wasn’t stellar, but it’s giving me the opportunity to work on recovery and post-fence steering. I was sitting on my bum, and the canter felt like I was in a movie or a car commercial. Ha!

I had a sense of myself, cantering around, of: I’m on the back of a horse— we are moving together— it’s not terrifically fast, but it’s powerful— I am here— I am doing this. I wasn’t obsessed with controlling Rebel, so he wasn’t intent on fighting me [how I wish I'd realised this in my erstwhile marriage!] and we went and went and went.

You just never know when you’re going have one of those days, one of those days when everything is perfectly fine and your life is great. Here’s to more of those; I must say, I’m having my fair share lately. And I’m not even trying. This may be a secret of the universe. You heard it here first…

Using Yer Head

AND NOT TO BREAK A FALL, EITHER It looked to be one of those days that would find us all lashed into the indoor— low, low cloud, high, high winds. Somehow, by the time we’d gotten up the mountain, all seemed, if not calm, then contained.

Only three of us in the lesson. Outstanding. We went outside. Feh. Rebel piles on even more layers of balk when we’re outside.

We managed. There was the usual argument about the canter, but once we got going, they were good ones: I’m beginning to feel some depth of seat, length of leg, am rockin’ that pelvis. So, good.

Even better was that all three of us love to jump, and Emma set up a mini-course for us today that required us to really pay attention.

Anybody Know How…

… to get the stank out of a hat?

Mine’s getting rather aromatic; I love it, and don’t want to replace yet…

That is all.

Triggers

BUT NOT ROY ROGERS’ HORSES It was a day. One of those days. Busy enough at work, managing demands, steadily producing. Underneath it though, was a feeling of being triggered the whole live long. In the main, it was an anniversary that is, let us say, without active currency, but one that exists nevertheless. Hopefully, one that will not have even the smallest lever in the future. One that still has a wee bit of hook, so I was dealing with it.

And then on my trek to the tram to the taxi to the yard, I felt a feeling that I’ve only felt twice in the last twenty months.

Maybe I won’t go tonight. Maybe I’ll give it a miss…

Happily my body knows better than that tired little voice in my head. I got out to the school, and as always, the sights and sounds and smells lifted my spirits.

It Is So Funny…

… when a horse farts.

‘YEAH!’

WHO KNEW? It didn’t look to be an especially exciting hour. Late arrivals and a general feeling of chaos as untried riders joined the lesson, and some n00bs were mounted on unfamiliar horses. We trotted and trotted, and I reckoned, well, a good sweat is a good thing.

Utterly Changed

It’s only 43 inches of flexible plastic covered in a polyester weave, but let me tell you something, sistuhs, this long stick has effected an utter transformation.