You are currently browsing the monthly archive for February 2009.
I decided that I wanted to take some private lessons at Festina Lente, where I offer reiki to the horses. For whatever reason — despite my feeling that my riding has been getting worse — I wasn’t nervous. Not a bit. I stared languidly out the bus window, I walked up the long road placidly, I got myself organised once in the locker room without any undue kerfuffle.
I suppose it’s because I felt familiar with the place. Whether or not I was going to ride a horse I’d tended, I didn’t know. It was nice to be recognised by my instructor, even though we’d only been introduced twice. I chatted with the dude who was tacking up Jack, and then the instructor came up, and lent a hand.
She started to explain that we’d be taking it slow today, as it was unlikely, given my relative newness to horseriding, that I would have ridden without a bit —
Without a bit?!
Oh, shit. Read the rest of this entry »
I may have some video to put up, if I can figure out how to make the clips download properly. I shot some cool shark stuff in an aquarium in Valencia last year, and still haven’t sorted it out.
Barbara shot some footage of our lesson today, and it would be a shame if I couldn’t work it out, as I have her saying ‘That’s nice!’ as Rebel and I ride a twenty metre circle. We did some jumping too, so fingers crossed.
That’s my Sunday sorted, then!
Luckily, I knew the answer to the question. Read the rest of this entry »
THIS IS GOING TO BE SO AMAZING! In an effort to give to the South of England what the Angel of the North is to the, er, North, a competition was called for proposals to construct something in Ebbsfleet, Kent.
IT IS GOING TO BE A GIGANTIC WHITE HORSE. It’s going to be 50 metres [164 feet] high. The artist, Mark Wllinger, doesn’t quite know how he’s going to make it, yet, but hot damn, it is so cool. Like, you may be somewhere, within ten miles away, and be able to see the tips of his ears.
COOL! I’ve never been to Ebbsfleet, and I’m fairly certain I’ve never imagined a need to go, but I will make a point of it, once the white horse is installed on his hilltop.
Image is here, hopefully.
I’M NOT COMPLETE RUBBISH You know, I have to say, in all honesty, that I wasn’t looking forward to riding the range last night.
I’d been nervous about it on Saturday, too, and barely admitted it to myself. I love this so much, what if I started to hate it? Read the rest of this entry »
It’s 16.52 and the sun is blazing away!
Well, the sky is still remarkably light, which is more like it. But still! Roll on springtime! Read the rest of this entry »
I rode last night at 7 to make up for Tuesday being snowed out.
I realised that I couldn’t get home at 9pm, and then get up for 6am to get back to the yard for 9am.
So I switched my Thursday lesson to 2.15.
I met a friend in town for a coffee and figured I’d get on the 12.50 bus to the taxi to the yard.
And then it started to — wait for it — snow.
The dithering that ensued is appalling, so if you don’t want to read on, I’ll totally understand. Read the rest of this entry »
EVERY THURSDAY IS THE SAME…
10.30 a.m. I march/limp down the road. The sun is fully up, and I take grateful pulls from my echinacea-laced water bottle. It is so good to be here, right here, right now, fully alive and having worked hard. The mountains rise up above me as I walk down the lane, and sheer greenness of it all, rolling up and around me, fills me with the kind of wellbeing I’ve always wanted in my life. I lean back into my stride, and head for the bus.
10.15 a.m. I dry my hair using the hand-dryer in the ladies loo. A preventative against getting a head cold, and it always makes me nostalgic for Desperately Seeking Susan.
10.00 a.m. I give Rebel pedicure, and good rub down. If he’s had enough brekky, and is not scrabbling around for the last scrap of hay, he lets me brush his face, which he loves, loves, loves, but not as much as hay. I love this part, he’s turns into a wee colt, and we gaze at each other with affection.
9.45 a.m. I get my ‘notes’ from Ruth, and ask a question or two. Down I come, reins over Rebel’s head, roll up the stirrups, and lead him back to the barn.
9.30 a.m. An infinitesimal break before we jump. I’d pay someone a hundred euro to breathe for me right about now. Okay, the breath comes back, and we jump, this time I get two ‘Better!’s from Ruth, the kind laced with approbation and, I suspect, relief. Damn: there’s nothing a couple of ‘Better!’s to make my day.
9.20 a.m. I’m awake now.
9.15 a.m. One day, will my face explode from redness? We do another serpentine, I try to remember to actually ride the thing, applying leg into the appropriate rein, rather than assume that he’ll take pity on my slumberous state and just do it.
9.10 a.m. The usual argument with Rebel about what a working trot is. Tap him up with the long stick, he stops dead, bucks, repeat as necessary.
9.00 a.m. Aaaaaaaaah, Gawwwwwwwwd, this is painful. Rebel’s back is cold, and I rise in the saddle to let him walk it off. I almost fall off. Feckin’ balance! Do they have medication for this?!?
8.50 a.m. I start to strip off layers, run to the loo, remove my hat, put it on, fish out the money, stick it in my left glove so I remember to pay before it gets all sweaty. I make sure my phone is on silent, tuck everything into the cabinet thingie, and draw down the sliding door yoke. I never worry about my belongings, never have. It’s the golden rule of the stable, I like to think.
8.35 a.m. Into the taxi, with the usual directions: where I’m going, and how I’d like to get there. Most of the Dundrum taxi men appreciate this, and I hate hate hate getting caught in the dropping-off-at-school traffic that clog the roads if we go right.
8.15 a.m. Am I really sitting on this bus, clutching my kit bag for warmth, listening to my horse playlist? The sun looks like it may deign to join us today.
8.10 a.m. Bus the Second pulls away from the terminus.
7.50 a.m. Disembark from Bus the First, head for the SPAR and get some cash, and some food for later. The thought of food right now makes me want to hurl. I run several lights to get to the stop for Bus the Second.
7.20 a.m. Bus the First arrives, and the daily commuters give my long stick the hairy eyeball. Surely they’re used to me by now?
7.15 a.m. Gah! Am I late? I leave my apartment in a hurry, happily having, finally, learned to pack up the night before. I walk briskly, somehow summoning ‘brisk’ from my sluggish self.
7.00 a.m. Second cup of coffee, which I won’t finish, because I won’t have time…
6.50 a.m. Dress, as one-handedly as possible, coffee the only thing moving my limbs at this stage. I’ve started wearing my half-chaps, for warmth, and for less fuss when I get to the yard.
6.45 a.m. Finally make myself get up. Stumble to kettle, flip the switch, loo, back to the kitchen, ahhhhhhh coffee.
6.05 to 6.30 a.m. Hit the snooze.
6.00 a.m. My alarm goes off. Ohmigod, I think. It’s pitch black outside. It’s windy. Is it raining? Do I really want to do this? Do I really want to leave the warmest bed in the history of beds and go horseriding?!?!?
My usual Saturday lift to the yard was unavailable last week, so I did the bus-to-the-taxi thing.
Dublin taxi men are never at a loss for conversation, and when I get into the car in all my riding clobber, well, sit back and start talking horses.
I’d never had this dude before — I’m a fixture on the Dundrum taxi rank, and am routinely greeted with familiarity — and he asked me an excellent question, one I’ve recently been mulling over myself.
‘On a scale of one to ten, how good are you?’ he asked. ‘By that I mean,’ he went on, ‘Are you as good as you’re going to be?’ Read the rest of this entry »
More work on the bus. I spend a lot of time on buses. I wish I could spend more time on trains, nothing like a train for daydreaming out the window.
So, on the bus, and I took a quick scan of my posture, which was appalling: shoulders hunched and down, bowed over just enough to be noticeable to my good self, head sort of flopping.
I sat myself right up, like I was in the saddle, and kept it up for the rest of the journey.
On Saturday, Barbara, uh, pointed out my slump, and I immediately told her about how I was practicing on the bus. Well, her beaming smile was as good as a red ribbon, and she enthusiastically pointed out how this was an excellent thing to be doing.
She’s still not happy with the way my elbows are floating all over the place, so I’ve added that to my daily repertoire. When I remember to do it, that is…
