View from the back barn. Not too shabby!

I can’t remember if I mentioned that I broke down and bought my very own saddle for horseback riding.  My teachers had been telling me it needed to happen, and I just didn’t really think I was a good enough rider to warrant the expense.  Luckily, I found one that fits my monster-femurs at a local consignment store for about 1/3 of the price I thought I’d have to pay.  Yay!

The saddle has been quite a process.  Once I got the saddle, I had to decide on stirrups.  Did you know there was a whole variety of stirrups?  Me neither.  The school saddles have these cheap versions, and that is all I’ve ever used before:

I also tried out these fancy ones:

I didn’t like these, even though they are quite fancy.  That tube-ey looking part bends and my feet were continually slipping out.

Finally, I tried these guys:

The good news is that I love them.  They are also bendy, but have metal “cheese graters” where your foot goes, so your foot stays where it needs to be.  I am particularly fidgety with my right foot, so it is nice that I can squirrel my toes around but not have my boot slip out of the stirrup.

The bad news is that those things are insanely expensive.  Like nearly $200.  (For comparison, the “regular” stirrups are about $30.)

After ordering them, I had a mild panic attack and considered sending them back.  But Thursday was the first day that I rode in my new saddle PLUS the fancy new stirrups, and holy crap, it really makes a difference.

My other saddle project was “oiling” my saddle.  The flaps of my saddle were basically totally flat and hard, and so I went out on Saturday to hang out with the middle school girls and learn to take care of my saddle along with them. I also got to hear stories about their drama teacher (“Her hair looks like a fried egg.”), and other relevant middle school topics.  Saddle cleaning takes a LONG time!

I didn’t take any before or after pictures, because I didn’t think of it, but after about two hours of rubbing leather conditioner into the saddle and bending it all over the place, there was a huge difference.  Today will be the first day I ride in my newly-conditioned saddle, and I’m curious to see if I notice a difference!

Superbowl Sunday, Westerman and I went skiing/snowboarding.

It was Westerman’s genius idea to go snowboarding on Superbowl Sunday, because look around me in that photo.  Do you see ANYONE else?  There were a few other people there, but not enough for us to EVER have to wait in a line of any kind.  It was glorious.  Plus, the weather was beautiful: sunny, no wind.  The snow was not great, since it hasn’t really rained this winter, but it wasn’t terrible.

I’m not a great snowboarder to begin with (this is the understatement of the year), and I didn’t go at all last year, so I am more than a little bit out of practice.  We started out on the green runs, with Westerman counting the number of times I fell (a number too high to report), and shortly before lunch, he talked me into trying a couple of blue runs.

On the blue runs, I become paralyzed with an irrational fear of turning.

If you don’t know the first thing about snowboarding, this is how it works:

Your feet are strapped on to the snowboard perpendicularly, as you can more or less see in the photo above.  If you were going directly down the hill, you would be facing sideways with the snowboard pointed straight down the mountain.  I ride with my right foot forward.  To turn in snowboarding, you either lean on your toes or your heels.  For me, leaning onto my heels turns me to the right, so that my back is to the mountain.  Leaning on my toes turns me left, so that I am facing the mountain.  A proficient snowboarder does heel-toe-heel-toe S-turns down the mountain.  Does that make sense?  Never mind.  None of it matters.

Anywho, I am quite comfortable turning onto my heel-side, and turning from my heel side onto my toe side, but turning from my toes to my heels gives me fits of insane terror.

In a good moment, when things aren’t too steep and I have a run that is plenty wide, I can self talk my way through it: “Okay.  Shift weight onto right heel.  Pick up right toe.  Slowly pick up left toe.”  And when I follow those steps, it works 100% of the time.  But the scary part about this turn is that for just a split second, you have to shift your weight forward, and aim directly down the hill.  This is where the freak out happens for me.  In that split second, I think “What if I don’t turn?? What if I pick up speed and fly down the hill?” And in that split second, I usually throw my weight backwards, causing my snowboard to catch an edge, inevitably causing me to fall right on my ass.

It was in one of those moments that I had a sudden flash of my riding teacher, and a very similar situation in my riding lessons.  “That poor woman.”  I thought.  “But at least she doesn’t have to teach me to snowboard.”

In riding, I have a similar moment of terror with the canter.  To get the horse going, there is a split second where he kind of picks his head up and then starts moving forward.  Usually around the picking-up-time, I feel like he isn’t going to canter, and instead he is going to run away, so I back off, and then he stops.  My teacher tells me again and again that I just need to get through that.  I need to keep my heel where it is supposed to be just for one second longer, and then he will go.  If I can sit through just ONE SECOND, literally, one second, of uncertainty, it will end up with the appropriate result.

Just exactly like the toe-to-heel turn.

So why can’t I do it?  Physically, I am able to.  Logically, I totally understand what I need to do.  But, lordy-lordy, do I freak out in those moments, leaving me to scooch-scooch-scooch down the blue runs on my heel side.

It is endlessly fascinating, learning physical-sporty things as an adult.  There is a cycle that involves first not being able to physically do anything, then learning what your body should be doing, then finally physically being able to do that, then having a mental meltdown about actually doing it.  At least, that is how it is for me.

On the last run before lunch, I both set my quads on fire from my sad attempt to scooch down the mountain, and also landed hard enough on my wrist to decide that I was officially done with blue for the day.  After lunch, Westerman humored me with a few more green runs before heading off to conquer the back of the mountain, leaving me with an overly chatty lift operator on the baby-hill.

Trip # 1:  “Looks like you got ditched, huh?”

Trip #2: “Did he head to the backside of the mountain?”

Trip #3: “Yeah, boyfriends and husbands always do that.” (At this point, I started with the: “He’s not my…” and then shut myself right up.  As I was on the learnin’ slope, It took me fewer than five minutes to get down the hill, and since there was no one there, the lift dude had a comment for me every time.

Trip #6: “You been on any other runs today?”

Trip #7: “How long you been riding?”

It was somewhere around that time that I decided to quit while I was ahead and have myself a beer and some people watching.

In other news, my utter lack of bloggery can be blamed on pure insanity at work.  Crazy-times will continue at least through March, but likely through May.  I did do a bit of gardening on Saturday before snowboarding, and I have photos to report, so hopefully I can muster the will do get that up before the weekend!

Rusty and Gus are slowly making progress.  When Rusty first appeared on the scene, Gus-the-kitty was Freaked.  Out.  He stayed barricaded in the back room, and even if I locked up the dog in his crate in a separate, closed room, Gus would totally lose his mind if removed from his hiding place.  You can’t hold Gus down, though, and the two of them are working it out.

In other news, I had yet another horse incident on Monday.  It is starting to be just a little bit lighter for a little bit longer in the evenings, and since the weather was nice, I started my riding lesson in the outdoor arena instead of the lighted indoor arena.  The dusky time of night, however, is a bit tricky for the horses.  Things are extra shadowy, so there is more room for freak outs.  I had just started to get  into a good canter, when all of a sudden, the horse just took off running.

But I didn’t fall off! (for once)

The difference this time involved a few things.

* One, the horse didn’t have a sudden start.  We were already moving quickly, so he just increased his pace until he was bolting.

* Two, he was going in a straight line, more or less.  There were no twisty turns to make me lose my balance.

*Three: I broke down and bought a saddle that fits me (I found one used for WAY less than I thought I was going to have to spend), and I think the proper saddle fit helped me keep my balance when the horse was going nuts.

*Four: I didn’t freak out.  I mean, clearly I sort of froke out, but I was somehow able to keep my head about me.  Because he took off somewhat gradually, I didn’t get as startled as I did last time the horse bolted (different horse, btw).  Time slowed way down in my head, and as my teacher yelled things to me like: “KEEP YOUR HANDS DOWN!” and “BEND YOUR ELBOWS!” I was literally thinking to myself: “I am just going to keep my legs long and my heels down and keep my butt in the saddle,” as I tried to follow her instructions.

Eventually, the horse came to his senses a little bit, and I was able to slow him to a stop.

I was definitely shaken up (and, you know, literally shaking), but I was thinking about it on my drive to work yesterday, and I think it actually made me a bit more confident overall.  Since I was able to keep my balance and (eventually) bring the situation back under control, I fell like if it happens again, I’ll feel like I know a little bit better how to handle it.

Although hopefully, I won’t have to test that theory out any time soon.

I don't have any photos from my new barn, so here is old horse at old barn, just for some kind of related photo.

At today’s riding lesson, the teacher brought up, for the second time, the fact I was outgrowing the school horses and the school saddles.That was good news, because it means I’m becoming a pretty solid rider.  I can also tell that I’m getting better in strange ways… the other day, I was riding, and suddenly realized that I just felt sturdier in my knees.  I know that doesn’t make any sense, but it was a really clear feeling at the time. Getting better also has an element of bad news, though, becuase the next steps involve getting my own saddle and leasing a horse.  Saddles and horse-leases themselves aren’t bad news, just the horrifying number of dollars that go along with them…..

In my current state, I ride whichever school horse is available on whichever saddle is available. I’m somewhat limited horse-wise, because many of the school horses are smaller ponies, perfect for all of the kids.  But since I’m basically a giant, I need to ride a bigger horse, and there are only a couple of big school horses at my barn.

Any rider worth her salt has her own saddle, and so the school saddles are just whatever is kicking around- they don’t necessarily fit me.  Not only am I tall, all of my height comes from my crazy-long femurs, which means your average saddle won’t fit me correctly.

Now, until lately, this hasn’t really been an issue, because I haven’t been good enough for it to make a difference.  But I’m slowly getting better.  (Please ignore the fact that I fell off of a horse that was at a dead stop a week ago).  Getting better is awesome, but it means the poorly fitting saddle is now becoming an issue.  The other problem (besides dollars) is that my freakishly long femurs might make it hard for me to find a saddle that works.

One of the teachers thinks there is a certain brand of saddle that might work, and has offered to pick one up for me at a special shop in Southern CA next week.  It would be a large outpouring of dollars, so I’m still on the fence.

Sigh.  You know, if I could summarize January of 2012, so far it would be: “Outpouring of dollars.” I’m kind of hoping that once I get through this month, the dollars will start staying in my bank account where they belong.

Oh, hello there.

Before you get too excited about the title, I’m fine.  But the following is my first story of ridiculosity for the new year.  Yay, 2012!  Also, the photo above is an old photo at a different barn with a different horse, but that’s what I’ve got, friends, that’s what I’ve got.

Oh, also you should know that I’m writing this Monday night and setting it to publish Tuesday morning, so Tuesday I’ll give you an update.

SO.  Here is the story.

I had a riding lesson tonight.  And it was great.  I was riding a horse I’ve ridden a couple of times before, and she is a super sturdy, reliable-type horse.  As in, she does NOT like to move forward.  So much so that I use spurs while riding her.  And last time I rode her, I couldn’t even make her trot by the end of the lesson, I was so exhausted.

According to my teacher, though, there was just something in the air tonight, as all the horses were acting nutso.

When my lesson started, things were going great.  I felt sturdy, and everything was working, and all was good.  And then it was time to practice jumping.

I haven’t jumped since last time I fell off, so I was just going over poles that were flat on the ground.  Really take a moment to imagine this, as it will make the next part of the story even more laughable. FLAT ON THE GROUND.  In fact, let me give you a visual:

That is totally not me, just a random photo of a kid going over trot poles to illustrate how not a big deal this should have been.

So, the horse, Argyle, and I are headed for the poles at a nice leisurely trot, when she decides: “Oh, eff you.  I’m not walking over that,” and stops.  That is poor, poor horse behavior, so my teacher insists that I make her go over the poles, one way or another.  The horse is not allowed to win this one.  But Argyle resists, and resists, turning her head, and trying to move backwards (because seriously, we are stopped about six inches from the pole, and there is just nowhere else to go).  Finally, my teacher comes over, and smacks the horse on the butt.  Now the horse realizes she’s busted.  The teacher got involved, after all.  And the next time I give her a little kick to move forward over the poles, girlfriend basically says: “Oh, you want me to go over the poles?  I’LL GO OVER THE DANGED POLES!”

And she straight up JUMPED from a standing position.

I was not expecting this and went toppling to the side.  You know, off the horse.

On my way to the ground, I manged to whack my knee into the side of my chin.

Let me repeat that for you, because I don’t think you quite imagined it like you should have.  I mean, I was there, I did it, and I still can’t really picture what happened.

I whacked my own knee into the side of my own chin.

And then I landed on my butt and the horse ran off.

Now, mind you, I did this move in front of my teacher and about six fifteen year old girls who happen to be my classmates.  I didn’t get hurt in the fall, but my chin did hurt, and I did exclaim several times: “I kicked myself in the face!  How did I do that?”  And then I went charging after the horse, occasionally yelling; “YOU PUNK!” Then I got back on and continued my lesson.

My teacher checked that I still had all of my teeth, and around that time I realized that my jaw was just a little bit busted.  Busted as in my teeth didn’t quite close. It didn’t hurt, though, so I figured it would just pop back into place.

I finished my lesson, put the horse away, and came home, and my jaw still wouldn’t shut.  I did some brief googling to figure out what to do, and that was not helpful, so I called the advice nurse at Kaiser, thinking they’d tell me something like: warm compress, Tylenol, jaw stretches.

Instead, after trying to explain what happened, one nurse referred me to the next nurse who brought the doctor on the phone.

“It sounds like you have broken your jaw,” he says.  “You need someone to drive you to the emergency room immediately.”

Now, clearly, my jaw is not broken.  One, I’m not in any pain.  Two, Doctor-Man, I’m talking to you on the phone in a calm and normal voice, OBVIOUSLY my jaw is not broken.

“Well,” he says.  “This is a serious head trauma and you need to go to the emergency room.  Immediately.  And don’t drive yourself.”

I couldn’t make him understand that the only trauma my head had was from my own knee.

But he had me all shook up, so I called my mom, thinking she’d say: “They’re idiots.  Warm compresses and tea and go to bed and your jaw will be fine in the morning.”  Which did not happen, she also said to go to the ER.

So I was angry.  I just knew that now I’d be getting unnecessary CAT scans and spending seven hours in the ER.  But everyone said I had to go, so I called my friend Angelina to tell her what was happening, and ask her to be on-call for dog care, packed two books and a scarf, and drove myself to the ER.

“Head trauma” is a real key word in the ER, and so even though I had only kneed myself in the face (I know, I know), because it was combined with a fall from a horse, I got some speedy treatment.  So speedy that I wondered if the nurse thought that the HORSE had kicked me in the face (which really, would be so much more believable, but isn’t what happened at all.)

I walked in, checked in with the triage nurse, and then went directly to X-Ray.  Do not pass Go, etc.  This was a much quicker turn around than the time I had to take myself to the ER for a busted appendix.  Anywho, they took about ten X-Rays of my head, and then brought me back to the doctor.

He checked out my jaw in a variety of ways, and agreed that it was messed up.  “How, again, did you do this?” he asked.

Fortunately or unfortunately, while my jaw is busted, it isn’t busted enough to do anything with it.  He thinks it is just seized up and will eventually relax and go back into place.  In the meantime, he offered me a prescription for Vicodin, which I am not planning to use, as I don’t have pain.  I am currently treating myself with a beer, macaroni and cheese, and a chocolate bar, and hoping that tonight while I sleep my jaw will magically shift back into place.

Wish me luck!

While this photo is totally unrelated, I would just like to point out that Gus enjoys watching “The Biggest Loser.”  Anna Kournikova is clearly his favorite. 

It is really interesting to learn to do a physical thing as an adult.  There is kind of a cycle that starts with mentally understanding it, but not being physically able to do it, and then being physically able to do it, but mentally afraid of actually doing it, and then finally, successfully doing it (yay!), and then the teacher tells you to do something new, and the cycle begins again.  (The same cycle exists for me in yoga.  Don’t even get me started on the victory of the handstand.  Or wheel.  Or crow.)

I also find it interesting that my teacher doesn’t correct me until she thinks I am actually capable of making the correction.  Not when I’m doing things totally wrong, that she corrects right away, but more of a fine tuning type of correction.  For fine tuning, she doesn’t mention anything until she thinks I’m ready.

So today, she had me adjust how I post the trot. (Posting is where you stand-sit, stand-sit, stand-sit.) She told me I needed to move my kneecaps back less.  I know, right?  I had no idea either.  She demonstrated, gave me a few examples, and I really tried to take it all in.  Usually she’ll describe what she means in about five different ways, and one of those ways will stick.  I felt like I could best visualize the description of where my thigh was supposed to hit the saddle in this better way to post, so I went with that.  I told her that I would have my brain tell my legs to do it as much as I could, but I wasn’t sure if she’d actually see a difference.

But I did it!  Sort of.  When I adjust something in riding, I tend to overcompensate in something else, usually by hunching over and crunching myself up, or making crazy, squinchy faces.  While logically I know that neither of these help, it sure does feel like I’m doing something in the meantime.

Anywho, I made a slight change to how I move my legs when I post the trot.

And when I got off the horse, I could already feel the soreness beginning. My quads in particular started to cry.

That is never a good sign.

Some brand-new muscles apparently kicked into gear today, and my legs are very, very unhappy with me right now.

You know, another interesting thing about riding is that while I know that I am gradually improving on little things each time, there is also an element of sudden improvement, like: can’t-do-it-can’t-do-it-can’t-do-it-can’t-do-it-can’t-do-it-can’t-do-it-can’t-do-it-can’t-do-it-HOLY-CRAP-I’M-DOING-IT!!

That’s how the sitting trot was for me.  My poor teacher.  She tried and tried and tried to tell me: “Okay, adjust this.  Try that.  Imagine this.  What if you do this. Make your ankles do this.  Your knees do that,” and still, nothing. I was getting totally beat up and flying around and doing the opposite of sitting the trot.  (Sidenote:  sitting the trot is where you just keep your butt in the saddle no matter what.  When you can’t do it, it is NOT FUN and you just get repeatedly slapped in the business by the saddle.)  For MONTHS we would practice the sitting trot, and it remained terrible and painful for me and annoying for the horse.

Finally, one day out of the blue, I just friggin’ DID IT!  And not just for three seconds, but for, like, the whole way around the arena!  And then some!  I was shocked!  And as soon as I did it, my brain and body together realized: “Ohhh, like this!”

And also, secretly, my brain said: “I’m a cowboy!” Because to me, sitting the trot feels like what it looks to watch cowboys.  Does that make sense?  No?  Nevermind.  It has been a bit of a long week.  I’ll blame that.