Apparently everyone assumed I was still medicated when I started blabbing on about Native American naming ceremonies that take place months after a child's birth and my request to simply phone it in after we'd had a chance to get to know her a bit. "You ain't leavin' 'til you got a name," one orderly added as she wheeled away my left-overs.While we rarely use the name now, the word Peanut still makes me smile—which is why I was so delighted to learn it was the name of the horse I’d be riding when I arrived to the Equest Stables yesterday for my first lesson. “A good sign!” I thought, until my instructor started in with the Do’s and Don’ts of managing the mighty beast. As we walked toward the corral, she handed me the straps and began: “The first thing you want to do is be sure to hold the reigns here, up tight to it’s mouth—so he won’t bite you.” Bite me?!? Not a good sign. From then on, I realized there was much more to this horse thing than I’d expected, as it’d never even occurred to me that I’d have to think about teeth. Immediately, my enthusiasm for the adventure started to wane as my instructor barreled ahead and I followed, doing my best to “stand tall” and “show the horse who’s in charge.”
After saddling up, my hands started to tremble and I knew the game was up. Peanut could tell I was faking. He blew out some steam and yanked his bit in a way that made me feel like he was either laughing at me or making fun of what I must have looked like, all hunched up and stiff. “Relaxxxxxx,” my instructor said as she jam-popped my heel against the stirrup, “you really shouldn’t be wearing gym shoes, it’s extremely dangerous.” I wasn’t sure if she was aware that this was a very mixed message, but I decided I shouldn’t aggravate the one person who stood between me and Peanut’s fury. After all, the horse had a sense of humor. So following a few too-quickly-described steering instructions, I did as I was told when directed to 'give a kick' and walk the horse in a square. This proved more difficult than one might imagine—my instructor kept shouting out things like, “Uh, the horse doesn’t speak English, Liz,” and “Okay, now, that’s not a square, Liz, you’re just going back and forth in a line.” For some strange reason I felt embarrassed, as if she thought I really didn’t know the shape of a square or like it was a math thing instead of what it was: my first and only best attempt to drive an enormous animal with great powers of intuition. My instructor seemed very annoyed so I just tried to tune into Peanut.
Finally, our half-hour up and back on the ground, I received the last of my instructions. “If I can teach you anything here today, just remember this: if ever the horse takes off running, whatever you do, sit up straight.” I drove home wondering if this same piece of advice might serve me well in other situations.
And while I may have left my lesson more afraid of horses than I was beforehand, I have to take at least one more lesson to fulfill my resolution: “Take horseback riding lessons” (plural). I’m glad for it. I don’t want to be afraid of horses my entire life. Besides, I think my instructor might have been part of the problem; perhaps a different third party might facilitate less frightening introductions.
