Today I was thinking about the risks we take when riding; More specifically the big falls – the ones that leave us with scars for life or give us really good stories to tell people later. Early March is the anniversary of one of the most serious falls I’ve probably ever had, it’s been 2 years and still sometimes feels like it happened yesterday.
I grew up riding at a very busy Huntseat barn that specialized in children & lessons. There were heaps of ponies always coming in to be turned into lesson ponies or to be trained and sold, along with a small amount of thoroughbreds/warmbloods for the older teens. Needless to say with the number of new/green horses coming in and out there were many mishaps, spills, runaways etc. and we kids grew used to being prepared for the unexpected. I still remember my first big fall – it was on a sweet old school master. She was trotting around the ring and tripped on a stone, going down to her knees. I was thrown over her shoulder and landed on packed red clay dirt. I remember seeing sky and a really sharp pain and then not being able to breathe and crying a lot because I couldn’t breathe. Of course after a few minutes I was forced to get back on and continue my lesson.
I’ve always had a slightly nervous personality, so I take to the fence on whether I think one should be forced back onto a horse after a fall. I think that really depends on the fall, the horses’ mental state and the humans’ mental state. I can say many times being forced back onto the horse I learned to swallow fear and just do what I was told. Other times I did was I was told but was terrified. And a small handful of times I didn’t get back on. Now that I’m older though, I see no benefit in pushing myself into that fear if the situation does not call for me to continue that day (IE schooling in a ring versus out on a trail, far from home).
There are those falls that make the best stories possible… we love to shoot the breeze and talk about them. Sometimes they shock and often amuse others, especially those of us that have shared in similar experiences, and they provide a booster to us mentally: we overcame something. We survived and kept going even when it was really scary. I remember a pen-pal group I belonged to as a child where we talked about riding. A poll came up about how many times we’d fallen off a horse and you could tell the girls were trying to be ‘the best’ by competing for the least number of falls. One girl actually said ‘0’.
My answer? “Too many to count.”
My pride wanted to be the best but I had to be honest, and my philosophy now is: if you haven’t tasted dirt numerous times from a horses back… you need to. Only when one falls can they learn how NOT to fall. When you’re a flexible child is often the best time to learn this. I have stories of actually flying through the air, horizontal to the ground and hitting a jump standard on my way down… stories of clinging to a horses neck like a monkey and bailing when a tree would have surely smashed my face, the list goes on.
Then you have the events people are less likely to offer upfront: the ones they quietly keep or they mention with lowered serious tones. Falls that changed their view of horses, themselves or their physical capabilities. Something that humbled them even.
I guess until 2 years ago I’d never really had a fall that humbled me, per se.
Diego had been our horse for 13 years and in that time I’d never fallen off of him - except 2 very embarrassing situations where I dismounted and failed to land on my feet. ;)
We were having a Pony Club clinic at our barn and I had worked that morning as a safety inspector for the kids. (ironic no?) During the afternoon our duties were over and I figured I would get Diego out and ride on the front lawn (we had a temporary dressage ring set up). Excitement was everywhere with ponies and children trapsing through the barn aisles, the weather was warm and it was windy... and the horses were spooky and excite-able. I should have noted that but I was caught up in the atmosphere as well, and admittedly a small part of me wanted to show off. I never rode much infront of an audience, which usually meant people were clamoring to watch if I was actually riding in plain sight on the lawn.
Now I had begun experimenting with the idea of Piaffe at the time (for those of you who don’t know what that is: it’s a Dressage move where the horse appears to almost trot in place). Now, realize how incredibly faulty my understanding was at the time: I was figuring that naturally I could use the reins to slow Diego’s tempo to a jog and push him into more “bounce” and impulsion through leg and the whip. I don’t know why I thought this would work, I honestly did not think it through or consider how to teach the lowering & tilting of the pelvis, etc. and all this had produced to date, was a flat, tense jog. That day though the temptation to capture Diego’s jigging and prancing was just too great... so I started: hold in the bridle / drive with the legs. Upon the bridle becoming rigid a common thing happened - D shut down and his jig disappeared. Annoyed, I gave a quick tap with the whip... no response and no upward transition... nothing. Even more annoyed that we’d “lost it” I gave a sharper ‘sting’ with the whip. Apparently that was all he needed that day to truly tell me how he felt: he bucked, exploding underneath me.
I was thrown up in the air and let me tell you - I have had the experience of seeing a horse from 12-18” up in the air before and that limbo is not a fun place. I landed haphazardly on the saddle pommel, and then slipped to his neck. He was moving around rather violently though, normally by this time he would have been still but he wasn’t havin’ any of it this time... in my desperate attempt to stay on I remember a tangle of reins as I fell over his inside shoulder, hurdling towards the ground. I don’t remember hitting the ground actually. I remember the feeling after ground-impact - an ache all over, and regaining consciousness: seeing the brim of my helmet stuck into the dirt and smelling the grass in my face... feeling the burning scrapes on my right arm from skidding across the ground. I felt slightly dizzy as I looked up and gingerly pushed myself up. Diego was 3 strides ahead of me in the arena, reins dangling, looking wild eyed. We eyed eachother for a second, then he tucked his rear and bolted towards the barn with an “OH this is not good!” look on his face.
About that time I heard shouting and saw my friend running full-tilt across the lawn toward me, followed by some people I didn’t know. She was next to me in an instant asking if I was ok, could think clearly, if I felt any sharp pains anywhere, lifting up my clothes and checking me all over (she’s a mom), and then a man I didn’t know kneeling next to me saying he was the father of one of the children and a surgeon. I felt sore by then, feeling was starting to come back and some things hurt a good bit... my rear, my back, my skinned arm...and my hand. I looked down at it and gasped: my left hand between the thumb and forefingers was puffed out atleast 1.5” past normality in a sickening lump. I moved it... it hurt, and was incredibly tight. The surgeon took to examining it while my friend slowly helped me up.
I won’t go into the rest of the day’s story but I will say nothing was broken... miraculously. Everyone though I should be in alot worse shape: apparently what had happened was I had fallen UNDER Diego, his hooves had bruised me all over. My arm was skinned from sliding, but my ribs, back, tailbone and the back of my legs were all bruised from getting tangled with his hooves! The hand is still a mystery - no one saw exactly what happened to it and we all say surely it would have broken if he’d stepped on it.
It took weeks before I could even use my hand in a normal way again and it took probably 2 weeks for my arm to heal and my body to be normal again. And after that it took a year, for my hand to be able to function normally without pangs in the area between the thumb and forefinger.
In the meantime, Diego had a good few weeks off. This was not one of those situations where I got back on, and later when I did, riding had changed drastically for me.
There’s something about that very real knowledge that you CAN in fact come off of YOUR horse that for some reason, shook me to the core this time. If you’ve ever had a traumatic moment you are probably familiar with the flashbacks... the muffled sound, the sights, the smells of that particular moment. Ever since that fall the vision replays itself when I find myself scared of a situation on Diego’s back. Every.single.time. While in one case it helped (he ran away bucking, at a dead gallop in a pasture and I decided I was not coming off again), but in most it just plain paralyzes me. I’m slowly finding nowdays that there’s no need to push anymore... and no need to do anything past what we’re both comfortable with. (and no need to smack him with the whip anymore) With more honesty (about fear) and trust built between us, I’m slowly able to branch out again... it’s made all the more meaningful by how far we’ve come. And it put a pin directly in my pride-balloon - deflating the arrogant idea that Diego was too old and weak to ever be able to throw me from a walk. O_O Never underestimate horse-power!
A few points worth mentioning:
*Sometimes horses are quite justified in their “misbehavior”, it’s too easy to be cocky sometimes.
*Helmets save your brain - I’ve said this over and over and it still proves true. There is still a mark from Diego’s hoof on my helmet from that day.
*Broken trust CAN be rebuilt, just don’t rush it.
*When you find your confidence shattered: take matters into your own hands instead of listening to the textbook methods - sometime the most simple exercises help heal. Just sit on your horse for the sake of sitting & spending time together.
*Admitting you’re going to fall off atleast once (and try to not get hurt) ends up putting you at ease more than being fixated on NOT falling off at all.
*It never hurts to practice emergency dismounts. I have done several since The Fall and done it safely. It helps give confidence and reminds you of your physical limits and capabilities. Despite what some people say: I don’t believe there is any shame in bailing.
