It's like riding a bicycle

It's all about balance...

A little tale about doing things even when you’re scared out of your wits, and that you’re never too old. You might be better than you think - and better even than when you were younger! And to finish, a little lesson learned the hard way, about letting go and finding balance.

It’s just like riding a bicycle…

Apparently you never forget. Easy peasy. Then again, not many bicycles have four legs, a mind of their own and weigh half a ton.

For reasons (accompanying someone else) I had a half-hour riding lesson this week. Thirty years ago, this was something I did on a weekly basis and I was terrified then, too.

So why do it?!?

It wasn’t quite ‘love me, learn to ride a horse’ with himself - but almost. My very first Christmas stay over at the soon-to-be-in-laws found me clad in soon-to-be-mother-in-law’s jodhpurs and astride a Very Large Horse called Edward. I wasn’t alone: fortunately Edward was attached to one end of a lunge rope while someone else held the other end and stood in the middle of the riding school. Unfortunately, they also held a long whippy whip, which they occasionally flicked at Edward’s hind quarters to get him to lumber along in a circle, while I tried to stay upright and on board. And when you’re someone with very poor proprioception and the muscular tone of a soft set jelly, that’s quite hard.

Hello Ben

Skip forward a few months, and I’m having my first lessons on a little pony called Ben, and then another very round pony called Fudge who like to bite your bum when you were doing things with girths and stirrups.

one of my first lessons

I also discover that my heels do funny things when I rise to the trot. Who knew? I didn’t, and being told “I’ve never seen anyone do that before” didn’t exactly help. In due course, I’m introduced to things like trotting poles, regularly get my stirrups taken away, and discover a love/hate thing with canter. It’s sort of more comfortable than trot, but also seems a lot faster and requires a bit more nerve. Not a strong point.

getting the hang of things; that’s actually a pretty decent trot

The weekends of our early days living together soon fell into a natural rhythm, divided into ‘before riding lesson’ when I felt slightly squiffy until it was all over, then ‘after riding lesson’ when everything was alright for a short time, before the horrors of the week ahead and PGCE teaching practice dawned.

Now with bears!

So why not take something that’s already scary, and add some bears! Yep, for our honeymoon, we went to a ranch in the middle of nowhere in Canada, leaving our wedding reception appropriately attired in big hats, boots and bandanas.

Canada, I loved 🍁 and western riding is like sitting curled up in a comfy armchair, compared to riding at home. But I spent the whole time a bit worried (luckily needlessly) about bears…

we even went back to Canada four years later and did it all over again, although I was still worried about those bears and could never remember which ones you stand up to and frighten away and which ones you should play dead to and whether I’d be able to tell which one it was and what I should do and it would end up being a moot point by the time I’d decided anyway

Looking back, I’m horrified at the level of stress and anxiety I somehow accepted as normal, and amazed at the resilience of my nervous system. I’ve come a long way, and it’s very easy to forget that.

Fun times and funny times

Not fun: learning the hard way what to do if a horse runs away with you. The hack leader just stood there and watched (nice) and it was himself who somehow managed to communicate to me that I had to turn in an ever-decreasing circle to slow things down. Good to know. Also, let’s not ever go hacking again.

Fun: learning to jump. This would fall into the ‘mostly terrifying’ category, were it not for the occasion when Ruth, the instructor, decided to set up a little ‘gymnastic jumping’ exercise. I mean, come on - the words ‘gymnastic’ and ‘Isobel’ definitely do not belong anywhere near each other, so it was doomed from the start.

General idea was to trot around the school, turn in and head towards a set of three miniature jumps spaced only a stride apart. Bounce bounce bounce, then carry on trotting around the school. Ha! I managed the first bounce, stayed on to take off for the second, then slid graciously over the front end and landed on the third. Finding myself now sitting (painfully) astride a narrow and very hard wooden pole, with pony stood implacably next to me, I looked around to see my husband and Ruth doubled up, convulsed with laughter.

“I bet you can’t do that again” Ruth managed to wheeze. Hold my beer.

Galloping

They say you have to fall off seven times to be a good rider, and I think I racked them up, usually by slowly slipping sideways or landing in the sawdust on my backside. But the thing I remained most terrified of, ever, was being run away with.

Before this week, the very last time I rode a horse was New Year’s day 1998. Himself and I were living in Yorkshire, and he helped out at the local stables, exercising the horses. Talk about mis-match: that day he was riding a horse as tall as a house, and I was on a short spotty grey pony called Blizzard. She had attitude. And I had cold toes.

For an hour as we looped around the edge of North York Moors, Blizzard and I were caught in a battle of wills: she wanted to show that size didn’t matter and she could run as fast as the big boys, while I didn’t really want to do that. It was exhausting. Before returning to the stables, we had to ford a deep stream. Himself paddled across, then looked back to check me and little Blizzard, as the water almost reached the soles of my boots. Seeing me safe on dry land, he said, “fancy trying a gallop?” and I thought - yeah, why not? This little pony, now with a cold wet tummy, has been itching to do that all morning. Let’s do it.

Blizzard didn’t even need to be asked, and before I could change my mind, we were barrelling flat out across the field, as fast as her little legs could go. Not only did I manage to stay on, it was incredible and exhilarating and I wanted to do it all over again. Except, Blizzard - having got that out of her system - just wanted to go home. So we did. And that was that, until this week. I don’t even own any jodhpurs now, the only suitable boots I possess have a fleece lining (and aren’t riding boots) and I had to borrow a helmet and wear my kettlebell gloves.

I wouldn’t have had cold toes if I’d had these boots 27 years ago in Yorkshire

Dusting the cobwebs off an expensive hobby

I agreed to go along this week, mostly for moral support, but also out of intrigue. After over 27 years, I wanted to see if I could still do it. So on a hot July day, off we went to the stables, me in my fleecy winter boots.

I was relieved to learn I’d be riding Trixie, a sweet chestnut pony with friendly eyes and ears, so that was the first mental hurdle out of the way. The next challenge was getting on - I couldn’t even remember which way to turn the stirrup to get my foot in, let alone adjust the length. Which reminds me of another very funny story. My father-in-law, not a natural when it comes to riding, gamely took a few lessons. Ever prone to taking things literally, when asked to use his ‘lower leg’ to gently persuade his steed onwards, replied:

“Which is my lower leg? They’re both the same length”.

Anyhoo, it turns out that in the intervening years, I’ve developed a much better sense of balance. It must be the yoga, that’s all I can think. There were even moments…albeit brief moments…when it felt like I knew what I was doing. And after I got used to being high up again, it felt OK. It felt different. What I really didn’t want, was to be a big old sack of potatoes lumping along or flapping my legs while the horse stood there, bored and immobile. And I wasn’t, and Trixie wasn’t. It was a bit of a revelation. The only disappointment was not being able to persuade her into a canter, just a very good extended trot, lol. So now of course I want to go again, and get it right. Dangerous - and incredibly expensive - games.

Ironically, himself now rides bicycles not horses (also an expensive hobby) but after previously falling off my bicycle too, onto hard tarmac in the face of oncoming cars, I’m more inclined to give the equine version another go.

they have such soft noses, too

Why am I telling you this?

Good question. It was the thing about balance that got me thinking. After all these years, I finally twigged that it’s not ‘sitting on a horse’ but more balancing on a horse. If you sit on your backside in the saddle, your feet stick out in front of you, making it all very hard work and exceedingly uncomfortable. Whereas, if you balance lightly on top of the saddle, put more weight into your feet than your bum and hold the reins lightly instead of hanging on for dear life, not only is it easier to make forward progress, it’s also a lot more comfortable and enjoyable. It’s far easier to stay balanced and go along with the movement of the horse underneath you - and it’s a lot easier for them, too.

And such is life, and the lesson I’m taking from this. I only need to glance around at the sea of mess that surrounds me in my studio, and reflect on just how tired I am, to know I have a bit of a problem with holding on too tightly to stuff, and that I need a heck of a lot more balance in my life. I’m actually feeling a bit like one of those hoarders you see on telly, where they’ve carved a path through the towering piles of newspapers to be able to conduct their daily business, and sleep in a chair because they can’t find the bed.

There’s also been more than a couple of exhibiting opportunities I’ve had to let go recently, because I just haven’t had the capacity to go along with opportunities as they arise. I’ve been flapping my legs and using all my energy and efforts to complete my commitments (tick, done, all good), but going nowhere with my own creative practice.

So that’s going to be my project for the autumn: letting go, finding balance, staying flexible, and hopefully…making forward progress. And if I have to do a few scary things along the way, so be it! It might even be better than I think.

What have you done that scared you, but you did it anyway?

And would you ever give it another go?!

Until next time,

PS Still scared about bears.