Back on the Pony

Somebody requisition me a beat…

I used to watch a lot of Futurama. Between that and basically being raised by The Simpsons I developed a liking for a story that starts in one place and ends up in another. Even better if I can shoehorn in an obscure pop culture reference. If you’ve read a few of my posts over the years you may have picked up on that.

Everyone has had a tough time over the past couple of years. At the end of last year I recognised that I was in fairly dire need of mental health support, and I was having a heck of a time accessing it. Every clinic I was referred to had a recorded message stating that they were not taking new clients.

Proving that it’s not what you know, it’s who you know, a friend put me on to a new clinic that was opening up and I started seeing, via Zoom, a young provisional psychologist who proved to be the saviour of my bacon. And because I was operating outside of the Medicare system (read – paying full price) I didn’t have a limit to how many visits I could have. So far I have had 19. My 20th, with a bit of luck, will be my last.

By working at my own pace, we’ve dealt with heaps of things. And one thing I’d been stashing away, unable to work through, was the loss of my favourite pony Rusty, just over nine years ago.

I say ‘favourite pony’ and not ‘best pony’ because he was not the most talented or most athletic or best performed, but he was the one who was there for me when I needed him. We took care of each other. He was one of those weird animals who is more than just an animal, in different way to how our other animals are more than just an animal. We had a lot in common and we were a team. I still miss him. I still cry when I hear the song I wanted us to do a dressage freestyle to.

I gave up riding after Rusty. I sold my float, replaced my tow vehicle and sold most of my gear. But I couldn’t part with Rusty’s saddle and bridle. I sold cheaply or gave away the other ponies I had. I was broken. My whole life I had been a Horse Person, but I didn’t want to be that any more. I turned my back on my horsy community. I kept my old Thoroughbred, but that was all. I figured I would never ride again, which was probably just as well because my physical health is a bit iffy and I’ve been on anticoagulants for years and will be on them for life.

But every now and then I would dream about riding. I would dream about the horses and ponies I had when I was younger. Bessie and Pat and Whiskers and Bear the Standardbred. In these dreams my old friends were still in the paddock at my Mum’s place and I just had to go down there are get one and I could ride again. Sometimes I dreamed that I was on a new horse. But always I was safe, the horse was looking after me. It was never bucking or bolting or rearing.

I told my psychologist about all of this and she asked what was stopping me from riding. I told her it was fear. This is a conversation I have also had with with my friend who for 20 years has liked to supply me with ponies. My friend’s theory is that the fear that stops me from riding is not a fear of riding itself, but has been transferred from elsewhere in my life. And if I deal with those other things it will release me from my fear of riding.

And so I worked through a lot of that stuff. Imagine a montage of me doing things like walking on the treadmill, crying in my psychologist’s office, cuddling a pony in the paddock while staring thoughtfully into the distance, all to the tune of Eye Of The Tiger. As the music fades out I am booking a riding lesson via a web page and the last thing you see is me hitting ‘submit’.

When push comes to shove

You gotta do what you love

Even if it’s not a good idea…

My doctors pull faces when I mention riding horses. They did it when I was in my 20s and I am sure they would do it now, if I mentioned it to them. My favourite was when I told them about how my pacemaker misbehaved the first time I did a showjumping competition post-insertion. I punctuated that story with ‘but I still won the championship’. They would rather I didn’t, but they are not going to tell me not to. But I figure I still need to be careful. My worst stacks have been off breakers and very green horses, so I should probably avoid those.

You may have noticed the change in tone. You’re no longer wondering IF I am going to ride again, you want to know how the first ride went. Well, I had a lesson on a schoolmaster and it went fine. I felt safe and comfortable, at least mentally. I even trotted over poles. But I ran out of puff very quickly. At this stage I can pretty much maintain a rising trot for about as long as I can hold my breath, and I feel the same after about 90 seconds of either – light-headed and gasping. But driving home after I was excited. I thought, I can do this! I can ride again and I can build up my fitness and maybe one day even do a dressage test. The horse world is my oyster!

I woke up the next day feeling like I had been hit by a truck. The comedown was harsh. I wondered who the hell I thought I was, with my big ideas way better suited to a younger, healthier person. I decided to sit with those feelings for the day and see what came up. I remembered that I felt just as fatigued after the first few times I tried throwing on the pottery wheel, and thought about how far I had come with that. I thought about that time when I was going to the gym twice a week with a group of healthy people and I was pretty much able to keep up with them after a little while. I figured I just have to take things slowly and gradually see how much I am capable of.

So over the next little while I will gradually get to riding the 20yo New Forest Pony gelding I got on lease for my nieces to ride. Matt is having a riding lesson as well this month. We’re talking about getting a new car that can tow a float if we need it to. My two New Forest mares are off at stud, and I am very excited about the prospect of foals next year. I’ve been ogling small quiet TBs and big quiet Standardbreds on various Facebook pages, just getting an idea of what’s out there.

I have commissioned a needle-felted replica of Rusty from an artist in the UK. It will include hair from his mane that I have held onto all this time.

If you are keen to understand the obscure pop culture references in this post, check out this scene from the Futurama episode called ‘Hermes Requisitions His Groove Back’. It only goes for a minute and a half.