I RIDE

I ride. That seems like such a simple statement. However, as many women who ride know, it is really a complicated matter. It has to do with power and empowerment. Being able to do things you might have once considered out of reach or ability. I have considered this as I shovel manure, fill water buckets, wait for the vet/farrier/electrician, haul hay, change a tire change on the horse trailer, or cool out my gelding before cooking supper and doing a load of laundry.      The time, the money, and the effort it takes to ride call for dedication.      At least I call it dedication. My family calls it “the sickness.” It’s a sickness I’ve had since I was a small girl, bouncing my model horses and dreaming of the day I would ride a real horse. Most of the women I ride with understand the meaning of “the sickness.” It’s not a sport. It’s not a hobby. It’s what we do and, in some ways, it’s who we are as women and human beings.      I ride. I hook up my trailer and load my gelding. I haul to some trailhead somewhere, or arena, unload, saddle, warm up my horse, and I ride. I breathe in the air, watch the sunlight filter through the trees and savor the movement of my horse. My shoulders relax. A smile rides my sunscreen smeared face. I pull down my ball cap and let the real world fade into the tracks my horse leaves in the dust.      On the trail, time slows, flying insects buss loudly, looking like fairies. My mount flicks his ears and moves down the trail. I can smell his sweat, and it is perfume to my senses. Time slows. The rhythm of the walk and the movement of the leaves become my focus. My saddle creaks, and the leather rein in my hand softens with the warmth.      I ride. I consider the simple statement. I think of all I do because I ride. Climb steep hills and mountains, wade into freezing creeks, race friends through the woods and fields, all the while laughing and feeling my heart in my chest. Other days, just the act of mounting and dismounting can be a real accomplishment. Still, I ride. No matter how tired or how much my seat bones or any of the numerous horse-related injuries hurt. I ride. And I feel better for doing so.      When I ride, the beauty I’ve seen amazes me. The waterfalls, the leaves in autumn, the dew dripping from the trees after a summer shower. The crisp frost or fluffy snow of a wintry day. Everything adds to the empowerment and joy in my heart.      I think of the people, many are women, whom I’ve met. I consider how competent they all are. Not a weenie among the bunch. We haul 40-foot rigs, back into tight spaces without clipping a tree, set up camp, tend the horses, cook and keep safe. We understand and love our companion, the horse. We respect each other and those we encounter on the trail and in the pen. We know that if you are out there riding, you also shovel, fill, wait, and doctor. Your hands are a little rough, and you travel without makeup or hair gel. You do without to afford the “sickness.” And probably, when you were a small girl, you bounced a model horse while you dreamed of riding a real one.      Now, you ride.

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