Being overweight makes me a touch unstable. OK I’m fat. I’m doing something about it, and not I might add in a half-hearted way. In fact, I’m doing well, however the horse I ride isn’t convinced. I love our Moss, she’s a Screwbald Mare and made of pretty stubborn sturdy stuff. However, she does tend to take the mickey out of me. She doesn’t listen and half the time does her own thing. Deb, the very patience instructor has got to the stage whereby she gives up after about ten minutes of trying to get both Moss and myself to do anything exciting. That was until yesterday. Yesterday was different, yesterday was the day that I joined the ranks of amateur circus riders. Very amateur I might add. The intention was to get me to stand up whilst Moss did something, not sure what, we never mnaged to get anywhere.
I can trot and canter a horse. When the bloody things start galloping I panic, so we have none of that. If I can get a good canter out of horse and feel safe, I just get on with it, I’ve never thought about it.
“You’re going to stop and stand.” Deb shouted from the stall she sat on in the corner of the arena. Quite honestly, I don’t blame her, Moss or I can go off at a tangent without warning.
I’m there in my short boots, didn’t expect to be doing much, normal jeans and Rugby sweatshirt and a quilted gilet to keep the wind out, and Deb says stand up in the stirrups. Ok no biggy I stand when I canter, sort of.
I stood up, waiting for the shout of, “and walk”, which didn’t come. I shouldn’t have done it, I know I shouldn’t, but I did. I turned to see what Deb was up to. I turned, Moss turned, we stumbled and I squealed. Deb laughed.
“What was that?”
“I…” by this time I’m walking a very confused aptly named Scewbald down the straight towards her. “I just got…well she stumbled and I”
“You are supposed to be in control, but what was the girly thing for.” Deb was far more amused than she ought to have been.
“If you ever tell anyone, I swear”
We both laughed, and Moss took a well-deserved bow. It turns out that the idea is to get me to control the horse. That’s a joke.
Trying again, I managed to stand and get Moss to walk in the right direction, for about two seconds. I felt like an equine acrobat. I’ve ordered my tutu and tiara and the feathered headband for Moss, I’m ready to take on the world. It felt brilliant and I want to do it again and again.
Exhilarated and on a high I drove home, stopping off at the coffee shop before shopping. I didn’t care that I was in my horse boots and most probably stank like a stable. I got to the stairs of the shop, put one foot on the first step up to the café and crank, the knee gave way and I felt like an old fat woman once again. Funny how one step can bring you down to earth with a bump. I persevered feeling the ache in my knee with every step. The old war wound telling me that I should have asked for permission before I started training for the lime light.
Interlude: The war wound was accomplished on a wet Sunday evening on my way to the pub for a darts match. I was on my motorbike and approached a notorious bridge. I did slow down, honestly, but the river that had scurried under the bridge had a hidden surprise for me. A shallow plate full of grit and small stones. Taking my tires out from under me, I sailed through the air, watching my bike up end, knees, wrist and lower back took the fall and I’ve never truly recovered. This was one of those occasions when I really should have asked my body first if I could do something exciting.
I almost reached the top before a well-meaning young lady informed me that there was a lift at the back of the shop. Grrrrr, I hate that, I haven’t got that old, not just yet.
I’m practicing my standing with legs akimbo now, in fact I tried it whilst getting out of the bath this morning. I needed the bath, a full Radox soak. Needless to say, standing naked with my legs wide open on the balls of my feet on the lip of the shower cubicle, heels down, was not a pretty sight. The thought of Mark walking in made me realise how stupid I must have looked. It also made me stumble and now I have an ankle that has come out in sympathy with my knee. Not to mention my left wrist, although God knows why he’s joined in, never did him any harm yesterday.
The conclusion is simple, I’m not cut out to be a circus acrobat, I’ll stick to being the clown, I wonder if I can exchange my tiara and tutu for a stiped onsie. I’ll keep the feathered headband, Moss will look good in it.