Horses, Capoeira, and Cycling

And that mare was doing her willful best to get me off her back. If it weren’t for the trainer holding her reins tightly, and calming her somewhat, she would have thrown me again. While he was fighting her, and she was kicking up dust, he was yelling at me—“This goddamn mare knows you are afraid. You are making her afraid. You cannot get up there and be afraid! You cannot be afraid!” Well that posed a horribly confusing problem: how am I not to be afraid when I am about to vomit and pee fear?

That day I learned a new and complex dimension of love—love laced with fear, and love intertwined with the need to conquer fear.

Learning to ride led to a desire to learn more. At eleven years old, I wanted to consider myself a true equestrian—not just a girl in love with a horse. With the help and support of my mother, I was introduced to another trainer, who would teach me to ride properly so I could then participate in local horse shows. I was excited about this possibility and went to my first lesson filled with positive anticipation. The trainer was a young woman who didn’t have any teaching experience, but knew how to ride. I had a one-hour lesson trying to learn how to post. This is the act of rising up out of the saddle at a trot when the horse’s outside front leg moves forward. It’s a combination of coordinated watchfulness at first, but something that becomes completely automatic once figured out.

After this one lesson my young, inexperienced teacher told my mother I probably would not make a good competitive rider and should just consider riding for “pleasure.” My mother was outraged, and I felt like a failure. She found another trainer with much more experience, and I stayed with this trainer for several years. I learned that through repetition, focus, and encouragement, I could do whatever I put my mind toward.

I learned skills far more difficult than posting. I learned how to jump fences that scared me to death. I learned how to fall off that horse a hundred different ways, and get back on without a second thought. I learned that sometimes I was going to be afraid, but even though I was afraid I was going to push through, and in pushing through I would put my fear to rest. Then I learned how to compete. I learned yet another dimension of love—love laced with fear, and a desire for competition. I loved riding, and I knew how to do it well. I discovered a way to fulfill my love: competition—and all the more fulfilling was winning.

It was a sad day at age sixteen, when I learned my days of riding competitively were over due to two cracked vertebrae.