My husband and I spent a beautiful four days in the San Juans Islands last week. We came back on Wednesday. Needless to say, I hadn't been on my horse in about a week.
Thursday I readied for my lesson, fully intending to tell my instructor that I was going to try showing next year if my mare stayed sound. So I'm riding around the arena, starting my lesson and waiting for the appropriate time to tell her my plans. We move into a canter and work on half-halts from a school canter to a walk and back again. Gailey was dull and lugging, not really into working hard. We circle at 20 meters in this slow collected canter. Just as we come back to the rail, Gailey leaps sideways and shies. Now, my mare is NOT talented when it comes to shying. She's too big and too slow to unseat anyone.
Until now.
She goes one way. I go the other. All of this plays out in slow motion while I fly through the air. Funny how moments like this slow down time. As I'm approaching the ground, my first thought is "I hope I don't hear a snap." For those of you that have followed my posts, you know my mare is 17-1 hands and a long way to fall. I slam onto my side into the hard-packed arena sand near the rail. My hip hits first then my right arm as I jam my elbow into the ground.
No snap.
But pain. Lots of pain washes over me. Darn.
I sit up and flex my arm. No bones grate against bones. Just the pain. I get to my feet as my instructor catches my horse, who was more suprised by me landing on the ground next to her than I was. She's never had anyone fall off of her before and had no clue what it meant other than she might be in trouble.
I feel my arm. Nothing appears to be broken, but it hurts. I sit in the arena veiwing arena while my instructor jumps on the mare to make sure she doesn't attempt a repeat performance. She didn't. Meanwhile, I'm sweating like crazy and feeling pretty sick to my stomach. Then I find I have trouble breathing. I've never had that happen before, but I guess I now know what asthma must feel like. Shock, I guess.
My trainer calls my husband to pick me up. He breaks all speed records getting there. One of the boarders cools out my horse and puts her away (thanks, Kim).
The next day, I'm better, but then yesterday, it seems to hurt more. Plus, the swelling has migrated down into my wrist. I finally concede defeat and see a doctor. She used to ride, too, and has had lots of falls. They take x-rays. Nothing is broken, but I've sprained my wrist and elbow. I probably shouldn't even be typing this.
I feel lucky to have fallen off at that speed from that height and escaped with only sprains. I'm anxious to get back on my mare and get going again, but it appears it'll be a few weeks before that happens.
I guess it goes to show that things happen, especially with horses, that you can never predict. In the 11 years I've owned this horse, no one has ever come off of her, including me.
There's a first time for everything. So tell us about one of your firsts!
Showing posts with label falling off. Show all posts
Showing posts with label falling off. Show all posts
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Falling Off
By Laura Crum
My son had his first fall off a horse not too long ago. After several years of riding independently at the walk trot and lope, and going on hundreds of multi-hour trail rides, some through pretty rough country, my little boy managed to tumble off Henry, his horse, while being led around the arena at a walk. Ironic, huh?
As those of you who read this blog know, Henry went through colic surgery at the end of January, and for two months was confined to a stall with hand walking as his only exercise. After the first month, Henry wore a belly band, to support his healing belly and prevent hernias, and I was given permission for my son to sit on Henry’s back while I walked the horse. This was great for my little boy, who really missed riding his horse. Sitting on the belly band was much like sitting on a bareback pad and my son got very comfortable with it. As instructed, I kept the horse on the lead rope and at the walk at all times. So far, so good.
The trouble was, as we neared the end of March, Henry began to feel pretty good. Too good. Being confined to a stall with just handwalking for exercise was turning my gentle bomb-proof kid’s horse into a pretty snorty character. Nonetheless, he seemed to know that he needed to behave when he had a kid on his back. And my son had a lot of experience riding this horse, and had stayed on successfully through many minor incidents. I had Henry on the leadrope after all. So I didn’t say no when my son asked to be put up on his horse one windy March day.
Of course, I had just mentioned to my husband that this was the wrong sort of day to ride. A storm had gone through the night before and the weather was chilly and unsettled, with sudden, vigorous gusts of wind whipping through the trees unexpectedly. Horses all act like asses on days like this, I said.
But Henry still needed to be walked. I got the horse out of his stall and he was prancing a little on the leadrope. I gave him a few jerks to remind him to pay attention, and he straightened up. I had definite misgivings when my son asked to ride him, but I legged him up on his horse with a warning to hang on, that the horse was feeling good.
Unfortunately, my kid was feeling pretty confident. I’m just leading him around the ring at the walk, after all. The day before he had ridden my horse, Sunny, and successfully loped him. Depite my many cautions on that day, he’d replied, “Mama, I can handle anything this horse can do,” and in fact, he did handle Sunny’s rather fresh behavior, including a crowhop, with no problem. (Mind you, both these horses are really gentle, safe horses, but all horses tend to show a little life in the spring.) So, my kid pretty much ignored my warning about hanging on.
Well, we only made it once around the ring before the wind blasted through some nearby trees and Henry jumped. It wasn’t much of a jump; I had him on the leadrope and could stop him. He just popped a foot and a half to the side. But my son wasn’t paying attention, and came off, landing on all fours in the soft (rained on the night before) sand of the riding track. I knew immediately he wasn’t seriously hurt. But boy was he upset.
Up until this point in his life, there had never been a downside to riding. He’d never even been scared. He’d seen others get bucked off, he’d had close calls, but somehow the absolute visceral truth that when you fall off these critters and hit the ground it can hurt and be seriously scary, well, that had just never really sunk in. Until now.
There were tears and complaints that his leg and arm hurt, and he stormed up to the house, insisting that he had to go to bed, if not to the emergency room. Since I had both seen his fall and checked him out carefully to be sure he wasn’t damaged, I was pretty sure we didn’t need the ER. And he walked completely sound as he headed for the house.
It took me the rest of the day to help him see that having his first fall was part of his progression in learning how to ride. And though I didn’t tell him this, I was actually pretty grateful. I had grown more and more uncomfortable with his level of confidence, which I felt was unrealistic, more like over-confidence. And yet, it was very hard for me to undermine him and tell him he couldn’t do this or that with a horse. Sure, I overuled him when I felt the risk was too great, but as much as I could, I let him try the things he wanted to try. But I dreaded him having a serious, scary fall simply because he didn’t understand the risk and felt there was no downside to what he was doing.
So, I am grateful that Henry taught him a simple lesson, relatively painlessly. You need to be careful around horses, you need to pay attention. They can hurt you. Without even meaning to. Henry had no intention of dumping my kid. He just jumped because he felt good and the wind startled him.
My boy rode Henry again that afternoon. This time he did not forget to hang on. Henry behaved himself. My boy is still a confident rider. But now, he’s a smarter confident rider. Because he understands the downside.
This is something that has been a big part of the decisions I make around horses for a long time. I’ve been bucked off plenty of times in my life. I’ve hit the ground hard. I’ve never been seriously hurt, knock on wood. But I realize that I might be seriously hurt if I hit the ground now. If I’d taken the simple little fall my son did, I’d have landed with a much bigger thud, and probably at least sprained my wrist or ankle and been laid up for awhile. At 51, I don’t bounce like I used to. The ER would be a very likely scenario. So, every choice I make about which horse to ride and what I’ll do or not do, is made in the light of the fact that I don’t think I can afford to fall off. I know the downside of riding. I’m glad my son knows it, too, and is in one piece to tell the tale. Thank you, Henry, for a very well-timed lesson. We needed it.
My son had his first fall off a horse not too long ago. After several years of riding independently at the walk trot and lope, and going on hundreds of multi-hour trail rides, some through pretty rough country, my little boy managed to tumble off Henry, his horse, while being led around the arena at a walk. Ironic, huh?
As those of you who read this blog know, Henry went through colic surgery at the end of January, and for two months was confined to a stall with hand walking as his only exercise. After the first month, Henry wore a belly band, to support his healing belly and prevent hernias, and I was given permission for my son to sit on Henry’s back while I walked the horse. This was great for my little boy, who really missed riding his horse. Sitting on the belly band was much like sitting on a bareback pad and my son got very comfortable with it. As instructed, I kept the horse on the lead rope and at the walk at all times. So far, so good.
The trouble was, as we neared the end of March, Henry began to feel pretty good. Too good. Being confined to a stall with just handwalking for exercise was turning my gentle bomb-proof kid’s horse into a pretty snorty character. Nonetheless, he seemed to know that he needed to behave when he had a kid on his back. And my son had a lot of experience riding this horse, and had stayed on successfully through many minor incidents. I had Henry on the leadrope after all. So I didn’t say no when my son asked to be put up on his horse one windy March day.
Of course, I had just mentioned to my husband that this was the wrong sort of day to ride. A storm had gone through the night before and the weather was chilly and unsettled, with sudden, vigorous gusts of wind whipping through the trees unexpectedly. Horses all act like asses on days like this, I said.
But Henry still needed to be walked. I got the horse out of his stall and he was prancing a little on the leadrope. I gave him a few jerks to remind him to pay attention, and he straightened up. I had definite misgivings when my son asked to ride him, but I legged him up on his horse with a warning to hang on, that the horse was feeling good.
Unfortunately, my kid was feeling pretty confident. I’m just leading him around the ring at the walk, after all. The day before he had ridden my horse, Sunny, and successfully loped him. Depite my many cautions on that day, he’d replied, “Mama, I can handle anything this horse can do,” and in fact, he did handle Sunny’s rather fresh behavior, including a crowhop, with no problem. (Mind you, both these horses are really gentle, safe horses, but all horses tend to show a little life in the spring.) So, my kid pretty much ignored my warning about hanging on.
Well, we only made it once around the ring before the wind blasted through some nearby trees and Henry jumped. It wasn’t much of a jump; I had him on the leadrope and could stop him. He just popped a foot and a half to the side. But my son wasn’t paying attention, and came off, landing on all fours in the soft (rained on the night before) sand of the riding track. I knew immediately he wasn’t seriously hurt. But boy was he upset.
Up until this point in his life, there had never been a downside to riding. He’d never even been scared. He’d seen others get bucked off, he’d had close calls, but somehow the absolute visceral truth that when you fall off these critters and hit the ground it can hurt and be seriously scary, well, that had just never really sunk in. Until now.
There were tears and complaints that his leg and arm hurt, and he stormed up to the house, insisting that he had to go to bed, if not to the emergency room. Since I had both seen his fall and checked him out carefully to be sure he wasn’t damaged, I was pretty sure we didn’t need the ER. And he walked completely sound as he headed for the house.
It took me the rest of the day to help him see that having his first fall was part of his progression in learning how to ride. And though I didn’t tell him this, I was actually pretty grateful. I had grown more and more uncomfortable with his level of confidence, which I felt was unrealistic, more like over-confidence. And yet, it was very hard for me to undermine him and tell him he couldn’t do this or that with a horse. Sure, I overuled him when I felt the risk was too great, but as much as I could, I let him try the things he wanted to try. But I dreaded him having a serious, scary fall simply because he didn’t understand the risk and felt there was no downside to what he was doing.
So, I am grateful that Henry taught him a simple lesson, relatively painlessly. You need to be careful around horses, you need to pay attention. They can hurt you. Without even meaning to. Henry had no intention of dumping my kid. He just jumped because he felt good and the wind startled him.
My boy rode Henry again that afternoon. This time he did not forget to hang on. Henry behaved himself. My boy is still a confident rider. But now, he’s a smarter confident rider. Because he understands the downside.
This is something that has been a big part of the decisions I make around horses for a long time. I’ve been bucked off plenty of times in my life. I’ve hit the ground hard. I’ve never been seriously hurt, knock on wood. But I realize that I might be seriously hurt if I hit the ground now. If I’d taken the simple little fall my son did, I’d have landed with a much bigger thud, and probably at least sprained my wrist or ankle and been laid up for awhile. At 51, I don’t bounce like I used to. The ER would be a very likely scenario. So, every choice I make about which horse to ride and what I’ll do or not do, is made in the light of the fact that I don’t think I can afford to fall off. I know the downside of riding. I’m glad my son knows it, too, and is in one piece to tell the tale. Thank you, Henry, for a very well-timed lesson. We needed it.
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