Two weeks ago, I fell off a horse.
This wasn’t the first time. In fact, having ridden horses for more than two decades, I’ve fallen off dozens of times. Most of these falls are forgettable. Some, however, like the time I tacked up my pony alone for the first time and forgot to put on a saddle pad, are not.
This most recent one seemed like a standard I’ve-been-riding-for-years type of fall, but when it was time to get up off the ground, I realized it wasn’t.
In the Dirt
Despite a slightly more spooky than normal Cuvée, our Saturday morning lesson was standard. We started with cross rails, the ring was crowded, my calves were burning. My trainer had me work on a few jumps at a time with the intention of having me put the whole thing together on the last round. Pretty standard stuff if you’re familiar with jumping lessons.
We worked on a six-stride bending line to a tall vertical. We added a jump after that so Cuvée would pay more attention. We bobbled our way through a three-fence combination. We survived the terrifying corner of the ring with the horse-eating jump standards.
It was time for the final round.
Jump one over the brown oxer was BEAUTIFUL (I’m not bragging, I promise. It’s on camera). Jump two? Not so much.
Cuvée and I vastly miscalculated the distance to the second fence. He had shortened his stride during the last round, probably a product of being tired, and I couldn’t tell that the distance was wrong until I was laying in the dirt. We came about as close to the base of the jump as possible. Like, Cuvée’s front hooves were literally touching it.
Bless his soul because boy did that horse try to jump it anyway. Tucked his knees as high as possible, knocked down the entire jump, and hopped back out of the way to avoid the human who had been on his back just seconds ago.
Out of place joints
When you fall off a horse, you’re supposed to get back up, dust yourself off, and get back on.
So after lying on the ground for 10–15 seconds, I was ready to go again. I tried to sit up but couldn’t move. Sharp pain shot through my right arm and tears watered my eyes.
“I’m not crying because I’m scared, I’m crying cuz I’m in pain,” I remember saying to the trainers huddled around me.
I ran through a motion check. Can I feel my arm? Yes. Can I move my fingers? Yes. Can I move my forearm? Barely, and not without extreme pain. What about my shoulder? HECK NO.
“Ready to sit up?” one of the trainers asked me after a few minutes. She held out her hand. I grasped it with my left hand and hoisted myself up.
POP.
“Ooooooooh! You dislocated your shoulder!”
The Road Ahead
Four doctors’ appointments and three days later, I was in a sling, starting PT in a couple weeks, and told to stay off a horse until my shoulder healed.
Spoiler alert: I didn’t.
Four days in, I had already started to miss riding.
Six days in, I was disobeying my doctor’s orders.
Eight days in, I was giving a riding lesson to my boyfriend.
It was in this feeling of longing and restlessness that the idea of starting a blog drifted into my mind.
I start PT next week. Join me on my journey to recovery.
