Lessons from Y

Sometimes a rider is advanced in ways a volunteer might not understand. They take their time saddling their horse, in no hurry to ride like the average rider. They are more than happy to lead their horse around the arena a few times before mounting up; their gentle grip on the lead seems to give them a stronger connection with their horse.

Once on the horse, they understand that their movement around the arena is not destined to bring them to a specific destination, rather, it is a journey.

This is Y. She is a very special rider who has a solid seat and hands, and an understanding of what it means to ride. As we make our way around the arena she is unconcerned about the position of other riders or volunteers—she is focused on her horse alone.

As we were working one session, we began to move out on the rail. I was leading her horse and she was working on balance with a fast walk. We passed another rider and horse leader, and I turned to her and joked, “Hey look! We’re winning!”

She looked down at me very seriously and replied, “It’s not a race, you know.”

She couldn’t have been more right. It’s not a race. It’s a journey.

A week later I was working with M, a less enthusiastic rider with severe difficulty communicating verbally and remaining balanced. Usually less-than-interested in the tacking-up process, we finally got him from his wheelchair and onto the horse’s back. As soon as he hit the saddle he broke into a big grin and began chattering, “Horse! Horse!” Feet in the stirrups and ready to go, he gladly said “Walk on, please” and we began moving.

The entire class followed with just as much enthusiasm, and his stiff legs began to work themselves loose; his stiff back was allowed to sway with the horse’s gait. He was still all smiles when he dismounted.

We’re winning.

All In Stride

Riding is hard.

It is hard to get up on a horse. It is hard to stay on a horse. It is hard to keep going, day after day through the good rides and the bad rides.

But that is why we stick with it.

It is even harder for those whose bodies don’t always cooperate, who might not be able to sit up straight, or talk, or see. But there is something about riding a horse, finally being in control and on top of the world that just can’t be denied.

And that is why they stick with it.

Therapeutic riding is a journey for the mind and the body, for both the volunteer and the rider. The changes we as volunteers see from ride to ride are beyond incredible, beyond amazing. Sometimes they are downright miraculous.

For some riders, even wearing a helmet is an achievement. Holding a brush, walking up to the horse, touching his neck—these are all giant leaps when considered from a different perspective. To watch a therapy rider go from refusing to go near a stall to riding a gentle trot on a patient horse is the opportunity of a lifetime.

And that is what this is about. We can’t all walk on at every class. We can’t all be in the arena watching every step to success. But we can all bear witness to change as these riders take it all in stride.