No post last week, as my training seemed to be heavily focussed on stress reduction rather than on getting a red rosette.
These two things aren’t mutually exclusive, of course, but the appalling attitude of my local doctor’s surgery (see previous post) left me very worried that some ‘job’s worth’ at the DVLA is going to take my driving licence away with just the stroke of a red pen.
And this thought affected my riding. Quite a lot. But perhaps not in ways that you might imagine.
On one level, yes I’ve spent a lot of time cantering around in circles, minus stirrups, gnashing my teeth. This has been therapeutic. And enjoyable. And probably scary for temporary riding instructor who took my condition in her stride.
On a another level, it’s made me think.
All the horsey folk I come across never cease to amaze me. Whilst I get unhelpful ‘blocks’ from my local doctor’s, I have never experienced anything except positive support from the equine community.
The following is typical.
“So, you’ve got an incurable neurological condition and you’re desperate to keep riding?
OK, let’s go. How can we help?”
No-one argues or makes a fuss. Brilliant.
I put this down to the understanding that comes from people that engage in what is essentially a dangerous, but massively rewarding sport. Many of the people that I come across have had accidents in the past (much like myself) but couldn’t wait to get back in the saddle.
What can I say, but “Thank you”?