Last week marked three years since the bike crash that landed me in the hospital, forced me to withdraw from my first attempt at Ironman (resulting in this blog), and set me on a journey to overcome a new, instantly, impact-initiated bike-phobia and to figure out what this body and mind are capable of. My crash-iversary has me reflecting on the physical and mental barriers I’ve overcome to get here. (Wherever here is; there’s no here here.) I’ve been thinking about how this sport forces me to do things that hurt, that I’m afraid of, and that I just don’t want to do – which sometimes makes it seem like a weird thing to choose as a hobby, I know. After the reflection I’ve come to the conclusion that whatever success I’ve had is a direct result of the years (decades!) I spent confronting and overcoming the same obstacles horseback riding. I learned as (really) little kid how to be afraid of something but do it anyway and I’m so grateful and fortunate for those lessons. (Ohmygosh readers if you’ve made it this far are you just bracing yourself for the overwrought self-examination to come??? Does my philosophical self-help waxing make you yearn for bathroom-focused posts of yore?)
Before I go any further I’d like to address the equinephant in the room: horseback riding is absolutely the height of privilege. Money, geography, and a desire to keep one’s children away from 1500 pound animals with strong prey instincts are all obstacles that reasonably make riding off limits for many (most) kids. But the things I took away from growing up with horses and in the saddle are applicable to many types of sports or activities that push people past their comfort zones and require discipline to be any good. My parents made my passion for horses a reality for me, we had the means and the access, but they also made damn sure I knew how to muck a stall and got up everyday and rode even when I didn’t want to and got back on when I fell and was afraid to continue.
That fear factor I think was key to the journey I’m now on with cycling. We used to joke that horseback riding was a genetic disposition – it became apparent pretty early on which kids were unencumbered by the (rational) fear most have for horses. (Again, they’re huge and they’re afraid of squirrels.) Some kids in riding lessons just never get comfortable, and falling off was the great arbiter. Everyone falls; not everyone gets back on. It was obvious from the start (and I started at the age of 4 so it was an early start) that I lacked the (life-preserving) fear that held many back. And so I dedicated my childhood (and my parents’ early adulthood and income) to horses. But I still got scared ALL THE TIME.
Learning new skills like flying lead changes, jumping higher fences, riding a new green horse, taking on an intimidating course in a show are all really scary – even if you’re generally a confident equestrian. I didn’t want to make excuses or back away from a challenge though – riding taught me that if you don’t actually try the thing you’re afraid of you’ll regret it when you’re lying in bed later. And so I learned to push through that fear and in turn learned how amazing it feels when you try and succeed at the scary thing. And eventually that old scary thing isn’t so scary. Even into my teens I did often look wistfully at the soccer field across from the barn as my trainer jacked up the fences thinking of my sane friends whose sport wasn’t so life and death-y. But then I would make it over those fences – sometimes it was ugly and sometimes my horse would refuse and I would fall – but eventually I would make it and my momentary futbol inclinations would be quashed.
Not only did I fall frequently and get back on, my friends and I actually practiced falling so we could be safe as possible whenever it happened. My parents and trainers (one of whom is in fact in jail for murder but that’s another story) insisted when I fell I got right back on – sometimes through tears. That same murder-trainer once took my stirrups away for an entire year when I was about eleven which made everything harder and scarier, but ultimately gave me legs and glutes of steel.
Those steely legs and glutes and nerves did lead me to become a complete asshat when I moved to Atlanta as a teenager and I became known at my new barn as the kid (asshat) who would do anything bareback and even without a bridal. I used to take dares telling the other (privileged but less reckless) kids that anything they could do with a saddle and bridle I could do without. (The many concussions I’ve alluded to previously are starting to make more sense now, right?) I guess it’s possible to take a fear overcome too far…but I swear I had a point and it’s that early on in the journey sometimes it’s hard to imagine how far we might go.
Horses also taught me that I wouldn’t always enjoy the thing I loved – a counterintuitive and important lesson. I’m passionate about horses and I’m passionate about triathlon and sometimes I want nothing to do with either of those things. But those grumpy couch-inclined days are the ones that matter most. My mama made sure I went to the barn and rode when I didn’t want to. When it was snowing and so cold that it felt like my toes had disintegrated in my paddock boots, I went. When it was so hot that stuffy horseshows were forced to waive jacket requirements lest riders pass out, I rode. And when I was done I took care of my horse and put that animal’s needs before my own. (My ponies growing up, Suzy Q and Giddy, were the loves of my life much as Koopa Troop now is the recipient of many hugs and kisses. He doesn’t hug or kiss back though. But also he doesn’t spook at rodents and birds!)
Riding also taught me to get my ass out of bed before the sun. I didn’t like it then and I still hate my 4 and 5am alarms but I learned young how to do it and the rewards that discipline brings. (Nowadays I don’t even need my mom to come in and yell at me three times before I heed the wake up call!) Riding taught me to get dirty and live and function in the dirt and the sweat (and manure [and we all know how comfortable I am barefoot in porta potties now]) and not be self-conscious or prissy about it. As prissy as ponies may seem, there’s a lot of poop involved, and I also used to get paid to clean sheaths…look that one up if you have a sec and don’t believe me that riding is much less stuck up than you may think.
Riding taught me both humility and how to get over embarrassment. Like I said, I used to fall a lot – and that included in the show ring. I fell and cracked a rib in a show once – and I got back on and finished out the course despite the DQ I’d earned. (And despite the break because I’m bullheaded [read: an asshat.]) When I was eight I was competing in a cross country team event called a hunter pace and I let the crowd’s cheering for me as the smallest, youngest competitor there go to my head. My bitchy pony, Suzy Q, taught me a life lesson and bucked my ass right off in front of the crowds. At all of probably 3’6″ I had to figure out how to get back on in the middle of a field with a hundred people watching. Suzy wasn’t helpful but eventually I scrambled up after balancing on a jump. I have since then fallen off my bike in downtown DC, lost a wheel in a race, fallen off in my first 70.3, and in front of countless others. And I feel fine shrugging it off.
I could go on and on about the gifts riding has given me. (And if you have any horse people in your life you know it’s hard to get us to stop once we get going about ponies!) I’ll stop here though and conclude that those childhood lessons last a lifetime. I’ve heard some of my friends and colleagues who are parents recently discuss the virtues of having kids do lots of different activities vs one or maybe two really seriously – I vote the latter. Learning discipline early, and the rewards of trying and falling and getting back up are essential to grown up success. I still sometimes wish I had a hobby that wasn’t so scary, sometimes I think I’ll throw in the towel and stick to running and stop pushing my limits so hard, and then inevitably I have a great ride or bust through a hard-to-get finish line and I know I’m not going anywhere. And when it comes to horses and bicycles, just do what my mom used to always say and try to keep one leg on either side. (And wear your helmet!)
