Unsaddled

I watched the young girl walk to her car behind her parents and little sister. With a big braces-filled smile on her face she carried her new saddle proudly. One that she herself had paid for, from working at a barn all summer. She was maybe 14.

I watched and I thought, I’m so happy for her, what a great achievement, to buy your own lovely saddle at that age.

I think I was 45 ish when I bought that saddle that she now held proudly in her arms. It is an Antares, an older version, but super comfortable and still in excellent condition. I was around 45 because I had waited my whole life to buy myself an expensive saddle. And as she walked away, you would think that I would have been sad to see it go.

I had put the saddle up for sale about six months ago. After not having ridden in about two years. Most people would have kept their saddle, in case, just in case, they might want to ride again someday.

That saddle represented thirty five years of riding, hard work, sweat equity and hard earned cash. I have owned several other saddles in my life, but I think the most I ever paid for one was about $500. English saddles, at their highest, can cost up to $8500 these days, if not more. It is an insane amount of money. But everything is like that now. Buffalo leather, made in France, with tiny crystals embedded in the “logo” and personalized edging and personalized fittings. It’s no longer a “one saddle fits all” type of deal, but a “who will sponsor me and get me a free saddle if I sell one to all my clients” type situation.

In my day we used whatever saddle we could lay our hands on. Propped it up with padding and foam pads and gel pads and what we called lollipop pads to fit any type of horse we sat on. (I just googled that and they still make them!) I did not grow up in a fancy barn though so my experience with less than stellar equipment is probably a bit skewed. As a trainer, I always felt just a little bit left out. I couldn’t afford what it seemed like all the other trainers had. I had an old Collegiate I bought used for $500 back in 2008/2009 which I used until I could finally buy my dream saddle. I was stuck on Antares, having ridden in one a few times and not believing that my tushy could be so incredibly cushy in a saddle. I was awed and determined to have one of my own!

And when I finally bought that saddle, at the ripe old age of 45 ish (because I’m old and can’t remember what I went into that room for, much less what EXACT age I was when I bought it), I paid $1980. I nearly choked as my debit card processed.

I was still training, still riding, and I enjoyed the heck out of that saddle. Then I started to realize… the pain. The amount of pain I was in every time I sat on a horse. My neck just happens to be fully fused in one spot and almost entirely fused in another, right below that one. The first congenital, the second from too many injuries, too many falls, too many times landing in just the wrong spot. It started with a horse rolling over on me when I was fourteen. Then at fifteen my horse tried to run out a gate with me and I hit my head on the fence post, which was unfortunately very sturdy in the ground and not at all soft. What did I learn from that? ALWAYS ALWAYS close the gate to the arena.

Anyway, fast forward to about 33. I am riding a very young, very green Thoroughbred or warmblood (I, again, can’t precisely remember). His name was Willie. I’ll never forget that. He wasn’t mine. We went over a jump and as he landed he spooked to the left and I was unseated to the right. As I was attempting to right myself he spooked AGAIN and I was tossed quite firmly to his left side where I held on to his neck with my fingernails while he bolted down the fence line. I remembered the sturdy fence posts. I was not tempted to try my luck with hitting one of those if I let go. I held on, silently praying, not sure where this would end.

It did end. Inevitably. Willie veered hard to his right as he approached the corner and that was enough to send me sailing about eighteen feet to the left into the corner, landing, of course, directly on my neck. I was lucky. It could have been broken. In fact, there is no evidence to suggest that it was, in fact, NOT fractured in some way. I didn’t have insurance, I didn’t go to the hospital. I spent weeks recovering, barely able to move. I still managed to coach at a horseshow and teach lessons that same week, though. That’s what horse trainers/instructors DO. They keep going, because who is going to to pay for your bills, your groceries, who is going to feed your horses if not you?

Fifteen years after the injury I find that riding is becoming untenable. Over that period of time I see a chiropractor regularly. The chiropractor takes plenty of x-rays. He does an MRI. He discovers the fusions, he discovers the bone spurs and the damaged vertebrae. He tells me that every time I’m on the horse, the movement is causing the muscles above and below this area to have to work extra hard to stabilize my neck. It isn’t any surprise to him that I’m in so much pain. Add in a surgery on my lower back in these years, plus foot surgery, and I’m a little worse for the wear than most people my age.

At 4(7?) I am riding a warmblood gelding amongst my typical pony line-up. He is bouncy, he is jarring, he is difficult to get moving. One cold January day I sit on his back and can’t stop the tears from flowing. I sit and I cry and I finally get off.

I never get back on.

The decision, for me, was made that cold January day when I couldn’t finish the training ride I was being paid to do. There has only been a handful of times since then that I wished I could get back on in order to fix something a rider is having trouble with. But I don’t do it and the feeling passes. It isn’t worth it, the pain is intense most days without creating a situation in which to make it worse. I live on meloxicam, Advil and muscle relaxers. And it’s ok.

It’s ok because I get to watch Baby Girl ride her ponies. I delight in her experiences. I am nervous when she competes ( a strange phenomena for me, as I have never been nervous when any of my students compete!), and I am excited when she places well. I am proud when she completes something difficult or masters a new skill. I am most proud when she comes out of the ring laughing and smiling, regardless of how the course went. I love that she’s delighted to win first place in an under saddle class and that she doesn’t take her pony for granted. I watch how hard she works (usually) and am pleased when her efforts pay off. I enjoy her life with her in a way that is truly special for both of us. Someday all these seeds I’ve planted will sprout and grow and I know she’s going to do incredible things. She wants to be horse trainer/instructor like her Mama, and I am amazed at this because she has definitely seen the low lows that happen in horses, as well as the highest of highs and everything in between.

And so, when I told my husband last night that someone was coming to try out my saddle today, I wasn’t at all sad or regretful. If I ever ride again, it will be in a cushy Western saddle and I will probably go no faster than a walk through the trails and trees that we one day hope to own. It is enough.

After almost forty years spent on horseback, I am content to be unsaddled.