Thursday 10 September 2009
'What's so good about riding anyway? It's for losers.'
These were the wise words of a snotty-nosed blonde girl — and the class bully to boot.
Her opinion shouldn't have mattered, yet for some reason her words managed to implant themselves into my seven-year-old mind.
She might think riding was loserish, but I knew exactly what made riding good.
It was being outside in the crisp morning air. It was the butterflies I felt in my stomach every time I was about get into the saddle.
And it was the feeling of being absolutely free, if only for an hour or so.
I had so many answers that could have marched right out of my mouth like a stampede of elephants, flattening her petty comment.
Yet the elephants appeared to have come to a firm halt, and the only thing that managed to push its way through my lips was a shrugged, 'I don't know.'
I knew she was totally wrong, but the seed of doubt had been planted in my mind, where it continued to grow.
Then, during my weekly riding lesson, I took a nasty fall and broke my right elbow.
I had fallen off numerous times in my life, but none of them had been as excruciating as this one. I was taken to hospital and underwent an operation to mend my arm.
During my weeks spent recovering, I became edgy at the thought of returning to riding.
Not only did the fall knock me physically, but it knocked me mentally too.
My mum was convinced she shouldn't let me ride, and instead she encouraged me to take up some other hobby, like tennis or dance, anything really that had a less chance of landing me in a hospital bed.
Unfortunately for her, I remained unconvinced, and as soon I was better I was back in the saddle.
Because I had gained something other than a broken arm from the fall. It was the realisation that for me, riding was more than a hobby, it was a passion.
A passion that neither a fall — nor a class bully — could stop me pursuing.
Rose Kirby undertook a work experience for Horse