“We are really proud of the progress you have made with the red mare.”
The words echo in the empty aisle.
My trainers are proud of me.
I stand next to the red mare as I have just had a lesson and am taking off her bridle.
I focus on the task at hand as I think.
She lowers her head and opens her mouth, I gently pull it over her ears and allow the bit to drop out without touching her teeth.
My neck feels hot.
“Thank you.”
I force out.
“You are sitting the trot much better now than when you started, she is on the bit for the majority of the ride and you are practicing all of the lateral work. You’ve made a lot of progress.”
Okay. Something is up.
I grab her halter and place it on her face, she wants me to scratch the sweat lines on her nose but I resist. We can’t do rude behavior in the middle of being complimented. I cross tie her and hide on her side so I don’t have to look my trainer in the face.
“As you know, we are hosting a symposium next week.”
Oh yes, I know very well. It has been completely manic while everyone stress cleans. The barn looks as perfect as usual but somehow, there is more hidden dirt to be found.
“We would like for you to ride the red mare in it.”
My back straightens.
They want me to ride in a public setting?
I am flattered.
“You … don’t find me embarrassing?” I peek over her back at my trainer.
Her eyebrows shoot up.
“Of course not! We are really proud of how much you have accomplished since you first started here… If you would like to stay on, we will promote you to Barn Manager.”
I place my hand on the red mare’s neck. She is sweaty and regal as ever.
We can go show off! She is by far the most beautifully moving horse I’ve ever ridden.
“What will you have me do?”
“It will be framed a bit like a lesson. We won’t do anything we haven’t practiced in a lesson before. While you ride I will speak to the auditors and answer questions and maybe have you demonstrate the lateral movements on her.”
Yes! Yes! Yes!
“Okay! That sounds like it would be fun!”
She smiles warmly.
“You will need to wear black breeches and an unstained, long sleeve collared shirt.”
I have one clean shirt that I don’t wear to keep it unstained for when we do videos of the sales horses.
“Okay!”
I rinse the sweat off the red mare in the washstall.
She gets two carrots.
I practically skip through the afternoon.
We will have to be perfect.
The morning of the symposium, I set a different alarm on my phone. I skip my run. I don’t want to be tired today.
I go out to the barn early. I still need to do all the usual things so I need extra time to bathe and braid.
I bring the red mare in from the field. It is still dark out. I keep my flashlight off and speak gently to her. She walks over to me and finds my hand with her whiskers.
We saunter into the barn, our strides matching. The birds haven’t started singing yet.
The last symposium we hosted there were only about fifteen people that showed up.
This topic is more interesting though and I overheard them say they are almost at capacity in online sign up.
I bring her straight into the washstall and run the water so it is hot.
I don’t turn on any other lights in the barn. I don’t feel like having the horses become restless for their breakfast while I bathe her.
The steam gathers around us. I start with her legs and tail so she doesn’t get cold while the conditioner soaks in.
I wash her body and face last and pull out a navy fleece cooler with tan trim.
This cooler was a Christmas gift to me, I only use it for trailering or maybe I’ll get to use it for a horse show, eventually.
She looks striking in navy. Her coat is darker wet.
I brush her mane and pull out a step stool.
Braiding is slow. Each braid must look identical to the previous one. My fingers feel achy. I keep the hair tight, pulling it so the skin moves. When I finish I have thirteen braids.
Taylor Swift’s lucky number.
I roll them up and use elastics to make them into tight little buns.
The first of the bird’s begin to sing, a small chirp. Maybe a thrush. I check my watch.
6:08.
I have fifty-two minutes before I need to get the barn started.
I bring the red mare to her stall and place three carrots in her feed pan. I kiss her neck.
I hurry and grab my trainer’s horse.
He spent the night inside in a skin tight slinky, keeping the manure from getting on his coat. I pull it off and cross tie him in the grooming stall and get to braiding.
His hair isn’t as thick, I only get nine.
Soon enough it is time to start the barn, I am jittery.
It is a perfect day. The breeze blows through the trees and big fluffy clouds float by.
It is time for the red mare and I to go down.
One of my trainers is in the barn chatting with an old friend, a retired judge.
“Go on down and have fun! We will be down in a few minutes, I am sure my business partner will be on top of everything down there.” I smile and walk out of the barn with the red mare.
The lecture demonstration has begun.
I can see cars parked alongside the road. There are a lot of them. A lot more than last time. She is riding her horse in the arena when I enter. It is a long walk from the man door all the way across the arena to the mounting block.
This is much bigger than last time.
Last time we only had about fifteen people.
More than a hundred people are here.
My heart pounds dully in my chest.
I suddenly feel hot and weak.
My thighs don’t want to move.
I force the steps.
I watch only my trainer as she piaffes and explains how her horse is collecting.
We aren’t going to be doing anything that fancy.
“Ah, there you are!” She smiles warmly at me. I feel the focus of the room shift onto me.
I force a smile back.
“Hi!” My voice comes out high pitched.
I should have brought water.
“This is our intern.” She introduces me to the crowd. I hide behind the red mare as I undo my stirrups and tighten the girth.
My hands tremble.
Someone asks about the age of the mare.
“Hmm, I am not sure I remember. How old is she?” She asks me.
Fuck it if I know.
“Eleven.” That is a good number for a horse.
I say it louder than I meant but this seems to be a good thing since she is mic-ed up and I am not.
We only have two thirds of the arena, the kick board were moved forward so the audience has room to sit.
Everyone looks very old, nobody is under forty.
Where are the people like me?
I swing my leg over her, in an unusual moment of poor choices the red mare doesn’t wait for me to get adjusted and walks off.
Great.
We just walked off the mounting block in front of all these people who have no idea you have never done that to me.
I stop her in an ugly frantic yank. I can’t find the stirrup on the far side with my toe.
Another unusual problem. My thigh doesn’t want to turn to pick it up. I bend over and grab it and force it on.
Good God I want out of this arena.
“Sorry.” I apologize to the air.
My trainer starts in on another short lecture about the red mare’s breeding, and the things she has accomplished with other riders.
We walk a lap.
“Okay, pick up your reins and trot.” I pick up my reins and put the mare on the bit and start trotting.
My body doesn’t want to stay put in the saddle.
The strength is gone from my thighs.
Why do I feel so weak?
The red mare swishes her tail and moves in her large sweeping gait.
“Leg yield the next diagonal.”
The order is simple, but I have lost significant real estate with the kick boards moved forward.
I start it on quarter line and push her over.
“As you can see, the rider is tipping from a weak core. Do another leg yield.”
My ears burn.
The mare grinds her teeth and pushes the trot bigger.
I can hardly sit it at all now. She is dragging me around the arena, all power and legs.
This has never been a problem for us. Usually I am being told to push her bigger.
“Don’t let her neck climb so high. She is getting hollow and charging.”
I can hardly breath.
I take another half halt.
Her jaw is frozen. She grinds her teeth loudly at me.
She has never ground her teeth. The reins are heavy in my hands.
“Shoulder-in.”
I enter a shoulder-in, we wobble as we go. My trainer lectures about the history of shoulder-in and the practical use for training.
My body is agreeing to the work but it isn’t going better. Somehow we are trotting even bigger now.
I do four before she tells me to change rein.
“Ride her like normal.” She says into her microphone.
There isn’t anything normal about this.
My third braid from the top bounces.
That might come loose.
“You really need to get the neck in the proper spot. She is getting worse and worse with going hollow.”
My back is dripping. My thighs are weak.
I have no reply.
I push her and try and anchor myself down into my stirrups.
We do traverse, then renverse.
Half pass is next.
There isn’t faking it in half pass. If you aren’t balanced, it won’t go well.
We aren’t balanced.
A hundred pairs of eyes watch as I fail.
The red mare is a steam engine.
I am a small flag at the top of the engine tower.
“Okay. Stop.” We land in a halt that nearly pulls me out of the saddle.
“Get off.”
My throat is tight. I fall as much as I slide off her.
“I am going to ride her and fix the neck.”
My trainer takes the reins, changes the stirrup length and gets on lightly and quickly.
The arena is dead quiet.
Her breathing puffs through her speaker she has attached to her collar.
I walk to the side and crouch low.
This sucks.
She rides a few circles.
“Yeah. You just have her completely frozen in the neck.”
She bends her this way and that.
“I am not going to be able to fix it in a ride.”
The man door at the far end of the arena opens as my other trainer and his friend enter.
He spots me immediately and looks at her on the red mare.
He looks back at me, looks at her and I can see his face twist.
I fight the tears.
I will not also cry in front of all these people.
He doesn’t draw their attention to me anymore.
He takes over the lecture. Bringing their attention to him and his beautiful horse. He doesn’t wear a microphone and doesn’t need one.
The red mare stops next to me and my trainer gets off and hands her to me.
I take her in silence and exit the arena.
My braids stayed in.
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