Posting and Posting

It’s 0 degrees in Chicago and I’m waiting to board my plane heading back to California. It’s in the 70s there I believe. I am happy to be going home to my husband, dogs, blooming roses and kumquat tree bursting with fruit. Although I wish I could stay longer with my parents and family in Illinois. There’s never enough time.

Maybe one day instead of being bicoastal, living in both New York and California, I’ll  be Chi-coastal (pronounced like shy-coastal). My husband’s weird habit of making up words is influencing me.  He wants to substitute handbidextrous for ambidextrous.

I’m posting this from my phone.  O’Hare Airport is not really an ideal spot from which to write on a deep level. Although the people watching is fantastic.

I saw a teen with shaved eyebrows and travelers in shorts and flip flops. Not sure what they were thinking on this frigid day. And I know it’s not my imagination that many of the over 55 women waiting for this Orange County flight have faces with unnaturally taut skin.

Yesterday I was posting too–from a saddle. Now I have that familiar muscle soreness from too long of a riding hiatus. A great way to start the year.

The barn where I rode yesterday warrants a separate blog post. I think it is more luxurious than my house. I was thrilled to reunite there with my former trainer and a horse show BFF from the 1990s.

Here is a picture from yesterday of me on my former (not old) trainer’s Thoroughbred gelding McLain. I didn’t know that I would ride–I thought it was purely a social visit. However,  McLain’s rider canceled, so he was all dressed up with no place to go. His body clipped golden bay coat shined, as he stood in the cross ties sporting saddle, bridle,  and black polo wraps.

Former Trainer said, “Do you want to hop on him?”

“I haven’t ridden in a year.”

“Oh, go get on!”

I couldn’t turn McLain down, but was tentative since I didn’t have any riding gear, and I didn’t know anything about the horse.

When BFF from 1990s horse shows told me her boyfriend who doesn’t ride had ridden McLain, I knew I’d be fine. She also loaned me her helmet; sadly, her half chaps were too small. I had not forgotten how painful it is to ride just in jeans, sans boots or chaps.

“Why is he pinning his ears at me?” I asked as I settled into the saddle, glad that there had been an extra tall mounting block at the end of the arena. I think McLain is close to 17 hands; I forgot to ask.

“That’s just him. He’s fine.”

As soon as I squeezed him to move forward, his ears swiveled to the front.

“What should I know about him?” I asked.

“Light rein. He’s easy. Have fun.”

We walked on a loose – ish rein for several minutes as I tried not to be intimidated by the fact that I was sharing the arena with a big name local trainer I remembered from showing in the mid 90s. He was schooling a huge warmblood and my goal was to not get in his way. I managed to fare okay, sticking mostly to the rail.

I’m happy to report that riding a horse is like riding a bike! Once you have learned how, you’lI always know how. I began to trot and tuned out the pinched skin on my inner calf as I rose and fell to the rhythm of the gait. I even caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and thought, “Not bad!”

We cantered to the left. It wasn’t the prettiest of departures, but there were no judges. And once we got going, I giggled aloud out of sheer joy.

I piloted my steed around the ring, changed directions, trotted and cantered and then trotted some more. I didn’t ride for very long, it got harder to ignore the pinch of the stirrup leathers on my inner calves, especially when I tried my best to execute a pretty sitting trot. Even the extra layer of thick long underwear I borrowed from my dad wasn’t enough to shield the pain. (Speaking of pain: It was mildly painful looking at myself in the mirror wearing men’s long underwear as I dressed for the barn. Baggy “down there” was remedied a bit by pulling the elasticized waistline a few inches above my belly button. I will choose warmth over style any day. )

As I neared the arena door where my friends plus a few more barn girls I had just met were chatting/watching, Former Trainer asked, “What do you think? Isn’t he easy and good?”

“I LOVE him! Can I visit him this summer? And you ladies too of course.”

They laughed and asked when I’d be back in town. I told them for sure in the summer when school’s out, if not before.

I think I’ll wait until it warms up a little.

What’s the coldest weather you’ve ever ridden in, and did you question your sanity?

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