Cowboy Up

A couple of Fridays ago, my boss took our department on a retreat to Chateau Elan, a resort / spa / winery just north of Atlanta. It's quite beautiful and, being in the country, a serene place, with golf courses and misty vineyards surrounding the hotel and chateau. There were plans for horseback riding, I picturing myself trotting out of the chateau's stables atop my noble steed, surveying the grandeur around me, lord of the manor.

Instead, they herd us onto a couple of short-buses and ship us off to a horse farm about forty minutes away - and you thought the chateau was in the country. My boss' assistant and I made a game of seeing who could find the house with the most cars on cinder blocks in the front yard. You got extra points if the lawn had been mowed around the cars without moving them, and if the actual house had wheels, it was all over. Our game didn't last very long.

We go horseback riding at Montara Farm in two groups: the first group is supposed to be the more experienced riders and the second group the beginners. Now I've ridden before but it's been several years, and the first group is short a few riders so they ask for volunteers. I go reluctantly, but after noticing our head wrangler assigning us to horses by talking to each of us individually and matching them to our personalities, I began to feel a lot better. She assigned me to Haley, who she described as a "tomboy that didn't like girls" and loved guys, so I asked Haley where had she been all my life.

Out on the trail, we rode up hills and through forest, past a primitive graveyard; the entire ride was only a couple of hours, but it seemed like it lasted for days and I didn't want it to end. There were several points on the trail where we would reach a pasture, and our guide would coax us and our horses into galloping and running. The horses didn't need much coaxing, almost instantly hitting a sprint as soon as they reached the edge of the pasture. Our guide said not to let us pass her, and it was all I could do to hold Haley back. After our first run, the guide says to me, "Oh yeah, I should've told you - Haley will outrun any of these horses if you give her the chance." That's all I needed to hear.

When we reached the next pasture, Haley and I broke and ran - it was incredible. I've ridden motorcycles before and often develop a lead foot when I drive a car, but this was entirely different, and a little addictive. So the next time around, I let her do what she wanted, which apparently was to be the leader. She shot like a bullet, overtaking several of our friends.

Haley came a little too close to some trees on our right. I ducked to the left to miss a low branch, but when I came up, I over-corrected and went far to the right, sliding off the saddle. Try as I might, I couldn't get her to stop, and I couldn't get upright, so I only had two options: stay in the stirrup and catch a tree with my face, or jump as far as I could and hope I don't get trampled by the others.

That's exactly what I did, tucking and rolling far from the other horses, landing in a briar patch, absolutely covered in thorns. Luckily, I saw where my glasses landed, so I reached for those first, realizing as I did that at least nothing up top was broken. Now to move my legs. No pain there, either. I stood up, looked at everybody, looked at Haley - and hopped right back on. Understandably, everyone kept asking if I was alright, checking my bumps and scrapes, but I kept telling them to get back on and ride. They were wasting my time and Haley's time. And we ran until Haley and I both worked up a good lather.

Now, I know there are a lot of you horseback riders out there, and you're probably rolling your eyes right now saying, "Big deal." Well in a way, it was a big deal. I didn't get back on because everyone was watching and I had to be a big shot; those aren't the kind of people I work with and they were genuinely concerned that I was injured. The way I see it, I could've given up easily and walked back. A few years ago I probably might have. A few years ago, I probably would've been too heavy to get up on a horse, and still been sitting at the bunkhouse waiting on everybody.

That's why I got back on - because I needed to. I did exactly the same thing two years back when I made the commitment to lose weight. I did it when I lost my Daddy in a car wreck and knew I needed to take care of my Mama.

I had to cowboy up.

It gets hard - as hard as I hit the ground. But you have to get up, brush off and take your lumps. It was never more literal than right there in that pasture. A good friend just kept going on and on about how "huge" what I did was, and I ain't gonna argue, because it was huge. I remind myself everyday.

'Course it's also hard to forget when your ass still hurts.