a moral, or a memory.
"Rachel, you're leaning on your hands," my riding teacher said. "Stop."
I looked down. Wulfie's shoulders pumped back and forth with his swinging trot, and his mane bounced lightly against his neck. My hands weren't even touching him. "No, I'm not."
"Yes you are. Look at the stiffness in your elbows."
"My balance is fine."
Debbie raised her eyebrow at me. "Ride down that side of the ring," she said, "posting trot." I did. "Good, now drop your reins." I dropped them. "Put your hands on your helmet. Now do it again."
I squeezed my calves against Wulfie's belly. He swung back up into the trot, and I rose to post. With the first swing of his shoulders I lost my balance. And then I was just falling, scrambling for a hold on his mane but missing altogether.
---
you don't know how badly you're leaning until you take it away.
I looked down. Wulfie's shoulders pumped back and forth with his swinging trot, and his mane bounced lightly against his neck. My hands weren't even touching him. "No, I'm not."
"Yes you are. Look at the stiffness in your elbows."
"My balance is fine."
Debbie raised her eyebrow at me. "Ride down that side of the ring," she said, "posting trot." I did. "Good, now drop your reins." I dropped them. "Put your hands on your helmet. Now do it again."
I squeezed my calves against Wulfie's belly. He swung back up into the trot, and I rose to post. With the first swing of his shoulders I lost my balance. And then I was just falling, scrambling for a hold on his mane but missing altogether.
---
you don't know how badly you're leaning until you take it away.