Hey Look!! Grass!



Shamrock Endurance Ride 2012

One of the other things that sets us apart from our horses is the ability to reflect on events.  Thinking ABOUT things that aren't happening at the moment is a uniquely human characteristic. 

For example, horse people OFTEN speculate on how our horses comment on our activity.  At endurance rides, I often think my horse might say "good grief.  She hauls us in the trailer for 4 or 5 hours to this amazing field of perfect green grass, then she rides AWAY from that . . . only we don't go anywhere, just in a circle to come right back to the grass!  HUMANS!"  Their idea of a great weekend would be just munching grass the whole time.  To heck with this trotting business. 

If you ride long enough, you get hurt.  I always tell people who have just started riding (especially kids) that when (note not IF) you fall off the first time, you get your cowgirl/cowboy patch.  After that, every time you fall off you get a stripe to go under that patch.  No matter how long you've been riding, you know that there's always a chance that today is the day you're going to crash.

Yep.  Recently, I went on a ride and it happened to me.  I don't get stripes very often anymore, fortunately, but this one was a winner.  Now the other thing to know about horse people in general and endurance riders in particular is that Endurance Riders don't quit. Injuries are badges of honor.  A friend recently told me that AERC (American Endurance Ride Conference) actually stands for "All Endurance Riders are Crazy."  She's an endurance rider too.  And of course we finish the ride unless we're being air-lifted out on a stretcher.  Tough or Stupid?  You decide. 

About 3 miles from the finish, it happened.  Allie and I were coming out of the last pond after having a really great drink.  It was a no-brainer.  I reined back 2 steps (which was uphill) and cued her to turn on her hindquarters to bring her feet out of the mud and head back down the trail.  She responded like a champ.  And then something happened and her hind feet slipped.  Her back end went right out from under her and she fell hard on her right side.  And on my leg.  With the stirrup in between us.  Ouch.  It happened so fast I didn't even have time to be scared.  (Or maybe I've fallen so much in 15 years of riding that I've habituated to it!)  I got up and collected my horse, and decided that thankfully my leg did not seem to be broken.  We started to walk down the trail back to camp.  At some point I decided I was ok to get back on, and that I'd rather ride than walk.  So I did.  Allie seemed no worse for wear.  She was pulling my arms out of the sockets, whinnying, and trying to get back as fast as I would let her.  Yep.  It hurt.  But I'm an endurance rider :).

We got back to camp and everything looked just fine.  The vets checked Allie out (which happens during every ride - the vets determine at the finish if your horse looks good enough to continue.  If not, you can be disqualified at the end of the ride)  and said she looked great.  Gave me the big OK to ride her again the
 following day.  We went back to the trailer to get untacked, where my other horse waited, having worn a strip in the grass from pacing all day and missing her pal. 

My friends came around to help, and asked how my ride was.  I regaled them with the story of my adventures and proudly displayed the bulging bruise on my thigh.  I must have retold that story 10 times.  It's what we do.  Humans process through repetition.  We tell stories and create legends.  This was actually the 20th anniversary of this particular ride (To see the web page for this ride click here) and we sat around the candles (there was a burn ban - no bonfire this year) that night and told stories of rides we'd ridden and adventures we'd had.  Until it was very late.



Allie, after the ride. 
See why it was tough
to think she was just sore?

  Here's my thoughts about what Allie probably would have told Morgan as she walked into the pen that afternoon:  "HEY!  HI!  I know you!  Look!  Grass!"  And it was all over for her. 

There are two things that struck me about this experience.  The first is what a different experience humans have of trauma.  We spend years re-experiencing and being triggered by an experience.  We play it over and over in our minds, stay awake at night, talk to our friends about it . . . Allie experiences it, gets done with it, and is glad it's over - if she even thinks about it enough to be glad it's over, I'm pretty sure it just disappears from her consciousness until maybe we're back at that same spot next year.  She gets back to the business at hand of eating and staying alive.  I think humans do what we do for a good reason.  Our problem-solving skills are important.  However I think we can learn something from my horse.  Be sure to let the experience end.  When we repeat it in our heads, we tend to repeat the worst part.  One of the big things I focus on in EMDR is to be sure to play the video all the way to the end.  That's when it becomes a memory, when we recognize that it's over.  I think our brains try to rehearse the experience so if it ever happens again we'll do it differently.  Problem is, it's unlikely I will ever be in that exact circumstance again.  I've gotten a drink at the same corner at that same pond on that same ride each of the 16 times I've ridden it.  One of those times, I crashed.  It doesn't make a lot of sense for me to put a lot of problem-solving into that one.  It was just bad luck.  So I'm going with Allie's approach. 

Now, the part I did replay in my head over and over was that Allie started acting funny about 3 hours after the ride.  She lay down, and looked uncomfortable, and scared me to death.  So I had the vet come over and check her out, and he suggested that perhaps she was sore from the fall.  I actually questioned him a little bit on this, explaining that she'd been fine on the mad trot back to camp.  Strong, good energy, all the vets agreed that I should definitely do 50 miles on her the next day instead of 30.  (NO WAY).  But as I lay awake that night thinking about what was going on with her (it was confusing because she was eating . . . like a horse.  A colicking horse doesn't eat.  Allie would lie down and munch grass while she was down.  Weird), I remembered adrenaline.  That adrenaline rush of the fall for Allie produced endorphins.  Endorphins make us impervious to pain.  So while my leg was REALLY painful on the way back to camp, whatever hurt on her didn't start till later.  Everything in her little horsey head said that the best idea was to get back to camp to the safety of other horses, and to do that as quickly as possible.  She was probably more than a little irritated that I kept insisting we not get there at a dead run.  Thank you, Allie, for listening anyway.  And sorry, Tom, that I doubted you.  Lesson learned. 

While I'm at it here, I'm going to also put in a plug for Arnicare Gel.  Now, I am not prone to posting pictures of my thigh on the internet, but holy cow!  That's the difference in using Arnicare for 3 days, and not starting until about 30 hours after the injury.  I'm impressed, and will never travel to a ride without it again.  There's a coupon on the website for a dollar off.