Off Course Lil

So I had this demo riding lesson on Sunday.

Don’t ask me how this thing was arranged or who in gods name the 15 kids and 5 adults were who showed up at the barn to watch me ride. All I know is that my riding instructor Dave said “free lesson” and I said “where do I sign up?”

(I’m such a cheap bastid. Oy)

So I end up riding this horse, Mac, who is impressively white and impressively large (6’3’’ at the shoulder, to be exact). He’s also impressively EASY to ride, and not prone to being spastic, unlike the other jumper I ride, who would have most certainly given everybody a show, but probably more of a “death-defying” show as opposed to a “this is how you should ride” show.

Plus, falling off sucks, yanno?

Anygiddyup, so I’m warming up the horse and Dave is giving a schpiel about who I am and how I used to be one of his prize competitors.
Which is true, in that I used to represent the barn in competitions, but false in that I spent more time puking up my breakfast from nerves than actually competing.

Showing was never my thing.

Throwing up, unfortunately, was.

So he starts waxing nostalgic about our old glory days, when I was part of a team of fearless jumpers sailing over 5’ fences and he was our barave commander in chief.

Very warm and fuzzy.

But this guy, Dave, well, he tends to exaggerate. He was going on and on about how awesome I was at showing, and I had to gently remind him about the first time I ever went to a show.

~~~~~cue flashback~~~~~

I was probably 14 or 15 at the time, and nervous as hell (a trait that I never lost, which eventually caused me to abandon showing for training youngsters. Seriously, the voming was out of control). We had trained and trained for the day, and in all honesty, it was a small, inconsequential show, but still. There were jumps and judges and people watching and this loud, nasty buzzer that scared the bajesus out of me.

The problem with show jumping is not so much the jumping, which is actually pretty fun, otherwise, why else would we be doing it? The problem with show jumping is that it requires a certain amount of short-term memory.

You see, when you show up to a competition, there are anywhere between 10 and 15 jumps set up in the ring. Posted somewhere outside of the ring is a diagram of all the jumps, with little numbers next to them stating the order (and direction) in which to be jumped.

They call it a course.

I call it an exercise in futility.

We all know that I have no short term memory. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – If they ever discover a type of juvenile-onset Alzheimer’s, I’ll probably be their spokesperson. On an average day, it’s a miracle that I remember to put on pants before I leave for work.

So how exactly am I supposed to memorize the order of 10 to 15 jumps in about 10 minutes and then perform said course in front of a bajillion onlookers?!?
It’s practically impossible.

And that, my friends, is what I learned at that first show; that my handicap is not the jumping. It’s the memorization.

So I’m all quaky and shaky and vommy, trying frantically to remember the course. I’m third up in the order, and I’m watching the first two with a knot in my stomach, because even as I’m watching them, I’m messing up the order in my head.

Finally, my turn is up. I head into the ring and do my warm-up circle, and wait for the buzzer to go off.

*BBUUUZZZZZ
Time to go.

So we shoot into a canter and I approach my first fence.
*kick
*Juummmmpppp
*oomph

We land and I start to feel more confident.
I’m all “This is great. I’m DOING this!”
And the horse is all “Get this amateur off of me”
(he was always kind of a douche)

We approach the next jump and come in with a bit more gusto and a bit less vomitinmymouth
*kick
*juummmmppp
*oomph

Sailed over it.
Because I’m the man.

The third jump is coming up quick, and at this point I’m feeling pretty damn cocky. So I leg him on and we jump it with room to spare.
*kick
*juummmmppp
*oomph

*BBUUUZZZZZ*
“THE RIDER IS OFF COURSE. PLEASE EXIT THE RING”

W. T. F?!?!?!?!?

You guys.
Not only did I jump the wrong jump; I jumped it backwards.

People always talk about the “walk of shame,” but there is a little-known but equally humiliating “ride of shame” in which a rider exits the ring after being asked to leave because she fell off or her horse refused the jump too many times.

Or, on those rare occasions, when she is a retard and goes off course.

I am the latter of these examples.

I exit the ring to face an irate trainer and a crowd of smirking competitors.
And did I mention that most horseback riders come from an elite upper class which is SWIMMING in money, and are usually snobs to some huge degree?

So the snobby-snobs are snickering and my trainer is red-in-the-face angry and all I want to do is vom.

Luckily, there are three classes in this division.

Redemption, thou name is “Class II”

I do my best to shake it off and ignore the snide little comments coming from the other riders, which totally makes me want to bust a cap in their asses, and focus on the next class.

I study the course intently.
“fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…etc”

The next class, I landed the first in line.
Great.
Fuck me.
So I head out again and wait for the buzzer of death.

*BUUUZZZZZ

Off I go.
And you guys, I kid you not:

The very first goddamn fence I took was the wrong one.

*BBUUUZZZZZ*
“THE RIDER IS OFF COURSE. PLEASE EXIT THE RING”

Holyshitthiscan’tbehappening

Walk of shame No. 2, ladies and gentlemen.
Never in my life have I wanted to die so much as when I was exiting that ring for the second time.

A rider who goes off course once is an anomaly.
A rider who goes off course TWICE? ON THE SAME DAY?!?!?
You might as well take the short bus to school.

I’m happy to say that I finally made a clean round by the third class, and even managed to place in the top 3.

But the damage had been done.
I was traumatized.

And TO THIS DAY, I’ve had a nickname around the barn that I have yet to shake:

Off Course Lil.

So of course I relate this little story to Dave and the 15 some-odd kids who are watching the lesson.
Because somewhere out there is a little girl who is bound to go off course, and when she’s feeling dumber than a pile of rocks, I’d like her to say to herself,

“Well, it could be worse. At least I didn’t do it TWICE in the same day.”