By: Judy Snyder

When I watch the young rider’s from my barn compete in shows, I am both amazed and envious. “Why”, I ask, “didn’t I start this sport I’ve grown to love so much at an earlier age?”
Like one, these kids go through human/equine moves seamlessly without fear, intimidation, or lack of coordination. The jumps smooth, the dressage letter perfect.

And then there is me.
I was just ten when I was lucky enough to have an Uncle who paid for some beginning lessons. I was thrilled. Horses were a new passion that led me into the equestrian world.
Among that place were constant sights of perfect horse silhouettes, backdropped by the smell of musk; fresh hay; sweet feed; and even manure.

I was hooked.
But it didn’t take long for the money to dwindle and the equine world left me until I was married and in my twenties. Interestingly, I learned to compete against other adults and faired well. Some owned their own horses, though I did not, but I persevered. Those twenty years hadn’t crushed my fears and I jumped and competed. I left success behind for reasons I cannot recall and another decade passed.

I was working as a teacher and columnist during this time, but I was also diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I exhibited and still possess many of the classic symptoms of what is often referred to as manic-depression.

This “mood disorder” is characterized by exaggerated and chronic highs and lows. Women are twice as likely as men to experience major depression, while both sexes are touched equally by the rhythmic swings of bipolar disorder.
In the high mode of bipolar disorder, people suffer from poor memory, concentration, coordination, and judgement. In the low cycle, a person may be plagued by worry, anxiety, irritability or sleeplessness.

Doctor prescribed medications are used to straighten the mood and augment the illness. Over time I’ve learned to watch my sleep, food, and activities; while choosing to spend my time with positive and motivating people.

At thirty-seven a shroud of cautiousness surrounded me. I was the mother-of-three now. Serious business. There must be a Parent Law written somewhere I imagined that read, “CAUTION: PARENTS MUST NOT PARTICIPATE IN RISKY SPORTS. SUCH PARTICIPATION MAY JEOPARDIZE YOUR ABILITY TO CARE FOR CHILDREN.”

For the love of riding and horses, my only sport besides bowling, I tossed caution to the wind.
At the tender age of forty-eight I work at what I consider to be serious when riding my mount to keep the pace. Truth is: I am often tense, frightened, intimidated, and uncoordinated. All the ingredients that make a poor rider.
Or should I say “rider in training?”

Last year I asked for an English saddle for Christmas. I picked it out myself a month before and set it beside the most lavish couch in the house. To me, it was a cherished piece of equipment that needed a respectful resting place. I tried not to look at it every day. But, it was hard.
This year, I purchased a Western saddle. Funny, it’s treated with the same respect as the leather home recliner. You wouldn’t want to scratch it, and it sits in the hallway on a plush matching aztec pad.

The same routine if followed for my riding apparel. Oh, my boots could always be shined a bit, but I’ll choose them to wear over sneakers any day.

Yes, I wear a helmet; and I’m glad I do. Different from riding on a motorcycle, horses have brains and if something suddenly panics them a jump to the side, forward or back, is not uncommon. That’s why riders need to have a “good balanced seat.”

For someone like me, that means I need to concentrate more during lessons, and on my own, to actually feel the blocks of my body.

In her book, “Centered Riding,” by Sally Swift balance is accomplished by visualizing your body in five blocks on your horse. If the blocks are not balanced they will fall down. Carefully balanced one above the other you have your: legs and feet, pelvis, rib cage, shoulders, head and neck.

“The point,” says Swift, “is that building blocks must balance one above the other. If they are not carefully balanced, they become unstable, or worse yet, fall down in a heap.”
Oh, my! At my age I can’t be heaping. Nor do I want to think of myself on my mount as unbalanced physically, when I know I’m already so good at being unbalanced mentally.

But, I’m working on both. And each, though they work together are a challenge in their own way. There is no easy formula for managing a chronic disorder while learning to ride. The trick to riding is fairly similar to the acceptance of the illness: get a good trainer, learn what you can, be open and; practice-practice-practice.

In the process of riding there are always six feet. Not the one’s we measure, but the one’s we count. Your companion, your horse, has four, and you have two. With six you cover a lot of ground together. Some in a working mode, some in a pleasure mode, some; hopefully not in a crash zone.
Undoubtedly, I own two feet that visit the barn again and again for refreshment. I feel renewed when I’ve groomed and tacked. Once mounted I feel unjudged, peaceful, and mindful as well. My horse has grounded me once more from a place that keeps me unbalanced and tense.