I’d like to tell you that I jumped up on Reina, felt like I was a teenager again, and we rode off confidently into the sunset.
But I’ll tell you the truth instead.
As I mentioned before, I was still healing up from a broken ankle when she arrived, so I had to wait a few weeks before I was cleared to ride.
But I found myself putting it off even longer. A few times I got as close as standing on the mounting block and putting my foot into the stirrup. But, every time, I froze up when it came time to throw my leg over.
I couldn’t even tell you why. By that point I knew her pretty well and trusted her not to do anything stupid. And she trusted me, too. I guess it was ME who didn’t trust me.
But finally, one evening while hanging out with her, my inner 12 year old took control. I tied her lead rope into reins, stood up on my truck’s tailgate, took one big breath, then climbed over onto her bare back.
It took my inner 49 year old about three seconds to realize how incredibly stupid that was. But Reina had already stepped away from the truck, so I was committed.
I learned two things during that brief ride:
1. Sixteen hands seems a LOT higher off the ground than it used to.
2. Balance is one of those “use it or lose it” skills, and I lost it a long time ago.
But I survived. And a few days later I rode her again, this time with proper gear (boots, saddle, helmet).
That was a few months ago, and we’re still doing “baby” rides to build my skills and confidence—usually just walking slowly around the arena. But that’s one of the nice things about being a middle-aged rider: no one really expects you to accomplish anything! They’re just surprised you’re out there at all.
And my sweet Reina proves herself a saint of a mule on a regular basis. While I haven’t fallen off of her (yet), I’ve managed to fall UNDER her twice now. One of those times the saddle went with me. (I’d forgotten how often cinches need to be checked for tightness!) That’s a nightmare scenario with most horses, as a saddle hanging from the belly is likely to trigger a spook, possibly trampling the rider and injuring the horse. But my steady steed isn’t the least bit startled by my clumsiness and ineptitude. She just watches me curiously from the corner of her eye until I stop laughing, drag my ass up, and dust off the dirt.
The Midlife Mule 