Why do I have this knot of fear in the pit of my stomach?  I wasn’t always so fearful.  No, not the great Amazonianally-tall me; lover of horses since seventh grade.  I never had a problem hanging on or getting on or off.
        I’d race my Junior High School buddies as fast as we could through the abandoned streets of what was to have been a housing track.  The builders should have realized that they were in a flood plain.  Curbs were the only essence of “street” left.  The roadbeds were fantastic for straightaway racing.  Thundering hooves rang out in the dust of the Hansen Dam dry lake bed.
        I was fearless.  I could do anything.
        Many, many years later, I went to a dude ranch in Bridgeport, California, for vacation.  I had passed Western Equitation in college, and had a few English riding lessons under my (nonexistent) chaps.  I felt I was up to the challenge of what was called the Fall Color Ride.  The year was 2001, and I had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis for four years.
        Okay, I did not know about steep hillsides heretofore.  But I mastered them.  I was also unfamiliar with ground hornets and bogs.  I avoided those hazards on subsequent trips to the ranch.  I was feeling pretty darn good about my abilities.
        Until the day of the unannounced race.  Unannounced because the wranglers decided, without informing their charges, that they would race to the next gate.
        Herd mentality being what it is, the entire group barreled along at breakneck speed.  I wasn’t as good as I had previously reckoned.  The reins were much too long to actually shorten to slow my steed.  Besides, I had grabbed a handful of mane so that there was no way of shortening them without letting go.  I had no intentions of letting go!  No way, no how!
        Without warning, my “trusted” mount veered left.  I followed the laws of physics and went straight.  Straight out of the saddle, and onto the hard-packed, short-grassed ground; “Thunk!” onto my right shoulder.
        Never mind the fact that I came up laughing.  Nothing broke; I only sustained a deep tissue bruising.  A couple years later on the same horse, I did almost the same thing.  This time, however, I had intended to lope –  I never intend to fall off.  I tucked and rolled this time, and there was no injury at all.
        Much to a dear friend’s silent objections, I obtained a “free” horse in 2005.  Breezy was 22 but in overall excellent health.  Breezy was a bit smaller than the dude ranch beast, which was fine by my six-foot frame.  Mostly Arabian, and bay in coloring, she won me over the first time I rode her.  My friend, who grudgingly brought her home for me, changed her mind after only one year.  Kathy actually says, “I was wrong about you!  I thought there was no way you’d be able to care for a horse.  Breezy is very good for you.”
        When Breezy first came home, I’d lope her up my neighbor Ken’s front yard.  We are on two and a half acre parcels out here, so there is plenty of room for a nice run.
        I still vacationed at the dude ranch making two trips a year east over the Sierra.  I discovered that I didn’t have to run, if I didn’t want to.  I’d walk ahead on my horse and wait for the others to come cantering up to me.
        The MS started progressing.  I could no longer tack up Breezy and mounting/dismounting her was too dangerous left to my own devices.  Breezy may not be 15 hands, and I do have long legs, but the left one is “ms’ed” up, and I cannot lift my foot as high as the stirrup.
        Back at the ranch I’d occasionally run, but not often.  The owners and crew put me with the buckaroos; beginners and children.  Okay, fine with me.  I’d see others off at a distance loping along, no cares in the world.  I’d sigh, not believing that at one time I could do the same.  Where had my courage gone?
        I needed help riding Breezy at home.  I met Christina at our veterinarian’s (small animal vet) and got to talking to her.  She was able to train Breezy into holding still when she is mounted.  Quite the blessing!  The training sessions took place while I recuperated from shoulder surgery, the end sum of my original fall in ‘02.
        Now, with my helper on my battery-powered scooter and me on Breezy, I could be seen doing the rounds in our rural neighborhood.  Then I got a great idea — take Breezy down a rather steep slope and lope her back up.  I don’t think Christina thought much of my plan.  After two jarringly fast trots up (you know the kind) I finally got her to lope.  And off I went, this time to the left.  I hit my sacroiliac on a rock, and that was the end of riding for one month.
        Christina had to quit, and I posted help wanted signs at most of the local feed stores.  Sixteen year-old Bethany was hired.  She’s intuitive as to what I need and want from her.  I’ve gradually gotten better; the MS damage seems to be reversing itself.  Even though I start with a retaining wall as a mounting block, I can now swing my right leg over Breezy’s butt.
        However, I would not let Breezy run, no matter how much she yearned to do so.  I’d feel the jet packs and booster rockets underneath me and was so fearful of what I thought must happen if I let her run; i.e., I would fall, that I never let her “go”.  I realized that I was denying Breezy’s inner horse.
        Then one day, I asked Bethany, “How about you running Breezy up Ken’s front slope?  I think she’d enjoy it.”
        “Sure!”  Bethany was enthusiastic.
        I would ride around, loosening up my aging horse.  Then, left hand on Bethany’s shoulder, I’d swing my right leg over Breezy’s neck/head and neatly drop to the ground.  Bethany would shorten the stirrup length to accommodate her height of 5′4″.  Oh my!  Breezy loved it!  She would become half-crazy snorty horse; blowing out clouds from her flaring nostrils.
        July 24, 2009.  We were back from our loosening up excursion and Breezy and I were playing in Ken’s yard; practicing what dressage moves I was familiar with and kind of knew the cues to make Breezy do them.
        Then, it happened.  I went down the side of the yard, turned, and away we went!  I did not fall off!  According to Bethany, I was deep in the seat and looked nigh on perfect.  So what did I do?
        I did it again, twice more!
        I’ve made it through the wilderness, through the brick wall, and there are no monkey’s to be seen, especially on my back.
        I may not be able to walk (well), but I’ll keep on running with Breezy!