Thrill.

Sweat, dust, and leather. Shod hooves striking the dirt. Cheers from where my family hovered around my dad's little blue pick up. My hand was clenched tightly around the horn of the saddle. The other held the reins tightly. My faith in the sure-footedness of my animal was lacking, so although I held the reins high up on his neck, he was sure to tell that I wasn't completely letting go. He suffered through the heels of my boots pressed into his side, urging him to speed up, and the tension in my body begging him not to go too fast. Perhaps for a moment I would consider letting the reins out completely. It just took a few moments of hesitation and his gait was shifting, strides shortening, and he was abruptly halting. The race was over, we had reached the end of the arena.

My body used to be trained and disciplined to sit out a canter, even a gallop with maximum control. I used to have a center of gravity that allowed me to keep my seat in the center of the saddle. Sometimes I would grip the back of the saddle to maintain a deeper seat. Here I was now, so tense with my own uncertainty, a deep mistrust in the spirited pony that used to give me so much hell when I was younger. She was so rotund her saddle did not stay on very well, and my tension favored my right leg, pulling the saddle even further over. I felt sympathetic towards Hope for having to deal with such an awkward rider. I was frustrated with my own incompetency. I used to be so good at this. Although I was comfortable in the saddle, I wasn't competent. Katie urged me to take Hope for a run. I didn't like Hope's favoritism for the fence, because it nearly cost me my leg. When I had her out towards the road, I turned her back for home. A few things contributed to my nerves. I could clearly remember the plunging feeling when Sonny had lost his footing all those years ago, falling and pinning me to the dirt. The grass was tall enough in the field where I now rode to obscure any holes or uneven ground. Past experience led me to believe that although horses were meant to run over all sorts of terrain, some horses were a bit clumsier than others. Hope had already fallen once coming out of the creek. I had to have a little faith, so I urged her forward. Katie waited at the other end of the field with Ike. Hope needed no encouragement. As she leaped forward I felt-- It's hard to describe the feeling... It was thrilling, and terrifying, and exhilarating all at once. Still, a tiny part of me held back, but most of me didn't want to. And for just a moment, Hope sensed the overwhelming part of me that just enjoyed the speed and she broke into a full run. It only lasted for the briefest moment as my body responded to the speed with my usual tension. She maintained a gallop for the rest of the stretch. By the time she pulled up next to Ike, my legs were trembling so much I wouldn't have been able to stand.
After a moment, I slid off to stand by Ike while Katie decided to give Hope a real run. The moments standing with Ike were perhaps the sweetest. He was taller than Hope, and a beautiful chestnut color. At first he wanted to turn to watch Hope as she cantered away, but I held his head and tried to keep him from prancing on my exposed toes. Eventually he settled, and contented himself to staring at me. I stroked his face, his broad forehead, his velvety muzzle. He was beautiful to me, with liquid brown eyes that seemed to be fully comprehending how engaged I was in enjoying him.