The breeze cools my face as the ground slips by swiftly, effortlessly. Here I find an escape from the worries of the world. Here I feel in complete control in one instant and marvel at my weakness in the next. Here I enjoy the world from horseback.

            I was a classic horse-crazy girl, pleading with my parents for lessons every chance I got. When I finally received lessons, which led to my very own horse, I realized that though riding is pricey, the memories are priceless.

..... A horse must trust a rider just as much as a rider must trust a horse. Both rely on the other for safety, whether it is over a jumping course, or simply walking down the street. By entailing trust in this way, riding requires more than an expensive pet, but a friend. I learned to trust him implicitly, and in return he knew I would never ask too much of him. Such simpatico elicits relaxation over apprehension and allows the ability to truly enjoy great rides.

            My first truly memorable ride on Chase remains remarkably clear in my psyche. My trainer and I had the entire main jumping ring to ourselves on a calm, sunny Wednesday afternoon. My trainer decided to test the extent of Chase’s jumping ability, and mine in the process. Little butterflies of excitement and anticipation began to flutter in my stomach as she began setting the jumps higher and higher. Each time Chase and I approached a fence, we cleared the task as easily as I can type these words. Then suddenly a triple combination towered at four-foot-six.

Time suddenly took on a cinematic effect. Each pound of Chase’s hooves resounded in my ears. I felt I was in a bubble, with the pounding on the arena’s surface the only audible sound capable of registering in my brain. The carnival-colored hurdle’s surfaces blurred together as we cantered around the ring. The jumps were menacing giants crouched directly in my path. My trainer stood next to the first obstacle, and was suddenly dwarfed to ant’s dimensions. As we rounded the final turn, my stomach did one more flip-flop before something clicked and suddenly the jump’s size ceased to matter. I noticed Chase’s velvety ears prick forward, eagerly awaiting the challenge before swishing back to listen for my cues. The part of me that was apprehensive dissolved and exhilaration took over.

One, two, one, two, I now assuredly counted the beat of the rhythm as the jumps grew closer with each step. One, Liftoff! Chase powered us over the fence, tucking his front legs neatly in front of his chest. I felt his power become completely unbridled in that instant. We were suspended, apart from the ground yet not quite in the sky. Much too quickly we were descending and the next jump’s entirety filled my vision. I counted the strides to five, and a subtle squeeze was all it took and we were soaring again, my hands pressing forward automatically, releasing his neck so he might take flight. I was intently concentrating on my form-- heels down, eyes looking straight ahead through his ears toward our final fence before finishing our feat. Only two strides now, then up and over! My inner monologue from years of lessons talked me through the rest. Sit up and down, contact on the reins, shoulders back, and deep seat.. As we pulled up, a Cheshire cat grin immediately lit up my beaming face. I trotted over to my trainer; out of breath and suddenly unsure if I had dared to breathe during the entire sequence. I relaxed now and patted Chase in encouragement, giving him full rein to strut, as he was equally proud of himself. Though it was brief, that sensation of flying was unique to all other jumping I had done in the past. In that moment, there seemed nothing that could stand in our way--we’d simply jump over it!

Looking back, I realize knowing Chase and I could clear hurdles like that helped gather a sense of calm when we faced a show ring. Huntington Beach Equestrian Center witnessed our most memorable success as we went into my final summer show season with Chase, for I knew I had to sell him before I went to college.

 It was far too early on that crisp Saturday morning for anything but a horse show. The usual hectic show bustle was present everywhere. Horses were being warmed up, and polished to a shine. Riders were gathering gear, memorizing courses, and concentrating on last-minute pointers. As we entered the ring, the world seemed to melt away. My usual nerves had slept in that day and I was cool as an especially content cucumber. Sole concentration remained on the rhythm of it all, and a happy song, “Simple Gifts” was on repeat in my head. A good song to ride to is like a metronome to a pianist; it plays a dual role of calming and keeping a consistent pace. Chase and I met each fence as if it were our last, with equal measure of conviction and enthusiasm. The round seemed hardly a breath long, and as the crowd applauded, with my family especially audible, I was ecstatic. The day was a triumph and we left the show a victor, both in heart and in ribbons.