The Sickness

I wish I could take credit for writing this, but unfortunately I did not. I had to share it, though because it is priceless. And EXACTLY how I, and thousands of others who are afflicted by the sickness, feel.

A page from an 87 yr. old horsewoman's handwritten Journal

I Ride....


I ride. That seems like such a simple statement. However as many
women who ride know... it is really a complicated matter. It has to
do with power and empowerment; being able to do things you might once
have considered out of reach or ability.
I have considered this as I shovel manure, fill water barrels in the cold
rain, wait for the
vet/farrier/electrician/hay delivery, change a tire on a horse
trailer by the side of the freeway, or cool a gelding out before
getting down to the business of drinking a cold drink after a long ride.

The time, the money, the effort it takes to ride calls for dedication.
At least, I call it dedication. Both my ex-husbands call it 'a sickness.'

It's a nice sickness I've had since I was a small girl bouncing my
plastic model horses and dreaming of the day I would ride a real
horse. Most of the women I ride with understand
that meaning of 'the sickness.' It's not a sport. It's not a hobby.
It's what we do and-- in some ways-- who we are as women and human beings.

I ride. I hook up my trailer and load my gelding. I haul to some
nice trailhead somewhere, unload, saddle up, whistle up my dog and I
ride. I breathe in the air, watch the sunlight filter through the
trees and savor the movement of my horse. My shoulders relax. A
smile spreads across my weathered face. I pull
my floppy hat down and let the real world fade into the tracks my
horse leaves in the sand.

Time slows. Flying insects buzz loudly, looking like fairies. My
gelding flicks his ears and moves down the trail. I can smell his
sweat and it is perfume to my senses. Time slows. The rhythm of his
walk and the movement of the leaves become my focus. My saddle
creaks and the leather rein in my hand softens with the warmth.

I consider the simple statement: I ride. I think of all I do because
I ride. Climb rocky slopes, wade into a lily-pad lake, race a friend
across the hayfield... all the while laughing and feeling my heart in
my chest. Other days just the act of mounting and dismounting can be
a real accomplishment. Still I ride, no matter how tired or how much
my sitter bones or any of my other acquired horse-related injuries
hurt. I ride. And I feel a lot better for doing so.

I think of the people, mostly women, that I've met. I consider how
competent they all are. Not a weenie in the bunch. We haul 40 ft.
rigs, we back 'em up into tight spaces without clipping a tree. We
set up camp, tend the horses.
We cook and keep our camp neat. We understand and love our companion--,
our horses. We respect each other and those we encounter on the
trail.
We know that if you are out there riding, you also shovel,
fill, bathe, wait and doctor. Your hands are a little rough and you
travel without makeup or hair gel. You do without to afford the
'sickness' and probably, when you were a small girl, you bounced a
little model horse while you dreamed of riding a real one.

"My treasures do not chink or glitter, they gleam in the sun and neigh in the night “