I started horseback riding when I was 8. Thanks to me being... accident prone, it is not uncommon for me to come away from riding adventures in more than a little pain. At my community college, I gained the nickname and name sign of "gimp," and there was always a running bet of how long it would be before the next injury. When asked to list broken bones, it numbers at over 20. The most recent was in September of 2010, with a fall from my draft gelding left me with a broken nose and three broken vertebrae. Needless to say, I was forced to take a hiatus.
As I mentioned here, back in November, I started riding a sweet, retired jumper up here. As bombproof and calm as he is, he has two vices: peacocks and the sound of Harley-type bikes. On Thursday, I went with a friend on a trail ride for a good two hours. He was perfectly behaved, and the scenery was beyond stunning. We ran across a dunebuggy a couple of times, but the two drivers were extremely well behaved and powered down until we were well past. We were hacking down the bridlepath back to her house (Harmony is boarded in her back yard), when I heard the ominous pop-pop-pop of the damn dunebuggy. I think you can guess where this is going from here... Thanks to my friend's horse crowding mine, my foot got stuck when I was trying to emergency dismount. Harmony bolted and I managed to end up flat on the ground. After a day spent chasing the horse (still massive kudos to the 60-something year old woman who got out of her car to stop him as he trotted down the road) and trying to "cowboy up" at school, I finally let my friend drive me to the ER. Five hours and some Percocet later, I was declared to have a concussion, whiplash, a bone bruise in my elbow, and a new strain in my lower back; I was discharged with more Percocet, a sling, and a soft neck collar. My concussion is still a bit of a fiasco, and now I've managed to come down with the flu on top of it all.
I suppose it was only a matter of time, right? Horse people are crazy, yo.
No comments:
Post a Comment