Looking at the bright side.

OK so, I was sort of ejected from a horse yesterday. Actually, I was ejected from a horse yesterday. True story.

Obviously I am still alive. All my limbs work, mostly. But it's not every day you're ejected from a horse, really.


I shall start from the beginning...

I've been working part-time at a spa and wellness center, and yesterday we had a company picnic at a horse ranch. I'm not really a horse person. I mean, I like to look at them and pet them and talk horsey-talk to them, but I've been on a horse exactly twice in my life. I think. But what the hell? Horse-back riding sounds like fun!

!  !!  !  !!!


I need to preface this by saying I am the planet's largest wimp. I don't like riding in speed boats, I hated go-karts as a child, sledding scares me. Horses are on that list. Now.

The ride started just fine. Dixon - that was his name, the horse - was a good boy. At first. I was patting his neck, telling him so.

"Good boy, Dixon, you're a good horsey. Good boy. Please-don't-kill-me-please."

Then we had to jog and lope and do all sorts of wildly terrifying things that are unnatural when riding upon a horse's back. I was terrified.

Outwardly, I looked GREAT, said the riding leader. Inwardly, I was having a fucking heart attack. I was going to fall off that horse, I knew it. The second Dixon started loping my body had absolutely no control of it's positioning. I couldn't hang on, my legs flailed, my ass left the saddle. But I stayed on.

It was when we were at a halt, apparently, that I can't stay on a damn horse.

All of a sudden, as if Dixon decided, "You know what, screw this shit," he leaned his head down, lept to the side, jolted his back end, and off I went.

It all happened very quickly, but in my mind my life was at its end, and I waited as I sloooooowly made my way to the ground six feet below.

Welp. This is it.

Everything I never got to do... life was just beginning... I didn't get to say goodbye... FUCK, I HAVE TO RUN A MARATHON NEXT WEEKEND.

I don't have insurance...

And I landed.

I was a little discombobulated at first, taking note of all my limbs, assuring myself that they all worked. They did. And then I stood my ass right back up. And had to get back on the horse.

I was fine. My ass hurt a bit, and only a while later did my neck begin to stiffen and my left ankle start to misbehave. But within a couple hours, my left ankle was screwed. I tweaked the shit out of it when Dixon so hastily removed me from his saddle. I think my foot got caught up in the stirrup.

This morning, I can hardly walk on it.


Luckily (?), I know it's not a serious injury, likely just a tweaked nerve. It's not swollen, it's not the joint or any such important structure. But I do have to run a marathon in, oh, six days?

Also luckily, I work in an office with three physical therapists, two massage therapists, two acupuncturists and two personal trainers, all of whom assured me that they'll make sure I'm all better by next weekend.

But, shit.

You've got to be kidding me.

Way to screw me out of a final week of running, Dixon. You asshole.

I'm trying to decide whether I should feel blessed or miserable. On one hand, I was bucked off a horse and walked away with only a sore ankle. On the other hand, I "walked" off with a sore ankle that has to run 26 miles in a week.

Son of a whore. No more horses for me, man.