10/12/2025
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โConfessions of a Riding School Saintโ
Hello, human.
Yes, you โ the one still trying to find the correct diagonal.
Iโm the riding-school horse you meet once a week. You call me โsteady,โ โsafe,โ or, when I donโt immediately burst into extended trot, โlazy.โ Iโve carried hundreds like you โ some with bouncing enthusiasm, others with a death-grip on the reins and a look that says, โPlease, not canter.โ
Every rider brings their own style. Some kick like theyโre starting a lawnmower. Some perch like a baby giraffe learning ballet. One even tried โnatural horsemanshipโ by whispering at me for twenty minutes. (I admired the effort, but grass would have been more persuasive.)
I do my best to translate. But itโs tricky when one person wants me to go forward, the next to collect, and the next to โjust feel the rhythmโ while clamping both legs and pulling on my face. Youโd be confused too.
Sometimes, when the messages get too loud or too mixed, I tune out. You call it โlazy.โ I call it โself-preservation.โ You see, my job isnโt easy โ I must keep everyone safe while pretending your seat bones arenโt trying to send Morse code in three languages at once.
Iโve met every training philosophy going: โforward fixes everything,โ โnever use the leg,โ โride from the seat,โ and my favorite โ โjust sit deeper!โ (Usually shouted as the rider performs a mid-arena levitation.)
But Iโve also met kindness. The quiet rider who remembers to breathe, softens their hand, and says โgoodโ when I try. Thatโs when I lift my back, stretch my neck, and remember what partnership feels like.
I donโt care about levels or ribbons. I care that you try to understand me. That you see me not as a piece of gym equipment but as a partner โ one who has to process your nerves, your posture, and your Spotify playlist of contradictory aids.
So before you call a horse lazy, ask yourself: am I clear? Calm? Consistent?
Because the truth is, Iโm not stubborn โ Iโm exhausted from reading mixed signals.
If you listen, Iโll listen. If you work on you, Iโll meet you halfway โ maybe even with a flying change if Iโm feeling fancy.
After all, Iโm not just your ride. Iโm your mirror, your teacher, and occasionally, your unpaid therapist.
Now, pat me. Iโve earned it.
Author: Gary A Diploma