I recently had a fall that resulted in a serious injury—a century ago, they might have cut my arm off, or left me with one that doesn’t work. Somewhat ironically (at least on the surface) I came off a short, out of shape pony and landed in wet grass. A few people said to me, after the fact, that “it happens to the best of them,” and I’m sure they meant to be consoling, but I challenge that.
I’m very hard to unhorse, and every time I’ve come off—which is rare—there have been at least three red flags. Not two, not one—three.
If you know what you’re doing you know these flags are apparent. The accident didn’t happen to me any more than drowning happens to cave divers. It was a consequence of informed and bad decisions enabled by overconfidence.
This is what happened:
I:
- rode a horse who hadn’t been worked all year
- who didn’t know me
- whom I didn’t know
- who was suddenly asked to work a tedious,
- spooky,
- and long training iteration
- which I found boringly easy so I was feeling cocky and/or complacent
- which was now over and she knew it but was being asked to work again
- who was herd sour (from me knowingly riding an impatient, anxious horse away from the others)
- who was a bad anthrohipponometry for me (she was too small for me and therefore slippery—a taller horse wouldn’t have pulled off her little coup on me)
- had only a loose ring snaffle so basically no brakes
- in an open area with no environmental obstacles to slow her down
- and I was under social and professional pressure to follow through with the dangerous thing I was about to do, being among my cohort from the recent training we just graduated, and in front of one of my students—I didn’t back down when my better judgment warned me to.
What followed was incredibly predictable. She bolted, full gallop. I could either have stood the gallop and ride it out, or lean back and try to bring her back under control. I feared the former, with her being unused to regular riding and being on soft footing, was a huge wipeout risk for her, so I leaned back. With a small horse at a panic gallop, it’s nearly impossible to sit without catching some air, so my seat wasn’t stable. When I asked her to slow down once, twice, thrice, she ducked her head down and shot out to the side—she slipped out from under me. The last card I could have played would have been saving the fall, which would only have taken me raising my elbow up to my ear. Seriously, that would have made the fall a non-issue. But the time to impact from when I knew I was coming off, from a small horse at her fastest gallop, was too short for my reaction time. It could have been done, but, at that speed, only with recent rigorous training rehearsing that specific scenario, which I admit I had not done. (Ironically, I was going to start filming me falling off many cantering horses the very next week to advertise my fall school. Wrong order of operation.)
But whether or not it could have been saved after the fact of her bolting is neither here nor there: I was in that dangerous situation because of all the other conditions and decisions I made the moment before. The question is not how to save such a dangerous situation, but how to avoid it.
Every fall of mine has had at least three red flags; I just counted 13. And I knew all those things before I threw a leg over.
I got cocky and greedy and paid for it.
Don’t think it’s only a matter of time before a horse injures you. If you do fall, replay what happened—identify the red flags. Learn. Ride wisely, with jurisprudence and respect for a heavy, strong, fast animal, keep your red flags under three, and you’ll be fine.
Martial Equestrian 