Disclaimer: This post is about my recent riding trip in the mountains and climbing figurative mountains of fear and doubt. I am writing from a very honest and vulnerable place in hopes of encouraging myself and others to continue the journey of overcoming “mountains,” whatever they may be.
This past Wednesday I loaded Preacher on my mother’s trailer, loaded up my suitcase, saddle, and supplies, and headed up to a little place called Elk Creek, Virginia. It is about a four hour trailer ride to get there, and we were fortunate to be able to stay at a friends one-room cabin. Once we arrived, we were able to turn the horses out into a pasture to serve as their temporary housing, and we made our way into the cabin. The first two nights in the cabin consisted of me, my mother, her dog, an open door, and the peace and quiet of the tranquil mountain farm community. It was nice to spend some mother-daughter time together, something we haven’t done for quite some time, before we were joined by her sister the following two nights.
The first day of our trip was spent driving around the area with my mother’s friend, our hostess, as our tour guide. We stopped at a small diner for lunch, drove around in the rain for a few hours, and then returned to the cabin to settle in and feed the horses. The following day called for thunderstorms for most of the day, so we were unable to ride. Instead, being only a two-hour drive from my grandparents in West Virginia, my mother and I drove up to see the family. We enjoyed several hours of laughter and visiting with not only my grandparents, but two of my mother’s siblings, and one of my cousins before beginning the journey back to Elk Creek for the evening. It was such a treat to be able to spend time with the family that I see so little. The last time that I saw any of them was at my wedding last November.
On Friday, my mother and I woke up and enjoyed our morning coffee on the porch of the cabin overlooking the horses grazing in the field with a backdrop of beautiful blue mountains and sky, and awaited the arrival of her sister. It is amazing the temperature difference between there and home! While we slept with the door open, felt chilly at night, sat on the breezy porch during the morning, and enjoyed highs in the lower 80’s, it was 107 degrees back home! Needless to say, both Preacher and I appreciated not dripping sweat while simply standing outside! My mother’s sister arrived around lunchtime, unloaded her mare, and allowed her to settle in and stretch before we loaded back up to go riding. We hooked my mother’s truck up to her friend’s stock trailer so that we could haul four horses to the head of the trail (her friend wanted to pony one), and my aunt pulled her own mare. We made it to the Virginia Highlands trail around 3pm that day, and rode about 3.5 hours on a nice, wide trail, that to my appreciation, did not have any drop-off edges. The uphill climb was challenging for Preacher, but he was a trooper! We took lots of “breather” breaks, but he finished the ride with no issues. This ride was a big step for us as a team, because we had several obstacles that we needed to overcome, but was an even bigger step for me.
Allow me to set the stage: I am not a huge fan of mountain riding, as the drop-offs and difficult terrain fill me with anxiety and doubt. I have experienced very close calls on the side of the mountain, with my horse struggling to keep from falling down the side, and I have seen the pain that was caused by a horse falling and pinning my mother between him and a tree, breaking her back. Both incidents occurred at the very same National Forrest where we were riding this time, and I had intended to never return there to ride again, but alas, there I was, staring up at the mountain trail. I must also admit that my confidence had been rattled after being thrown hard by a fiery little Arabian mare nearly a decade ago, and I haven’t ridden enough since then to overcome those feelings, as life got in the way. Fortunately, my mother’s friend had chosen a trail that was wide enough that my heart wasn’t racing the entire time, and I could actually get past my anxiety enough to enjoy the ride, though Preacher and I did have to overcome a few unexpected obstacles.
It is interesting the things that elicit anxiety and trigger past experiences. At one point along the trail, we were tasked with riding between a gate and tree, a small space of maybe 2 or 3 feet. Tight spaces have been a challenge for Preacher and I, as when I had been riding him years ago (when we originally had him at the farm), we had gotten caught on a hot wire t-post as we tried to go between the post and a tree. Preacher, out of fear, bucked me off that day, and while I wasn’t afraid of him for the incident (I would have reacted the same), I hadn’t been comfortable with riding through tight spaces since then. I am not sure if Preacher felt the same way or if he simply reacted to my anxiety, but either way, we had work to do in this area. As we approached the gate, I could feel my anxiety creeping up, but I pushed it to the back of my mind, and guided Preacher through the space with my legs. It was only when we were right in between the gate and the tree that I realized there was also rushing water just to the right of the tree, which Preacher looked at, but didn’t react to, as I kept my left leg (beside the gate) on his side to keep him centered. The feeling of pride and relief I felt after making it through the obstacle was tangible. While it may be a small victory or simple achievement to some, it was huge for us!
Later in the ride, Preacher and I had to cross a wide bridge- something that we had never done on a trail. The last time he had seen a bridge was probably in the arena when he had been in training at my parent’s farm, nearly a decade ago! I was slightly apprehensive about what his reaction would be, but I looked up, rode through it, and he never even blinked. We later encountered a group of people riding the opposite direction and had to pass by them, and were told by them that we had just missed a bear running across the trail, much to my enjoyment! I did not want to encounter seeing a bear while riding, as I was terrified of not only the bear, but what Preacher’s reaction would be. I was very happy not to have experienced this obstacle! While we didn’t have a bear sighting, on this trail, we passed campsites, crossed moving water, splashed through mud puddles, walked over bridges, navigated tight spaces, and climbed up and down more hills than I ever thought I would again. I was ecstatic that we had not only survived the trail without injury, but that we had done so well together. I was filled with much more confidence, though there were still areas that I knew I needed to work on before I was completely comfortable. Preacher also benefited from the ride, though he probably would have begged to differ as he was pouring sweat and yawning repeatedly!
The following day my mother’s friend opted for a different trail. She and my mother were both riding her gaited horses, as the mule my mother had taken had gone lame. I was riding along with a great deal of confidence that carried over from the previous day, which I could tell brought out Preacher’s confidence too. We rode along a gravel road before turning onto a very narrow, muddy trail that followed along a busy highway. We then crossed the highway and continued on a narrow trail with a steady climb, but no mountain edges- thank goodness! We made our way to an open, flat, grassy area where we took a break and let the horses rest for a while. I was still feeling confident and was truly enjoying our ride- that was until we got past the grassy area. Suddenly, the trail got narrower, steeper, rockier, and was right on the edge of the mountain. Riding such a small trail on such a big quarter horse is nerve wracking! I couldn’t breathe. I did my best to allow Preacher to pick his footing, but I couldn’t help feel a lump in my throat getting larger every time I saw rocks start rolling over the edge of the mountain.
Preacher stayed steady, but I don’t know how, considering I was trembling like a leaf- I’m sure of it! One wrong step or stumble, and a horse and rider could have easily tumbled down the side. About half-way up the climb I heard my aunt ask if we had to go back down the same way. My mother’s friend stated “Yes.” I suddenly felt like the world was ending. Dramatic, I know, but that is what a severe case of anxiety over something will do to you. I lost it. Standing there on the edge, Preacher dripping sweat and huffing and puffing as we took a break, I burst into tears and couldn’t catch my breath. I’m not sure what I had expected or hoped for- maybe that we would get to the top and that there would be a wider, easier, less deadly trail to go back down on, but had I thought it through, that was unlikely. Even so, knowing that we had more of this trail to climb, and that we had to do it all again going down, was more than I could handle. I desperately wanted to turn around, but there would have been no way to do that due to the narrowness of the trail. I wished that I had the ability to teleport myself back to the trailer, and wanted nothing more than to get off of this trail. I was a complete basket case- a twenty-five-year-old acting like I was five, but it was all I could do in that moment. It wasn’t that I was afraid of Preacher- I wasn’t really- he had been so perfect, but I was afraid of a stumble, wrong step, or spook sending us to our end over the edge of the mountain. After I had regained my composure, at least outwardly, we continued to climb, and climb, and climb, but the voices in my head continued.
I was able to catch my breath as we made it to a spot that served as an intersection between three trails that was at least somewhat flat and wider. We sat for a moment before my mother’s friend asked if we wanted to go ahead and turn around, or if we would rather continue up to the top where there was a lookout point. I of course wanted to turn back around and get the ride over with as quickly as possible, but I didn’t want to be the one to say it and ruin the ride for everyone else, more than my little panic attack already had. I locked eyes with my mother, silently begging her to be the one to say, “no, it’s fine. Let’s just go back,” but after twenty-five years, she apparently still hasn’t mastered the art of reading my mind (haha!). My aunt wanted to go to the top to see the view (you can see three states from there), and my mother’s friend explained how it was only another 1/2 mile, and that it was flat. We turned and headed for the rest of the trail. The 1/2 mile was anything but flat. As the trail wound along the edge of the mountain, through trees, and over rocks, we continued the climb upward. I will admit, I had a helpless, victim mentality at this point, and felt like I was under attack. I was downright afraid and upset. I was upset that we were on such a terrifying trail, and I was upset that we didn’t turn around. My eyes stung as rode forward, my horse digging into the ground pulling us upward, my fear seemingly ripping me apart.
We finally made it to the top of the trail, elevation 4,000 ft, and I was thrilled to see flat ground and gravel roads. In order to see the overlook view, you had to dismount and hike a short trail that was inaccessible to horses. My mother and her friend tied their horses up to a tree and a hitching post, and needing time to breath, I offered to hold my horse and my aunt’s horse and allow them to graze while they went to the overlook. My mother and aunt departed, but my mother’s friend stayed behind. She apologized for choosing that particular trail and explained how she had forgotten how narrow and steep it was, that she hadn’t ridden the trail in a long time, and that edges were so normal for her now that she only rides in the mountains, that she had forgotten what it was like to be nervous about them. I told her that I understood, and that it was a good challenge for me to overcome, but that it terrified me. Having time to cool down, breathe, and process, I knew that this had actually been good for me, even if it wasn’t what I would have chosen. I thanked her for putting me in a situation where I had to face my fear and trust my horse.
After my mother and aunt had returned, we mounted back up, and proceeded down the very trail we had climbed up. I was surprised at how much quicker going downhill was, and found that I wasn’t nearly as nervous. Preacher stumbled pretty badly over a cluster of rocks which caused me to draw a sharp breath, but he quickly regained his footing, and kept us upright. In that moment, I knew that I could trust him completely.
As we continued to work our way back down the mountain, my mother’s friends horse suddenly snorted and spooked. The horse my mother was riding did the same. There was a trail of small, broken trees going up the mountain, and the two front horses refused to go past. We all knew what was likely happening as my mother and her friend uttered the word: “bear.” My mother heard the bear snort and her friend saw movement up the hill past us. The anxiety that had just left me after Preacher’s stumble returned as a feeling of absolute dread. I had been dreading this moment, afraid of what Preacher’s reaction would be. Would he spin and run? Would he stand in place? Would I fall off and come face to face with the bear? A thousand questions flooded my mind, but I took a deep breath, and whispered to myself and Preacher, “Let’s do this.” In a moment of desperation to get away from this creature, I suddenly gained a dose of courage and guided Preacher to the lead, across the path where the other horses refused to pass, all while singing the Little Einsteins theme song at the top of my lungs (thank you to my students for this one!) in order to scare the bear away, but also relieve some of the nervous tension I was feeling. It worked. Preacher went right on and led a large portion of the way back to the trailer. Another milestone.
I was so proud of what Preacher and I had accomplished on this ride, but was embarrassed about how I had reacted on the the climb upward. Unfortunately, I allowed this embarrassment and disappointment in myself to cloud my emotions for the rest of the evening, counter intuitive, I know, but that is just how my brain works when on “default mode.” I spent several hours that evening reflecting on our rides and on my reactions to different situations. How was it that I could step up and guide Preacher in some moments, but be so afraid in others? I have ridden so many “tough” horses and been in so many difficult situations, yet I allowed a few unfortunate moments along my horse journey to steal my joy and confidence in my riding ability- so much so that I now wonder if I made my life busy in order to have an excuse to not face these fears head on. There. I said it. While I have always loved horses, a few bad moments had caused me to be afraid of riding, and the longer I went between my rides, the worse my fear got. It hasn’t been until this summer, when I finally made time to start riding again, that I realized just how far I had fallen in my confidence.
In order to fully enjoy my life again, I had decided to join my mother on her trip to the mountains. I thought that this would be a monumental stride in regaining my confidence, and I was right. The next morning I had a new sense of clarity. Sure, I had a several moments of doubt and fear and had allowed my emotions to pile up and show themselves in a very undignified way, but I still accomplished a goal. I will be honest: I didn’t quit because I couldn’t. No matter how badly I wanted to get off, I couldn’t because I was literally on the side of the mountain. I had to push through, and I did! My biggest challenge was ultimately my biggest lesson and blessing. I hated that narrow, steep, drop-off trail, but that same trail was what pushed me to my greatest limits mentally, and Preacher to his greatest limits physically….but we made it! Stumbling on the downhill trek was what I was most afraid of, yet it is what made me truly begin to trust Preacher as not only a horse, but as a teammate. It was the combination of that moment, and our little victories on the previous days trail, that gave me the courage to step up and give Preacher the confidence he needed to pass the bear.
Am I still embarrassed about my reaction in the face of fear? Absolutely, but just like working a horse, it doesn’t really matter what happens in the middle, what is important is how it ends. Preacher and I ended our riding trip with a feeling of accomplishment and partnership. I still have a long way to go before I would consider myself a confident rider again, but I definitely made steps in that direction on this trip. I am much closer now than I was at the beginning of the summer, and I have a greater motivation to keep working at overcoming my anxiety. Ray Hunt stated that it is important to “recognize the smallest change, the slightest try” in working with horses, but I think that this applies to the person as well. I am recognizing the small changes that I made on this trip and appreciating each of those moments that pushed me to grow. This wise clinician also stated that the “horse is a reflection of the rider’s ability.” Along my short journey with Preacher so far, I have seen how he has softened, changed, and grown alongside me as I have softened, changed, and grown. I look forward to continuing this journey of regaining my confidence and climbing mountains of fear, anxiety, and doubt; and I am excited to see how my horses mirror these changes.
No matter what mountains are in front of you, or what the voices inside your head are telling you, it is important to keep climbing. We aren’t expected to scale the mountain in one day, but every step forward is a step closer to victory. Every moment that we choose to push forward is a push closer to accomplishment. Every moment that we can’t breathe, have tears streaming down our face, are shaking in our boots, and desperately want to quit, but don’t stop until we experience a good moment is a step towards training ourselves to be better; towards not letting our anxieties define us; a step towards truly living. This concept applies not only to our journey with the horse, but also in our faith, our relationships, our jobs, and all other aspects of life. It is easier said than done, and me may stumble on a few rocks along the way, but keep climbing, no matter how steep the mountain.
Kash
(Photo by Hakuba Equine Photography)
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Faith of Horses 