I rode my mare

This past Sunday, May 5th, I rode my mare Sota for the first time in three years. 1,034 days to be exact.

If you hadn’t heard, I discovered something “off” with Sota back in winter 2018/2019. It took us on a journey of over two years of on-again/off-again lameness, unpredictable and often dangerous behaviour issues, and thousands of dollars (and millions of tears) for multiple forms of bodywork, vet exams, injections, saddle changes, etc.

By spring/summer 2021, I decided to put her into indefinite retirement, unsure if she’d ever come out. She was eight years old. (*It turns out, we believe she had experienced an SI injury at some point and as a result of it going unaddressed, her pelvis had begun slowly rotating. Multiple sessions of Osteopathy were able to realign her pelvis, though she still has scar tissue.)

Since then, Sota and I have spent the past three years building our relationship, doing subtle (yet profound) bodywork and rehab exercises, and enjoying life together.

On Sunday, I went into the ring with Sota with no expectations. I didn’t tell anyone that I intended to get on her if she would allow it, I had my tack in the ring to ride Paco later, and just simply went in with Sota and walked around as usual. We did our regular hand-walking, and then I brushed her. From there, I casually tacked her up with zero issues as she stood freely in the ring. I led her to the mounting block, put my foot in the stirrup and waited. She turned her head and looked at me, and then straightened herself and prepared. I lifted myself up, paused, swung my leg over, and off we went.

It was like no time had passed. Sitting in the saddle atop Sota felt like home; a place I knew so well and felt comforted by.

We walked around the ring on a loose rein for about five minutes and then I dismounted. Sota looked so proud and my heart felt like it was going to explode.

Over the past three years, I envisioned the day I would get back on Sota and I always imagined I’d get on and start sobbing from relief and happiness.

But I didn’t cry, I was too preoccupied with joy. I’ve cried so many tears for us - both good and bad. We did the damn thing together and now it’s time for joy.

Our rehabilitation journey isn’t over, but I’m seeing it in an entirely new light; one that is empowered rather than weakened.

This five-year journey has given us a bond that I would never trade. It’s given Sota a voice, and it’s helped me find mine.

Like the lyrics that I had tattooed on my right shoulder at the age of 19 say: