The Problem With Hidden Hubris

"Damn my eyes," was once elegantly spoken by some unfortunate bloke and it has no reference to what I'm about to write except that, at the moment, I really feel like cursing. Not for any passionate reason. Some people curse from anger, surprise, or amazed appreciation (see: damn, she's hot) and others curse when all other words have vanished. I fall into the latter group. As I sit here, at this benign computer, my fingers are trembling from fatigue and all I can think is damn as I try to gather the words to put together this fine story that I wish to tell.

Whenever something BIG happens, it is usually preceded by several paltry events that bear (or is it 'bare'?) no attention as they happen. YET, after the big event, 20-20 vision bursts forth and with awe-inspiring clarity, the long and winding path behind you is blatantly visible. My cancerous problem, that has been growing with every step of my life, is hidden Hubris. I'll stop rambling now and jump right into the bush...

It all started, or rather ended, on a cold and misty Sunday morning. I set out on my bicycle in the damp fog to meet a teacher from school, whose name I didn't know. It was 9am and few people were out when I spotted my teacher riding up ahead. She has shockingly white hair cut short and I recognized her instantly. We rode for approximately 15 minutes to a nearby farm in companionable silence.

Big and imposing, we rode into the barn courtyard. It was not silent; if you listened closely, you could hear all the horses and cows moving, eating, kicking, ruminating, etc. Here, as opposed to the city, many people were up and about, saddling horses, moving hay, and feeding animals.

I was assigned to a round and tall dappled bay horse, named Jimmy. At first sight, it was evident that he had that dense, yet agreeable mentality of a saddle horse. At FIRST sight. At the SECOND and THIRD glances, you notice the thick legs, waggling ears, and stomping foot of a horse anxious to get on with it.

We groomed and saddled the horses. Obsessed with safety, something that's been pounded into my thick skull since childhood, I DID ask for a helmet. Hah! I am a conscientious girl, Mom! I didn't get one; however, my kind teacher assured me that my horse was very agreeable and that she doesn't ride with a helmet anyway. Ignoring the tiny bells clanging in the back of my skull, I shrugged off upbringing and meekly mounted Jimmy. (Who would name a horse that? What a silly name...) And off we went into the misty woods of Upper Austria.

Just like riding a bike? I wouldn't exactly say that. It felt familiar, I will admit, to be sitting atop a grain-gobbling machine with a girth wider than an oil drum. It was when we first started trotting, the gait above a walk, that I began to feel uneasy. I immediately lost my stirrups and started flopping around like those cheap dashboard dolls in used cars. The second session of trotting went better, under the guidance of my teacher, who sympathetically adjusted my grip of the reins and foot posture. Posting, the act of standing and sitting during the trot, was still beyond me. But I gamely flopped around, carefully watching Jimmy's ears for signs of frustration at my ineptitude.

New perspective on my history of horseback riding slowly dawned in my bouncing head. I'd really been spoiled when it came to riding: slow outings with lots of people around, firm guidance and supervision, and complacent ponies. No ring training, very few riding lessons, an erratic riding history. Besides, I've always had a certain amount of fear for animals larger than myself. That fear has been transformed into timidity but I'm still not the most comfortable creature around horses. So I slowly began to question the why of my sudden lust to ride again. And it all boiled down to pride. It's the cool thing to do in my family. Necessary, expected - like brown eyes,brown hair, and glasses. But I DO enjoy it. It's a challenge.

Ah well, back to the story. My push-and-go horse was relieved to be out of the barn and my teacher suggested that we take the next stretch at a gallop. "Just grab hold of the reins, lean forward, and let them go," said my teacher with a smile. The next series of events I take as my own fault, my own lack of ability at horseback riding, than any fault of the horse. No matter how hard I would like to blame Jimmy, the fact that I ended sunny-side up wasn't directly his doing. Jimmy wanted to go and soon he was whizzing past the trees, snorting, and driving his way towards infinity.

It felt like warp-speed, like riding a washer machine downhill, like power and speed trapped beneath dapple brown flesh. For the first 15 or so seconds it was exhilarating. Then, as I zoomed past my teacher, the shit hit the fan. I heard her shouting something - German, English - at those speeds, everything is gibberish. I took it to mean: regain control and slow down. So I tried but in trying, I pissed off Jimmy and lost my seat. He bucked, I think, and I found myself riding on the wrong side of the horse. Invariably, you don't want to be on any part of the horse besides the top. Unless you are in the circus, can trace your family tree back to John Wayne, or were born on mars.

For a few jarring moments, maybe only a second, I thought I could pull myself up as Jimmy pounded away unawares. I could see myself, like a silent observer - small girl clinging desperately to large horse. How comic. How Hollywood. I remember seeing my teacher's face, eyes wide, mouth open, and hearing the typical shouting that sounds oh-so-far away. And then I felt myself falling. One belying thought went through my mind as Jimmy's legs came into view: "God, don't let me get trampled". Then flesh met ground and I rolled and rolled. My teacher's horse came very close and I flashed to a jockey's perspective and the aforementioned thought repeated itself.

In my defense, my first instinct was to get up and run after my horse. My teacher had slowed down and very worriedly asked if I was OK. I could feel this very shocked grin slap itself into position on my face. "Yeah, yeah, I'm alright," as a separate part of my brain went WTF. Jimmy was a good boy and had stopped a the turn up ahead. "So, you're down there, are you?" he seemed to ask. "Pfft, yeah!" I wanted to say. Ah well, remount, retry, and keep going. So is life.

I was slapping mud from my back and picking leaves out of my hair as we rode along. My teacher said that she hadn't seen anything like that in a long time, because she usually rides alone. I think I might have scared her quite a bit: "Oh God, I killed the language assistant!" I remarked that I was glad that no one else had seen that and she said that it was nothing to be ashamed of, then she commented that my seat during the gallop had been all wrong. Yeah, that happens when you really don't know what you're doing - when you have this false idea that you do or that you should know.

That's why hidden Hubris is terrible: you don't know it's there until circumstance reveals it. I made people believe that I could ride by saying that "I like to ride." Two very different things. But, soon I came to believe that I could ride too and that's worse.

In conclusion, I'm alright just shaken and disappointed in myself. Afraid that my teacher thinks me completely incompetent. But glad that no large stone made acquaintance with my skull. The only thing that I want to ride with four legs for a while to come is my chair.

Adieu.