When I was 10, I went on a Girl Scout horseback riding trip
from hell. While all the other girls rode horses straight out of My Little Pony,
I got stuck on an evil looking mule that I didn’t know how to ride. A dog ran
in front of the mule, and he reared back, leaving me flailing around on my
saddle with my neck snapping and my butt bumping back and forth.
The next day, I walked into my fifth grade class with the
speed and stature of an 80-year-old retiree.
After that experience, I had no desire to ride horses again.
That all changed last weekend, when I slipped on a
pretentious blue dress, some Kate Middleton nude heels and a cheesy hat for a
trip to Royal Ascot. As I
stepped to the outside of the track and saw the horses fly past, I knew that I
needed to rethink my decision to shun horses and horseback riding.
There’s an indescribable adrenaline rush that comes with
seeing how smoothly those horses move and how seamlessly their jockeys control
them. Even when I was not placing my high-rolling £2 bet, I found the excitement
of the track contagious (with or without alcohol in my system).
When the last race came to an end, my friends and I said
goodbye to the security guards we met by the track (who were all the more
valuable because they taught us how to imitate the laugh of a rich old British
man) and found our way back to the gates of Ascot, weaving through a sea of
hats, fascinators and top hats as drunken racing fans sang “God Save the Queen.”
The race may have been a world away from Florida’s swampy
woods, but some things about my Ascot experience were eerily similar to my Girl
Scout experience. Despite its posh appearance, Royal Ascot still had mud and
grime. Some young women did walk like 80-year-olds because platform heels don’t
do very well on grass. And, just as I was jealous of my fellow Girl Scouts with
their My Little Ponies, some of the women were surely jealous of the hats,
fascinators and slightly more toned body parts of their friends.
The difference between my 10-year-old self and my
23-year-old self is that, the next chance I get, I will try horseback riding
again. I will not shy away from it just because of my one bad experience. If I
get an adrenaline rush just from watching the pros, I can’t even imagine what
it feels like to ride a horse that well.
If I try and fail miserably again, I won’t mind. I’ll go back to the tracks not as a horse enthusiast but as a compulsive gambler, and that’s a Girl Scout’s promise.
No comments:
Post a Comment