December 4, 2024 
Full disclosure. I’ve been trapped inside my hunter bubble.
In my younger years, I dabbled. I dipped my toes in dressage, hunter paces, and eventing. I attempted Western.
Fun fact: my crowning achievement was winning a blinged-out belt buckle. Turns out, my warmblood was an overgrown snail who killed it in Western Pleasure. I was a riding adventurer!
Sadly, though, unlike fine wine that mellows with age, I’ve grown more rigid.
I’m less confident as a rider, falling further into the depths of my hunter-y comfort zone. So initially, when my friend extended an invitation to attend a gymkhana at her farm with my family, I balked.
Any excursion with my five kids in tow sounds like a recipe for the sinking Titanic. Add a young pony into the mix, and all I could imagine was pony + kids + me going nuclear. BOOM!
Yet, I asked my friend questions, letting the idea of something new marinate versus intimidate me.
What the heck is a gymkhana? The day would consist of fun games on horseback. No stress.
Appropriate attire? I could wear ANYTHING! No noose-like collars or show jacket sweaty pits.
Start time? 10 a.m.! No dragging my cranky posse out of bed at the butt-crack of dawn.
The outing could be the perfect foray into horse showing for my younger girls, who are gearing up for the Walk-Trot division. Plus, my young pony, not yet shown under saddle, could benefit from a field trip. The gymkhana sounded less like craziness and more like awesomeness. I was ready for something new.
And just maybe, this could be my transformation from wine-in-a-box to a fine Bordeaux.
“Let’s give it a try,” I urged my husband/groom/trailer driver. “I just want everyone to have fun.”
My husband shot me a weary look, because though “fun” may sound simple for some, when your family includes five, heathen-kids and a Type-A mother, someone is inevitably on the verge of a breakdown or fist fight. (Spoiler alert: That person is usually ME.)
The hubs agreed to take the plunge, however.
On a balmy Saturday morning, we loaded up the kids, our young pony, and our ancient pony for our inaugural gymkhana. I tried to set attainable expectations, assuring myself that we would be fine.
If the young pony schooled nicely, I’d be satisfied. If a kid threw a massive tantrum, rolling around like a tumbleweed in the footing, we’d call it a day.
I truly believed that in a low-key crowd, if things went awry with kids, ponies, or my mental state, I wouldn’t be judged for my ineptitude as a mother or a rider. This knowledge took the edge off my jingling nerves. I could handle a challenge among supportive people.
Upon arrival, I grabbed our numbers along with a schedule of events. The schedule included lingo like ‘Rescue Race’, ‘Clown Race’, ‘Keyhole’….
My hunter brain shrieked, We’re not in Kansas anymore! ‘Catalog Race’ is a far cry from ‘outside line to the single.’ I gulped a long, deep breath to ground myself.
My microsecond of Zen was quickly interrupted by my son begging, “I want to do this too!”
This kid, very much a non-rider, didn’t want to miss out on the action. He finagled borrowing paddock boots and a helmet while I prayed to the gods of Gymkhana that our day wouldn’t result in a trip to the ER.
My toddler, who only rides if the promise of high fructose corn syrup is involved, begged, “Me too! Me too!” Even my eldest daughter, also ill-prepared, borrowed gear and a large pony to join the fun.
All five kids fizzed with excitement, and their enthusiasm was contagious. The tension in my shoulders melted and my heartbeat steadied. Bring on the fun! I could do this.
I hopped on the young pony, my husband boosted my middle kid onto our old pony, and we headed for a quick warmup. The ring bustled with riders of varied ages and horses of all types headed in opposing directions.
Surprisingly, my young pony trotted around happily, only taking offense at the creepy barrels eyeing her in the corner. In fact, she was so quiet, I decided she could handle more. I could handle more!
After warmup, we awaited instructions, ponies standing patiently. First up, a Keyhole Race. Riders would fly across the ring at their preferred speed, turn around in a designated section of ground poles, then hustle back. The rider with the fastest time would be crowned the winner.
Watching the others in the ring, I soaked up the warm vibe like I was basking in sun. Everyone was collaborative rather than competitive.
When it was my turn, I trotted down, then cantered back, shedding my hunter rigidity as the crowd cheered for me. I exited on a long rein, petting the pony, who stretched down, relaxed and pleased with herself.
For the first time in a long time on horseback, I was transformed into a giggling, giddy kid. Newsflash: Riding could still elicit effervescent joy in me.
And I wasn’t the only family member learning about myself. My two older daughters worked in tandem during the Pairs Race. “There’s no way they can do this,” I told my husband as they attempted a barrel pattern, a tenuous line of crepe paper dangling between them.
But the girls worked together, negotiating the vast difference in their heights. They prevented the paper from ripping as they trotted. Though they won a ribbon and prize, more importantly, we all learned a lesson about the importance of thoughtful and patient riding.
During the Catalog Race, I led my five-year-old aboard our young pony. We rushed to the end of the ring, and my kid tore a designated page out of a magazine with gusto.
The family screamed on the sidelines, “Faster, Mom!”
So, I sprinted back, panting and belly laughing concurrently, my little one gripping the pony’s neck. Because I was chill, my young daughter and young pony were learning to go with the flow, unphased. In that moment, I realized I LOVED THIS for all of us.
As the morning dissolved into afternoon, the kids took turns holding the ponies and helping one another. Though I left when my youngest melted down like soft serve in July, the other kids begged to stay. My saintly husband remained with the rest of our crew for a round of Musical Stalls.
After tucking our ponies back into their stalls that night, I was exhausted but satisfied. “This is one of the best days I’ve had. My dream came true. All our kids riding, helping one another, and happy,” I told with my husband with an unusual burst of positivity. “The ponies were rock stars.”
“I haven’t seen you smile that much in a long time,” he replied.
It wasn’t just the Kumbaya of it all that filled my heart….
Upon reflection, I realize I need to venture outside of the box I am stuck in. Our colorful day made me, our young pony, and our children more worldly. The experience will translate to life in Hunterland and beyond.
And really, it’s just good to be that person. The person willing to try new things rather than scoff at them. Who takes herself less seriously and embraces the fun and the chaos. Who teaches her kids to do the same.
Next time you hear about a paper chase, a gymkhana, archery on horseback—I hope you take the plunge. You might surprise yourself with a great day; a poignant reminder that THIS is why you do the horses.
