Let’s be clear about something: Yes, I live on a farm. And yes, I am, at least mostly, a farmer. But I’m no backwoods hick. I speak three languages. I’ve been to almost every continent (missing Asia and Antarctica). I’ve rock climbed, bungee jumped and sea kayaked. I’m a wordly, well-travelled girl.
And let’s be clear about something else: I love Love LOVE what I do for a living, and I have no regrets. Part of doing what I do means living away from major city centers, away from the hustle and bustle of urban areas that make it easy for people my age to meet each other and have a life away from work. And while I wake up every morning thrilled to do what I do every day, and I believe that sacrifices to my life outside of horses is worth it, I’d be lying if I said I was excited about living 20 minutes from the nearest grocery store, much less a museum or hot night spot.
So having a life outside the barn has been a work in progress. I have been graced with some incredible friends, all of them horse people, but therefore all understanding of this predicament. Washington D.C. is a little more than an hour from my place when there’s no traffic (which, for the record, is never), so it’s not really all that hard to get into town and see the sights. Of course, when your day off is Monday, it’s not all that fun to stay out late on a Saturday night only to have to get on your first horse at 6:30 Sunday morning, but it’s worth it, every now and then.
So my buds and I try to make life in the woods fun. The nearest town of significance has a bowling alley, and we’ve found an inverse relationship of Bowling Suckitude to Wine Coolers Consumed, always to great amusement. The nearest movie theater is about 45 minutes from the farm, but it’s in a part of town surrounded by restaurants and other things to do, so it’s worth an outing. I hate bars, but there are a few nearby where there’s usually fun to be had.
In the summertime, The Plains, Va., hosts an amazing event called Twilight Polo every weekend—two back-to-back arena polo matches (read: WICKED fast polo!), played under lights after the heat of the day passes. If I can’t mooch a booth from one of my neighbors, we just bring a blanket and a picnic and watch the cute polo pros get sweaty… I mean, the athleticism of the horses. Yeah, the athleticism.
(On that note, thank goodness for online dating. and that’s all I have to say about that.)
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On my own, I’ve been doing pretty well in my running endeavors, and after today’s 2.8-mile jaunt (yeah!), I’m putting a 5k on the calendar. The running store where I got the hookup on a great pair of shoes (clever name: The Running Store) keeps a calendar and even has a little running club thing I keep thinking about joining as a way to meet some folks outside the horse scene. I fear I’m not yet fit enough, and CERTAINLY not fast enough, to hold my head high in the company of more serious runners, but a 5k for a great cause would be a nice place to start.
It’s also a step towards my goal of better physical fitness. And in that vein, I just started a new activity: karate lessons. I saw an ad in our local paper for a nice and affordable starter package at a local school. I was feeling pretty confident after my introductory private lesson: While I’m not terribly coordinated, at least I’m athletic enough to keep up, and I’m a good listener. The school offers classes in the evenings (not as easy for me right now, since all my students want to ride after the heat of the day has passed, but it’ll get better as we come into winter), and the schedule keeps adult and youth classes separate, so I’m not being out-kicked by a 9-year-old. Great, I think, and I went to my first class last Wednesday.
In spite of the running, in spite of the fact that I can clock off six or seven horses a day without a struggle, and in spite of the fact that I can really only execute about four very simple karate things: I have never been so sore in my life. Everything in karate appears to be done in a squat-like position, with the knees bent; apparently nothing else I do in my life works my quadricep muscles, because they were ready to leap out of my body and beat me to death about halfway through the class. And I was so crippled Thursday I couldn’t post the trot. I couldn’t even really walk sound until Saturday, and I didn’t dare try running until this morning. How pathetic is that?
Crippling pain aside, I had a total blast. It’s a heckofa workout, and clearly, from the debilitation I endured, it’s working muscles that aren’t terribly well developed yet. What I really like, though, is the order and structure, the diplomacy of it all. (These are the things that would appeal to me, as a dressage rider, right?)
While the class is listed as being for adults, most of the participants were older teenagers, and while of course the boys spent a few minutes before class screwing around and showing off, once class began, they were all business. When one older woman in the class struggled with an exercise, one of the boys, with no provocation, started to cheer her on, and encouraged all of us to do the same. Not behavior you see in most teenagers. Respect of your instructors, your classmates, and even of the space is hugely important; no one can walk across the gym floor without first bowing to it, and you must bow again before you leave. It was civilized and zen and polite. I’ll be going back again on Wednesday. And I will take ibuprofen prophylactically, stretch both before and after, and schedule a light riding day on Thursday, just in case.
