Getting to
Chuck Norris and me in my second ever endurance race- the first having been completed the day before
I’ve been meaning to write a recap of these past few months. Really I’ve started and abandoned quite a few posts: one about my first and second endurance races (2 back-to-back 50 milers in October) where I had a blast and learned a ton as well as had super swollen legs after, one about my spring with Stella and Trance, and bringing along my own baby horse at the same time, one about my newfound or newly rekindled love of PT and the shock at how my body is and was so broken (but better every day, I think?), one about my last training weekend out in Bend which was incredible and informative, and a lot that wasn’t about riding or working out or gear, but that was about life and perspective and juggling the in betweens.
I try to do everything in my life at 100% all the time, but that’s just not realistic. My training and riding partner is very good at giving the thing in front of her 100% and then putting it out of her mind when it is not in front of her. I spend my life in the in between. I drive out to the barn listening to a podcast and thinking about my to-do list, schedules, or work, or catching up with family or friends. I get to the barn and am often in my head about whatever I had to deal with before. I start to relax but then am always trying to figure out what to focus on - me? The horse? When did I last jump? How many miles should I be doing? Where are the Icelandics so I don’t get dumped? Do I have time to take my dog for a walk? Clean tack? When was the last time my horse was bathed? Why won’t he stop walking in circles? It can take me until halfway through my ride to finally relax and take a deep breath and be in the moment. And what a joyous moment it can be. We play in the water jump, we hop over a log, we spook at a snapping turtle, we almost run over my dog (just kidding, she’s too fast). But sometimes, especially on those wet days or days when I’ve overscheduled myself, I never get that moment. I never take that breath. I never truly appreciate what I’m doing.
I read a book recently called The Ride of Her Life about a woman in her 60s, Annie Wilkins, who was given 2ish years to live, who didn’t have enough money to pay the back taxes on her Maine farm that she had worked her whole life and still have enough to make it through the winter. She spent the money on gear and a horse and decided to ride to California. From Maine. Starting in October. In the 1950s. The book is reminiscent of Grandma Gatewood’s Walk which is about a woman around the same age as Annie who put on regular shoes and walked out of her house to walk the entirety of the Appalachian Trail. They both did it in the early 1950s. They both talk about the kindness of strangers, the unexpected (good and bad), the cold, loneliness, and self doubt. And they both talk about the exhilaration of making it. They also both go on to have normal lives after (Annie lived quite a few more years), in which their heroic feat is just a part of their human story.
Annie’s America is different than the one we live in now, 70 years later. People are more fearful - a change that was happening when she rode across the states. People are less likely to even have a place to house a horse if they wanted to. They’re less likely to share a meal with a complete stranger and tell each other tales. They’re less likely to have family a few towns over to tell the traveler to ask for. Our world has changed, and not all for the better. And I feel like we lose so much because we are so insular. Part of why I love to travel is to meet new people and experience their lives through their eyes, but it is getting harder and harder.
As I was reading about Annie’s journey, I realized that I would be in a similar position to the one she was in. Relying on the kindness of others to take me and my horse in and house us, feed us, and take time to swap stories with me. I will be able to learn first-hand about a culture completely different to mine, and be able to learn from the herders about their lifestyle, their generosity, their hospitality. I will be at the mercy of the steppe and its oldest inhabitant, the horse. I will forever be in debt to the people I meet along the way who make my race a bit more comfortable and a bit more enjoyable. And I hope to be found worthy.
Reading that book and then sitting down to write, I find myself acutely aware of the difference between “have to” and “get to”. Often I go about my daily life thinking about “I have to do this”, “I have to do that”, “I can’t forget to do that”. But really, I get to do all of these things. I get to go out to a beautiful farm in Virginia every morning and hang out with my horse who begs me for treats incessantly and has so many weird quirks and costs me a lot of money, but makes me laugh and makes me learn and makes me excited for his future. I get to sit on my friend’s schoolmaster who still has the ability to almost shake me off and then tear back to the barn, stirrups flying. I get to trot and canter circles on the gorgeous track, hearing the mileage count up on my app as I work on my two-point and not hitting my pubic bone on the front of the dang derby saddle as I post. And I get to go halfway around the world to participate in a race that honors one of the most storied and ancient cultures, and see the best horsemen in the world in action firsthand.
I guess that’s something I’m really looking forward to in Mongolia. There will be a lot of pain and misery. There will be a lot of hardship, expected and unexpected. But the only thing that I am supposed to be doing for 10 days is lifting my sore and exhausted body onto that horse’s back and getting from point A to point B. I can’t be late for anything except riding curfew. I can’t bother myself with others’ opinions because I won’t even have my phone, and it’s honestly none of my business anyways. I can ponder my existentiality and what I want to do with my life, and maybe even find an answer to why I’ve taken this on in general, but otherwise I just have to manage myself, my horse, and take in the scenery. I will be so far outside of my comfort zone that I can imagine things that I find so foreign and unthinkable now will be common occurrences. And no matter how long it takes to complete, 7 days, 10 days, or somewhere outside or in between, I’ll come out having learned about myself, and hopefully having appreciated the joy.
There is a lot I need to do between now and takeoff (July 15) to ensure I put my best foot forward and take care of life back home, but as long as I keep perspective I can try to reduce my stress.
I get to go to Mongolia with my (currently 1.7 pounds too heavy) pack, my nerves, my preparation, and my curiosity. I get to take on the World’s Longest and Toughest Horse Race. And when I come back, I get to resume my life, work, travels, riding, and eventually figure out what’s next. I am excited.
