My running friend had grown up with horses. Her mother was a trainer and she herself had done extensive showing as a child so she was not unfamiliar with riding. I, on the other hand just believed that I could ride, so quite happily and quite stupidly I suppose, went along for the ride out to her friend's barn.
That is where I met Ben, a sort of wizened looking, cigarette smoking and horse intense older gentleman. Now here was experience with horses in the flesh I was soon to find out. He looked like an old cowboy, kind of rough and tumble but with a heart of gold. He was the owner of the very upscale local tack store and was the driving force for polo in the county. He and a friend owned a string of horses (which in the polo world they are called ponies) that required exercise every day to maintain their fitness for the rigors of the game.
Ben had a ring below the barn in which he taught his students the game of polo. There in the middle of the ring was a sort of dummy horse which was elevated to simulate the size and height of one of the ponies. His students would sit up on it with their polo mallet and he would chuck them balls which they would attempt to hit back to Ben.
As far as exercise riders were concerned however, you didn't really have to know anything, except how to stay on. There was no qualifying test to see if you were good enough. Just have the time and the desire to ride and you were a shoe in. This was a perfect fit for me because I had all the necessary requirements. I had recently left my job as an architect so I had time and I certainly had the desire. My lifelong dream had come true, no more Blue Hills Riding Stable horses, no more gym classes for me. I was wanted and needed and I knew how to ride.
My horse gene was really kicking in now.
