Tiny Little Thing

We were jumping doubles, in trot, and it was good. Still not managing to avoid slowing Reb around the turn, but going at decent clip, up and over, stride, up and over, landing much improved.

I think it was over the third go, maybe the fourth, that I felt my right hand slip. We rose over the first fence, and — jam went the thumb into Rebel’s neck.

Funnily enough, I had just been thinking that morning that apart from the sandy arse episode and the mad dash up the field, I hadn’t really hurt myself on Rebel.

Will I never learn?

Note to self: must stop thinking these things into existence.

I had myriad little tweaks whilst riding Delilah. I had jammed my wrist, I think, and that had been sore for a couple days. The worst had been, again over a jump, twanging my ankle just that tiny wee bit… I had to wear an ankle support thingy for… well, a while, I think I went through two— three? And in the mornings, it was a gingerly exercise to put weight on the right leg.

I forget when that went away.

Luckily, there is a bag of peas tucked in the freezer for just such exigencies. It was ready and waiting for my sore thumb.

And it was sore. I’d jammed two fingers, a million years ago, when I was playing soccer. Those required a splint, and taped together, I sported my sports wound with pride. I was a tomboy. What can I say.

Was a tomboy? When I woke on Friday, my thumb was swollen, shiny red, throbbing a little, not enough to demand a visit to the GP, but certainly bunged up enough to show off to my colleagues when I called in to the paper that afternoon. One woman threw up a hand and turned her face away— good thing she didn’t know about the nasty yellow and purple bruise that had decorated my left thigh last week. Is it still— yep, still there, but almost gone. Nasty, dark gray/aubergine now.

I draw the line at parading that about. But it’s something that I’ve noticed that horse people do, they talk about their contusions with panache, as if they were discussing the rosettes they’ve gathered at trials. I’ve heard casually related stories about falls down ditches, about being dragged across fields on their faces, even a story about a slightly broken back.

It’s best I don’t get too cavalier about this, I know. But in the car today I was greeted immediately with the story of Lorraine’s first fall. Ha, ha! I’ll see your fall, and raise my thumb!

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