What. Are. The. Odds.

Our usual instructor was off on her holidays, and our substitute was fab — and I’m not just saying that. I remembered that I had only worked with her once before, in a private lesson, and it had been with Rebel, and as we chatted during mount up, on one of the other tracks of my mind I wondered how long ago that had been?

Anyway, I asked about Himself, and P didn’t have any new news (still out on grass, still has been taken out of half-livery), and then said, ‘But remember how well he went that time? In that private lesson?’ and I was gobsmacked that she even remembered.

We had an excellent hour, and I really managed to stay out of Connell’s way as we jumped: just one fence, but it went up and up to 85cms, and all went well, mainly because — imagine this! — I did as P said, kept my eyes on the tree line and didn’t even flick my gaze down at the fence.

Okay, I did, but just the one time, mainly because I hadn’t trusted myself that I was counting the strides correctly.

As I lead Con away after the lesson, I thanked P, who said how she hadn’t seen me ride in a while, and I was going really well, that I was really together, and that there wasn’t a bother on me. And then we tried to figure out when that private lesson was? And was it three years ago? Three years? Really?

Really. Three years ago. And in fact, eerily enough, to the very day.

How weird is that????

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