If there’s one thing I appreciate about Americans, it’s this idea that if you keep trying, you will become really successful at something. There’s this beautiful, magical montage glow-up narrative built into so many of our stories, that many of us grew up watching. And it has merit. I do think that if we aren’t good at something, and we keep trying, over time we can become better at it. This is absolutely true.

I also believe that there are limits to how good each of us can be. This is absolutely true also.

Some people can go out and run every day of their lives, buy the best shoes, and do all of the training, but will they become an Olympic runner? Will they win a marathon? Probably not.

I think when I started back up riding, I had this idea that I could become as good of a rider as some people I admired in my social circles, if I just practiced and got back into the “swing” and regained the confidence I had when I was in even a 30-year-old body.

Here’s the thing: I’ve been at this and at this, from many angles, trying to break down the science of it. My proprioception sucks, my glute med is weak, I have an anterior pelvic tilt, I need bilateral core stability, etc. I’ve worked on all of those things. I’ve built tons of strength and tried to stiffen up my hyper mobile body. I’ve recorded hours of myself riding. And, truth? I’m very little improved and still a little wiener ready to give up and fall as soon as my horse spooks (I’m a pro-active faller – bail before being bailed). And my body isn’t as bouncy as it used to be; I can only afford so many falls.

It’s been five years back in the saddle. I still feel like a rank beginner, if I’m being honest with myself. Some days, I’m scared to trot because my horse is so tense. I’m not good at this. I’m just not.

Now, have I improved as a horsewoman? Absolutely. I’ve become more sensitive to my horse’s cues. I have developed a spacious capacity for practice and patience and training. My horse was going through something last year and got ultra tense in the arena, so we just walked around. We just walked. I didn’t push because I knew not to, that it would break that fairy floss-thin trust between us.

Admitting that you’re truly bad at something can be kind of a pressure valve release. It’s not that I can’t try to improve, it’s that I’m not striving for something I cannot achieve. I’m 45, not athletic, and fat; it’s kind of absurd to expect that I could significantly improve beyond this point. I do okay, I get by, but it’s okay to call a spade a spade at this point, right?

Anyway, onward to wherever this leads, I guess.