There is something addictive about eating dirt. After a while you just don't mind, probably because you've begun to realize that it is the greatest thing that can happen to you. We once held a competition to see who could come out of a single one-hour lesson the dirtiest; I think I won. I took down a total of seven jumps completely on my own; the only help required from my horse was that of her sudden stopping motion. I have, in a sense, perfected the fragile art of crashing; but I have never fallen off the same way twice. That's not to say I'm not afraid of falling off, that is probably, outside of my instructor, my first and foremost fear, but you can't go into a ring fearing you're going to crash, it's like going into a test believing you will fail, regardless of the outcome, it's never very pretty.
I've been riding for eight or nine years now and since day one I've been crashing to the ground on a regular basis. In fact for the first four or five years I spent as much time on the horse as off the horse. Crashing to the earth from the back of a horse is singular sensation one minute the wind is whistling over your helmet, the reins are firmly, or sometimes not so firmly, in your hands; your leg is on, well sometimes it's flapping in the breeze, but it's supposed to be on; you're full of confidence which is sometimes over shadowed by this weird nauseated sensation; and your horse, sometimes dancing across the ground when you really just want them to stand still always helps. Not trusting your horse is like not trusting your teacher, or yourself, you're not going to get very far if you don't. Suddenly, and sometimes not so suddenly this exhilarating notion of riding is cut short. You're either lying on the ground wondering what type of extraterrestrial force abducted the horse from beneath, or you're slowly watching the ground rise up to meet you head on.
That is the true, physical meaning of eating dirt, there are a number of variations: dry belly flops, face furrows, unsuccessful take off’s, wipe outs, and jump demolition (a personal favorite) to name a few. You're disoriented, you don't know what happened, and usually can't figure it out until the question is put to you. By that point you're back on the horse and wondering what transpired to get you back up there. Landing on your head isn't nearly as painful as landing on your back, or on a JUMP, and I definitely prefer dry rings to wet ones, but I'm beginning to fear that I've given you all the wrong impression. Contrary to what you now believe the point, and reason I ride, is to ride the horse, not fall off of the horse. Yes I know, it took me a while to understand that too.
I've found over the years that staying on the horse is a lot more fun. For a few brief moments you can fly, in the back of your mind you can hear your friends cheering over the pounding of heart and hoof, and you're in complete control of your world. You seem to have overcome everything, these obstacles and fears slide away with the earth beneath steel shod hooves that propel you, with all of dirt eating, all of your knowledge, over the ground, and then it's over. An hour and a half, three months, maybe a lifetime of preparation gone in a whole five minutes of intense blundering, crashing, slipping, cursing, dirt eating, and, most importantly, flying. It's like taking a final exam, it's there and it's gone and no matter how much time you have it never seems like enough, you can't take it back and fix it. But don't despair. It's never completely over, that's the beauty of it. From there you move on, and all of the dirt eating starts over again but never the same as before, because what good are Mistakes if you can't learn from them.