To YG Equestrian Centre and YG Pro Shite team with my undying love…

My earliest memory of horses comes from a black and white picture taken by my dad during a visit to our family’s farm. The image captures a stunning mare, a working horse, and me sitting on her without a saddle when I was about five or six years old. In the photo, the mare looks at me while I am utterly terrified. This moment marked the beginning of my rather interesting relationship with horses, a mix of terror and fascination that persisted well into my forties. Fear being the predominant emotion.

Let’s not gloss over the sheer absurdity of a grown woman in her forties being utterly convinced that every horse she encountered was secretly plotting her demise. Not counting my childhood “experience”, my interactions with horses pre-Cyprus were limited to standing behind the fence and admiring them safely from behind fences, perhaps offering a nervous pat on the nose with an outstretched, shaking hand, always ready to bolt at the slightest twitch of an ear. Western movies? Enjoyed them immensely, from the safety of my sofa, far away from any actual galloping. Riding horses myself? Don’t be ridiculous!

So, when my brilliant vet in Cyprus and the several-times-over jumping champion/horse riding instructor at YG Equestrian Centre, whose name I shall forever associate with a high dose of equine-induced adrenaline (and Henry Cavill!), suggested she might actually make a rider out of me, my initial reaction could best be described as a silent scream. I’m fairly certain my eyebrows reached new and previously uncharted territories on my forehead. But there was something about her unwavering confidence, and my weird curiosity whether she would succeed that made me hesitantly agree. Not to mention there was a bet placed between my newly appointed horse-riding instructor and my Other Me and his instructor – apparently, I was to become a horse-rider (I still use this term loosely:)).

This is when I met Millie, a Cypriot Pony and a mare in all her “mare-ness” glory. She was brilliant with beginners and the perfect pony for my humble beginnings. I first sat on her bareback, with sheer terror on my face, barely daring to move as she stood there patiently, completely unfazed. We slowly started walking around the arena, and with time, my confidence grew step by shaky step. Out on hacks, she was both a saint and a cheeky one – calmly following the leading horse while trying to unseat me by wandering into every single bush along the trail.

Same time while I was diligently trying to remember “inside leg – outside rein”, my diagonals and maintain a semblance of posture that would not immediately result in me sliding off Millie’s round back, The Other Me was apparently trying to gallop like he was riding mustangs across state of Montana, wanting to learn to twirl lassos and adopt a swagger that suggested he’d single-handedly tamed the entire Wild West (or at least a very patient and probably slightly bewildered Zodiac).

Our post-lesson comments often involved sarcastic comments and jokes, mostly at my expense, as I recounted my latest near-miss or Millie’s creative interpretations of the word “trot” or heading for the gate when she decided she had enough of the lesson. One thing must be said about Millie. She may be small, but she is THE queen, she is sassy, stubborn, and she made me work. I could feel the muscles I was not aware of before. Driving a car in the first six months of riding horses was an interesting experience.

My “upgrade” from Millie was Zodiac, a Russian horse with such a loveable demeanor, that it was impossible not to hug him at all times. He introduced me to trotting and cantering. But the best part was – we started jumping. We began slowly, trotting over poles laid flat on the ground, gradually building my confidence and rhythm, until one day we were soaring over 1-metre jumps in canter. What an amazing feeling it is when you sense the movement of the horse and your body flows with it… though I must admit, there were moments when my bum miscalculated the rhythm and, instead of landing smoothly, it met the saddle halfway on the bounce – a reminder that harmony is not an easy thing to learn.

Ah, let’s not forget the worst month in a year. “No Stirrups November”. The very name still sends a tremor through my core muscles. It is a month dedicated to building balance and strength, which in equestrian terms apparently translates to “let’s remove the one thing that is preventing you from becoming intimately acquainted with the arena sand.” I recall clinging to Zodiac’s mane with the desperation of a drowning sailor, and few not so very lady-like expressions coming out of my mouth. My gratitude to the inventor of the sports bra during that month was truly boundless – a not so silent, heartfelt “thank you” offered with every excruciating stride.

Dragon, despite being the cause of my tailbone fracture and what felt to me like “let’s exit the arena with the speed of a racecar just because” incident, was an absolute revelation. Riding him was like being connected to a finely tuned machine. Ex-racing horse that seemed to possess an innate understanding of what was required, often compensating for my utter lack of coordination and knowledge. He was the one who looked at my instructor so she could explain to him what she actually meant. He knew I would not get them the first few times, so he needed to confirm he understood them correctly.

Those falls, while painful (especially the tailbone one – sitting down was a genuine challenge for months), somehow did not changed my mind about riding. I kept coming back. Perhaps it was the sheer brilliance of Dragon that kept me coming back, or maybe I’d just reached a point where a little bit of pain seemed a small price to pay for the incredible feeling of riding such a magnificent animal.

And then there was April. My beloved, exasperating mare April. Describing her as having 65 personalities is probably an understatement. She could go from sweet-ish to a stubborn, highly opinionated mule in the blink of an eye. Her tendency to spontaneously decide that a mid-lesson roll in the sand was precisely what the doctor ordered was both infuriating and strangely endearing. There were days I would be convinced she was actively trying to test my patience, and others where her gentle nuzzle would melt away any frustration. She was, and is, a constant reminder that horses are sentient beings with their own thoughts, feelings, that some of them are badly experienced in relations with humans, and that building a partnership requires understanding, compromise, forgiveness and a whole lot of patience.

Looking back now, the memories of those sun-drenched lessons, the smell of hay and horse sweat, the camaraderie of YG Pro Shite members (you know, who you are!:)), and even the occasional tumble, are incredibly vivid and cherished. That initial, decades-long fear feels like a distant, almost comical memory. Horses did not just teach me to ride; they taught me resilience, humility, the importance of never giving up, and the profound satisfaction of connecting with an animal on a deep level. And yes, they also taught me that there are few things in life as perfect as a cold rum and Fanta shared with YG family after a hard-won riding lesson, the Mediterranean Sea shimmering in the twilight, a testament to a journey that started with terror and blossomed into a truly unforgettable love.

Unfortunately, I do not ride horses these days as often as I want to, but whenever I have a chance – I put my YG Equestrian Centre shirt on, place my riding hat with pompon attached to it on my head and the second I am in the saddle, a certain voice shouts “inside rein – outside leg” in my head.