Bernardo AKA Zoolander y Yo
Two days ago, I rode a horse down the beach at sunset. My horse’s name was Bernardo although I prefer to call him Zoolander, because he couldn’t turn left.
We rode for an hour down to the next beach. We rode through the waves as they splashed up on us. On the way home, the old cowboy (who doesn’t even come up to my shoulder and is missing half his ear) let us loose to do what we wanted and go as fast as Bernardo’s legs would carry us.
And Bernardo’s legs went real fast. It was an extraordinary feeling. Surfers looked at me like I was crazy, I ran right through local soccer games, and I didn’t stop for anything. When we made it back to the beginning, I was sweating as hard (maybe harder) as Bernardo. And I was bleeding out of my foot again.
In the aftermath of this magical moment, I have realized that there is wisdom behind the old equestrian rule of wearing proper riding shoes: Cheap flip flops don’t count. Also, I have realized my horse riding muscles are severely out of shape. My back, arms, abs and legs are in pain. My body flew past sore and went straight to pain.
Two weeks ago I couldn’t walk. Now I can’t sit. It was worth every second.