Grip.

Taking hold of his oily, yet soft white mane, I grabbed hold. My perfectly positioned toe, on that perfectly shiny iron. I gracefully lofted myself above the white horses back. I sat for a moment, checking my stirrups to ensure they were of the right length. I adjusted my reins and began to move away from the illustrious mounting block.

My instructor, Lady Levad (I call her) was fashionably late. We had a mutual understanding of this, sometimes, necessary statement in timing. I was also late to arrive at the barn, so while LL was late to give me my lesson, it allowed me to give Polutios the appropriate time needed for warm-up. He required little, however. He was as soft, supple and delightful as they come. He should be, afterall. He was mine.

Lady Levad finally arrived, an appropriate 10 minutes later. She was perfectly poised as she walked to the indoor arena. Surprisingly, she snacthed a chair, sat down and said in her demanding yet exquisite European accent, "Lets begin. No time to haste."

"LL," I said.

"I'm too exhausted to do tempi's today, I think Polu is as well. Can we save that for tomorrow?"

LL looks in my direction. She glimmers as she smiles.

"We must do tempi's. It's important we continue. One day of slipping will cause a break in training."

Without another word, I agree. LL knows it is shameful for me to make a request, especially about those tempi's.

They have come easy, yet difficult for Polu. He rushes through them and becomes frustrated when I ask for him to slow. Then in a split second, the tempi's fall apart. Schooling 2-tempi's has proved our nemesis.

LL has us begin by doing some walk to trot and then trot to canter transitions, up and down until she feels that he is supple enough to continue to lateral work. I digress. Dressage is not easy.

Polu becomes increasingly irritated, as his down transition from the canter isn't what LL wants. I ask, again, he drops his shoulder and slams into the sandy arena footing.

LL shouts to use my outside rein, pick him up, ask again.

Again, I ask. Again Polu disagrees. Then, he bucks. I stop. LL says continue. I do and again he bucks, this time harder.

This continues, until I fall off. A fall from grace.

LL is disappointed I couldn't sit that, unflattering, little mans buck.

The ride ends not too long after. My boots, breeches and even my face have traces of arena footing, further proof, that I am not the rider I hoped to be.

As LL leaves, sadness sets in as I ponder my failure. Pitty, pitty.