How fast can an ex-racehorse run? Answering this question was never on my bucket list. When I bought Larry, my off-the-track Thoroughbred, the ‘off-the-track’ part – the fact that he was an ex-racehorse – never really registered. After all, he hadn’t been a racehorse for many years. He was a riding horse now, and he was going to be the perfect horse for a sedate, not very brave rider.

Upon buying a new horse, there’s always an adjustment period – that stretch of time when you wait to see what’s the worst he can throw at you, hoping all the while that you can handle it.

On this particular day, Larry and I had been partners for a year and a half. Picture a sunny summer afternoon and a two-acre field of lush grass surrounded by a substantial wooden fence. The land dips and rises in gently rolling waves. Strategically placed jumps and ditches invite the rider – other riders, not me! – to practice their eventing skills. In one corner is a pile of rocks as tall as a person that will later be used to build a stone wall. Picture me on my ex-racehorse, sitting proudly upright in my dressage saddle, venturing into the field for a quiet ride.

Even though I used to hack all the time on my old boy Gandalf, I hadn’t done much hacking on Larry. Our adjustment period had presented a few challenges. Who knew that ex-racehorse Thoroughbreds could be drama queens, reaching around and trying to bite their rider’s toe when they’re unhappy?

But things had been going better, and this week I’d been feeling confident enough to go hacking. My previous two rides in the field had gone awesomely well. Larry was attentive to my aids, and I was really starting to relax.

So on this particular day, when he decided to canter instead of trot up a long incline, I thought, why not? It’s a beautiful day for a canter.

You know that feeling of gathering speed? The horse’s hindquarters bunch underneath you, his stride lengthens, his body feels like it’s sinking towards the ground. It’s exhilarating. It wasn’t till we reached the top of the rise and started down the other side, the tempo getting faster, faster, Larry’s breathing starting to come in rhythmic puffs, that it occurred to me I was in trouble.

He wouldn’t stop. I was whipping back and forth in that lovely dressage saddle that’s designed to help you sit straight and proud. It never occurred to me to shift my weight into the stirrups, lift my butt out of the saddle. I’ve never ridden in two-point position. I was too busy listening to the wind whistling past my ears, and watching the ground go past in a blur. All my brain was capable of was, A woman my age isn’t supposed to be racing out of control in a field filled with rock piles and jumps!

My coach’s admonishments flashed through my mind. It’s the rider’s job to provide leadership for the horse. If the rider fails to provide leadership, then the horse will rely on his instincts to make decisions. And right now, Larry’s instincts were telling him that his rider was scared witless, which meant there must be something scary around that he didn’t know about, so he’d better run!

The pile of rocks loomed ahead. The brakes weren’t working, but – whew! – the steering was apparently still OK. Larry dodged the pile and headed straight for a jump with a ditch-thing in front of it. I managed to steer him around that too. We headed along the fence line to the corner of the field where a ninety-degree turn had us speeding back up the incline where this whole nightmare started. At this point, Larry was running like the hounds of hell were on our tail. The only sounds were his breathing, and his hoof-beats, and the wind screaming in my ears. I lost my left stirrup and got it back just in time to dodge the rock pile a second time…

By the third time around the field with no sign of slowing, I knew that I had to do something. Instead of galloping along the fence line, I headed Larry up the side of a knoll in the middle of the field. At the top was a tangle of evergreens, too tight for a horse to get through. I pointed him straight at them, braced myself, and shut my eyes.

With inches to spare, he stopped.

And just like that, the accelerator and the brakes were back under my control. At a sedate walk, Larry carried me back to the stable. My ex-racehorse had just thrown his worst at me, and I’d survived! Although I’ve stopped thinking of it as, ‘the worst he could throw at me’. That day, Larry gave me a gift – a glimpse of who he used to be. A racehorse, bred to run, to go so fast that the air whistles and howls outside your ears because it can’t keep up. I think, in a strange way, we both had to go through the experience so that we could learn to trust each other.

Since then, the only times Larry has run away were when I wasn’t on him – and each time, he’s turned around and come back to me. We’re partners now, an ex-racehorse and a lady whose own racing days are behind her. But it doesn’t mean there aren’t plenty more exciting rides ahead. Stay tuned!