Excuse Me, Do I Have Dirt in my Teeth?

Are you sure? Oh, thank you. Yes, I ate shit once again.

Excuse me, do I have dirt in my teeth? Are you sure? Oh, thank you. Yes, I ate shit once again.

No, I’m not hurt. Not physically, anyway. Well, not too badly I guess. My ego? Yeah, it’s one of those hits that eventually turns yellow, after turning blue, dark purple, perhaps the blood drips under the skin.

You haven’t had that happen? Oh. I guess maybe that’s not normal. Yes, that’s happened to me, more than once. I’ve ground muscle beneath skin into encased human sausage. Once, in high school, I skidded my ass on a literal mountain of hard ice when I was learning to snowboard. I skipped school to go. You could literally see where blood dripped and pooled underneath my skin. Yeah, it was worth it. It’s the day I finally figured out how to carve waves into slopes of ice. Powder became so much easier when the conditions were right. The conditions aren’t always good, you know?

Yeah, you’re right. They weren’t great today either.

Did I try to stay on? Yeah, I always try to stay on. By any means necessary. No shame in my “staying on” game. Cowboys can cowboy, but I ain’t no cowboy and I’m definitely not a cowgirl. I don’t know shit about cows. Apparently, I only know shit about trying to stick it. I played polo. If you don’t stick it, you sometimes have seven horses at a dead run behind you. It’s no place not to stick it, ya know?

A real cowboy would be embarrassed for me, anyway. Why? When she went to bucking, I pulled leather. I’m not ashamed. Pulling leather has saved my ass more than I can count. Not all saddles come with an “oh shit” handle. I rode English for a long time. But I even added an extra strap to my western saddle because I just know that shit happens.

I should tell you, it’s not “Oh, shit!” as in a surprise. It’s short for “Oh, the shit is happening again. Time to pull leather.” God knows I tried. Sometimes, they get you. They really do.

Shame? I guess I don’t have it anymore. Well. I mean. The aftermath always hurts. It really does. The wind gets knocked out of me, and those precious moments where my lungs are so stunned that they refuse to work is truly alarming. It was when it first happened anyway. I’ve gotten used to the wind getting knocked outta me. My lungs are faithful. After a minute or so of feeling stunned, they get back to business. At this point, I just wait it out.

How old was I when it first happened? I was maybe ten? Fourth grade, I think. I illegally rode the zip line in the school gym without the big blue safety pads underneath it. My classmates pulled me up with a rope attached to the handlebars, and I wobbled. I fell ten feet onto my chest. The P.E. teacher was out of the room long enough that I fell, recovered, and criss-cross applesauced my ass into my seat before any grown ups knew. I think I broke a rib. No, I didn’t tell anyone.

Ribs? Honestly, they’ve probably mended so many times they’re stronger now. That’s how it works, right? A broken bone mends stronger in the break than it was prior. If that’s the case, my bones are iron. They shouldn’t break any more at this point.

Honestly, I think this fall broke the ribs of my spirit body. It hurts. It really fucking hurts if I’m being honest. I keep trying, and getting so damn close, and falls can sometimes feel like abject failure. Like, I’m never gonna get it right. My communication is just off, just the tiniest bit.

Then, everything implodes. It’s not an explosion, but an implosion. An explosion bursts out, right? But an implosion bursts inward. The ground hits, and the parts take the beating, but they stay together. So, you’re left, on the ground, taking stock of your imploded parts.

And yes, it does happen in slow motion. This time it happened in ultra-high-definition slow motion. It took forever, really. I saw my personal plane of vision shift first upward, then skyward, and when I have that much time to think, I remember what I’ve learned about falling.

Don’t put your wrists out; they’re not strong enough to take the weight of any fall. Tuck your limbs in, roll with the forward motion. When you stop, scan your body. Don’t get up immediately. Fingers to shoulders, shoulders to mid-body, toes to hips. Then, your head and your neck. You check your vision, your sense of balance, your ability to wiggle everything. Yeah, it’s scary for a second.

I know, I know. I should wear a helmet. But have you felt the wind in your hair? Have you ever felt that sort of freedom, full gallop, no seat belt? When a horse runs, their body flattens out and for some reason that only God must know, they carry us through that gait. At some point, one human felt that for the first time. Can you imagine? I’m telling you, you feel like a goddess. You feel like the wind. You feel a sense of presence that exists nowhere else on earth, that feeling of a full-out run. The spring of energy and sinew and muscle underneath you. The choice the horse makes to take you on the ride.

It’s never the horse’s fault, anyway. Even when they go to bucking, they’ve told you something subtle that you missed. Even when they are completely with you, they can trip, or stumble, or hit a bad spot in the land. They have every right to be scared, or surprised, or to make a decision that they think might save their life. Sometimes, they’re trying to get both of you out of a bad situation and you just can’t get out of it with them. Sometimes, you just lose your damn balance.

The falls don’t always look worse than they are. Sometimes, they’re really bad. Really, really fucking bad. I’m in my forties now, and I don’t bounce like I used to. The trope is common because it’s real. Yes, I’ve gotten more afraid of the consequences. Ok. fine, you keep asking about it. Yeah, shame sometimes follows. I miss that sense of being fearless, when I’d get back on the horse without thinking, without a pause. It’s different now. Falls carry more mental weight.

Am I ashamed? No, it’s not like a shame that is carried, but just — it’s a damn shame when I fall. There’s a difference there. It’s subtle, but there is a difference. It’s more like, this sense of wonder. Will I ever learn? How much resilience is really in there? How many falls do I have to take before we find our rhythm again? That forward sense of rhythmic motion is where life happens, I’m telling you. When you get there, you’ve earned it.

So, I really don’t have dirt in my teeth? Are you sure? I really got a mouthful of dirt on this one. I frickin’ ate it. Did you see the whole thing? No? Just the last part. Ha. You missed out.

Well, it looked worse than it was. Thanks for checking on me. Yeah, I’m gonna get back on. You should stick around. On days like this, the rodeo is never too far away. You might get to see the whole show.

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Nicole Qualtieri (@nkqualtieri) is the Editor-in-Chief and co-founder of The Westrn. She’s worked in outdoor media for a decade, with brands ranging from MeatEater to Backcountry Hunters & Anglers to acting as the long-time Hunt & Fish Editor at GearJunkie. Her writing has appeared in USA Today, Modern Huntsman, the Backcountry Journal, and more.