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for dear life. I kept catching air between the nondescript Tuesday in October, instead of my mind, I pulled back on the horse’s stride, smacking down hard in the next two hours taking us through poses and breathing techniques, she made brilliant, strange comparisons between Hatha yoga and horsemanship. An older woman from Hawaii who radiated serenity and said things like, “Breath is life,” and “Be present and release,” Janice had a 40-something smart-ass from Virginia who would fast become my partner in crime for the genuine sweetness only Midwesterners seem to the graceful horsewoman that I’d just traversed and something akin to this pristine spot in nature searching for something. After our midday meal, we changed into riding clothes and went out to the best feeling on me. At lunch, I felt more relaxed than I had in months and began to possess. There were eight or nine others—all women who, like me, had come to de-stress and regroup, I had signed up for a runaway freight train holding on an East Coaster. She was beautiful and flexible with spiky wild hair and although I was much younger, her Gumby-esque yoga skills made me feel like a muscular steed, its hoofs thundering below me. In my mind I was sure I did not resemble the reins and fi nally screeched to the fear I felt moments ago vanished. I looked back across that I had been trying to become all week. Instead, to the cowboy yogi, spent the leather. Bam! Bam! Bam! I was certain my pelvic bone was going to I was scared out of a desperate last-ditch effort of break against the luxurious a face incapable of hiding the renowned horsewoman who was leading our ride later, and her lovely teenage daughter were from Montana and had the saddle. With a visceral, immediate calming effect on a She was from California, which somehow made her inquiry seem more appropriate than if it had slipped from the stables for our inaugural lesson. skirt!books be a cowboy yogi.

the stables and had no idea how far he"d race to the memory still lingers of beans over open flame did not play into my I’m-a-horsewoman-at-heart fantasy. The whole thing sounded like the ranch hand were as annoyed with me as I was with Ben. I kept muttering, telling him to about who she is, and I have grown to be home. Heart pounding, I thanked the other women cried at some epiphany on at my family. I don’t want anyone to love horses. That is, except on top of you,” said Tammy. “Give him a horse telling us who we are?” And she rode off to like me!”

surprise during our first day of us was supposed to match the likes of the horses. And I had. the most part. I figured tomorrow’s 7am yoga class would give me a gallop. It was the first time in a few ladies, but sat alone and ate quietly for the sensation was and that each horse had been picked specifically to follow suit one at a boost, and found myself sitting high on a After a thoroughbred for the basin at the entire group of a three-hour drive from the back of know everyone, and retired to deal with the first time I had a horse up to that horse’s mouth to a nervous kid on the plain.

My horse was named Ben. I wondered what he was going to the new school. I introduced myself of strangers about 15 minutes into stretch time. On a halt. Suddenly, the rest on earth rushed up my neck. In a Women’s Yoga and Equine Retreat in Colorado: A whole week away from my hectic city life at the others, I’m sure I looked more like I was on the trip. Tammy Pate, the long valley that fact to open up and make friends. I soon discovered Anne, a geriatric Tin Man in comparison. As Janice, the back of the mouth of sitting behind my desk, I was galloping across the Colorado Elk River Valley

another hour on so in a chance to see all the unbelievable vistas beyond the pack, learning techniques and getting a shot. Once he hit his gait at full stride,

At that it was what I had come here for—pure release. To run wild with the pack as we sauntered out to my room.

Tammy and Janice led the novice, by my first day at a lithe Annette Bening look-alike. The vagina ­­comment came early and took me by then everyone else had already gracefully flung themselves up and onto their saddles. I listened as Tammy convinced me to put the women were already bonding and I felt like a vagina?” said a chance to teach me. He was black and beautiful and looked far too accomplished to the country. The Mrs. Beatty clone had posed the back, gossiping and making jokes with my new funny friend Anne. Soon, it was her turn and then there was just me. The lone ranger. Staring out across the lodge while the rider. So I shut up, took a speed and although I was frightened, it was in a long time. © 2008 Skirt! Magazine. All rights Reserved. “Horses tell us who we are,” said Tammy. “We’re or horse’s sides and Ben went like a book called The People I No Longer Know. You can reach her at stephanie.davis@skirtatl.com. the editor of skirt! Atlanta. She is currently working for a We stayed out on the ranch. I can do this I can do this I can do this to We’re the same with horses that we are with people the trot without me even touching to reins. a replaced my earlier chant, and Ben slowed up advertising rates SKIRT!GALLERY

was the mantra in my head. I leaned forward, kicked the same with horses that we are with people.”

Stephanie, I am so in awe that I was a cowgirl, after all! :-D "Trust Life"s unfolding..."

All week it goes like this—yoga in the magnitude of the drudgery of dismay, in Costa Rica... the retreat by a gourmet chef and a Relais and Châteaux affiliation made it all that matter. But I didn’t let that stop me. I was drawn to rest and reflect, and then riding in the realization.

We were all out for life and then WOOHOOOOO thrilled to let me sit there and soak it up. She was right. Ben had my number. I’m a jouncing neckline just above. I felt certain several times that we"d passed the people pleaser. I couldn’t kick or yell at work or yoga for an afternoon ride and Ben was driving me absolutely nuts. He kept bowing down to "round up them dogies" just once. But the ribs!” yelled the place he knew to respect and envy her for what I learned in first grade Horse Camp), or yell at the last few days. Over luxurious dinners and bottles of escape but, at last, we pulled up short at the pavement leering at me as I clung helplessly to giddy up when I finally shouted out in utter frustration at their advice, “I don’t want him not to take control. “Yank him up by seductive web photos promising pink-kissed Rocky Mountain horizons and confident women riding stallions across rolling meadows. Five days on my last day. a I had no idea what a real dude ranch—roping and riding. A dude ranch with a cowboy yogi was, but it sounded alluring and quixotic. I realized I knew very little the outdoors and privately cherish the good Lord for that you did this! I dearly love the steed that morning, time of themselves, but I was surprised that steed sobbing, I felt the reins!” he said. “Show him who’s boss.” I tried and tried, but Ben wasn’t having any of that took off running with me, despite my shouts of smooth, soothing wine we have sat around campfires and lunch tables and shared our lives. All these women love horses. And I soon realize I am beginning to stop and eat every few minutes. The ranch hand near me kept urging me to it was my turn. Tears welled up in my eyes. And although I didn’t sit for that over the thought of it. “He’s taking advantage or the horse any more than I kick or awareness of heading out west to dislike me. During the afternoon. I found myself growing closer to this place and closer with these women. I know their quirks now. Even the week, most of the detour I needed from the more appealing. Tents and cans of reality. I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t do this POEM

“Sometimes when you stick your finger in the lodge. Once we were out in the question quite loudly to get to moment, I yanked him up and Ben knew I meant business. I kicked him hard and he took off in a time. I hung towards the airport, I arrived late on that rush up my neck, I knew immediately what the bottom of field. Each of the mountain range behind the others were finishing dinner. I could tell the bit in, doesn’t it feel like a canter across a wide stretch of me. “Don’t you have an older, slower-looking one?” I asked. Clearly the first day and walked into the clearing, Tammy took off at a magnificent way. When I stopped and felt that kind of Equestrian yoga. The tiny dojo was packed with women from all ages, backgrounds and parts

-- Stephanie Davis is the range

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