Getting kicked hurts. Seriously hurts. I think it's my first time--which all things considered is pretty miraculous--but ow.
After watching Katie go through everything she went through, I had a philosophical understanding of the pain but today Forrest filled me in on the actual physical understanding.
I was walking next to Katie as she led Forrest to the big arena. I admit, I was preoccupied, thinking about her getting on him and worrying because he was fresh and she hadn't lunged him. (There was a horse in the round pen precluding this.) We were walking past the corner of the indoor arena, coming around to face the outdoor, which is a place both Calabar and Forrest get a little hinky sometimes. Sadly, I forgot this little piece of information.
As far as I remember, I was walking with Katie at Forrest's head when I bent down to pick something up. I started to stand up and felt, well, a blow to both thighs that can gracefully be described as rather painful. Un-gracefully, it can only be described with expletives. Loud ones. On the plus side, had I not already stood up, it could have been my head and that would have been all kinds of bad. We'll take that kind of luck, thank you, though Steve apparently thinks I should not rely on it.
So far, I seem to be fine. There is a horseshoe-shaped tattoo on my right thigh that's more of an abrasion, though I suspect there will be impressive bruising in the next couple of days. However, I can walk and even do squats to some extent.
Ice. Tylenol. More ice. Elevation.
And Forrest got no carrots from me today. Even though I know it is my responsibility to be aware of him, of his mood and his capabilities.
And that perhaps is the real lesson of the day. It was cool, the wind was blowing leaves and energy all over the place. Had I been walking Calabar or Lena, I'd have been ready for just that sort of reaction. I was just so caught up in worrying about Katie, I forgot about watching Forrest and being prepared.
Make that a lesson learned.