I woke to my body jittering with anxiety. It was 7 o’clock on a Saturday morning, and it was the day that I had been awaiting for. I was almost ready when my Dad shouted ‘’ Ya betta get ya’self moving Kertesha, we’re gonna be late!’’. I paused, and took one last look at myself in the mirror. My hair was scraped back, my polo necked fleece was suffocating and itchy, my black ribbed jodhpurs were tight around my midriff, but there was one thing missing. It was one thing which all the girls on the internet, in the movies, and in all the equestrian magazines had - A gilet. Mine was a pink Abercrombie & Fitch one, with ribbed salmon trims around the waistband and collar; it was not a real equestrian gilet, those ones are quilted. But to me, it did not matter. It did not matter that my clothes did not match, that fleece was itchy, or that my floral wellington boots were one size too big for me. My confidence was rocketing and I was far too overwhelmed with excitement to even care about the pedantic details of my equestrian attire. I looked at the clock; it was 8.30am and time to leave, it was time to go and experience the equine world. Most of the car journey was silent, well, apart from my Dad blaring my favourite P!nk album. As his navy BMW estate veered towards the compound, I suddenly had the urge to release an anxious scream. My heart started pounding as we drove over the cobbled grounds, my knees were shaking, and I could barely stop myself from fidgeting with the zip on my gilet. Part of me did not want to go ahead with the session, whereas another part of me knew that I was fully capable. Nonetheless, it was too late to turn back. Dulwhich Riding School was staring me right in face.
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