So yesterday, my sister and I took my dad for a horseback trail ride. Now, remember that I took a few riding lessons around Mother's Day this year, which made my butt sore, and also convinced me that walking on a horse is fun. Anything faster is just not necessary. Sore buttocks make me cranky, and walking is not sore-butt territory.

Flash forward to yesterday. Trail rides = nice horse walking in pretty nature, right? Yes. And no.

When we arrived at the stables, we were greeted by a very tall woman with a nordic-sounding accent, who sized us up and told the stable hands which horses to bring out. My dad got an average-sized horse named "Red." My sister, another average-sized horse named "Monty."

That woman took one look at the size of my butt and had them bring out a draft horse named Delilah.

Apparently, big horses are needed for big butts. Even if you are barely 5' tall on a good day. So up, up, up I went, and they shortened the stirrups as much as they could, and off we went, single-file.

Seriously, I was a good two feet higher than everyone else, and it was cracking me up.

Our guide was named "Joe" and he was just a hoot. Lots of stories about that time he got thrown offa that little mare, hoooey! And that time he got kicked and then he got bitten and broke fingers and toes and boy was I glad we had such a tough guy leading our tour of the wilderness. He was like the Jack Bauer of volunteer horse guides.

Anyway, not more than five minutes into the ride, we were trotting. Bounce bounce bounce bounce.

Hello, sore butt. Maybe that's all Joe had in mind, though. And a little trotting isn't so bad.

We trotted and walked and trotted and walked and marvelled at scenery and cringed at Joe's tales of rampaging horses and ravines, and then Joe decides we're going to do a little cantering.

Uh.

Look, I'm all for having fun, but going fast on a horse just seems over the top, if you know what I'm saying.

Joe hollers back that we're gonna do a little cantering up here and everybody hold on. Waitwaitwaitwaitwait.

Sheeeit. I jammed the balls of my feet down into the stirrups, pushed my heels down and grabbed the saddle horn with one hand right as Delilah the giant mofo horse started in with a really awful fast trot. Bouncebouncebouncebouncebounce - okay at this point, anything other than this trot would be welcome, so I made a single kissy noise, and she broke into a canter.

I kid you not when I say my butt was two feet off the saddle at times. I was holding on for dear life, and although we were cantering for MAYBE a minute, I was sure I was going to die. I lost both stirrups and couldn't find the horse's rhythm to save my life.

Then it was over, and I chided myself for being a big wuss, and I was still in the saddle and it was over.

But it wasn't. Sheeeeit. Another stretch. "Joe" asks if we want to do some more cantering.

My sister: Wahoo!
My dad: Yeehaw!
Me: Waaaaaaa! Oh okay, fine.

We cantered in little short bursts four times. By the last one, I wasn't completely airborne, and I wasn't scared any more, but today, I am totally sore. Every inch of my body must have been working to keep my butt somewhere near that horse, and I can't stop giggling about it. I would have loved to have a video of my pathetic attempts to stay on. I think it is safe to say I won't be winning any awards for style and grace in the saddle. And I'll have to remember that if I'm going riding with my sister and my dad, they are raving loons who like to go fast.

I can't wait for the next time.