Jump

By Mariana Marhefka

As we were entering the gates of the Woodside Horse Park, on our way to my vaulting practice, my mom asked the question I had been dodging in my own mind for the past week: “So, what are you and Erin going to do today?” Such a simple question. 

I held my vaulting bag in my lap, staring out the window, acutely feeling every bump in the road. I thought about it for a second. Erin is my pas de deux, or pair of two, partner in vaulting.  For those who don’t know what vaulting is (it makes sense, the sport is quite obscure), vaulting is most simply described as gymnastics on a moving horse. You have a set of handles and a pad so that you don’t hurt the horse’s back, and a longueur is controlling the horse around a circle. Erin and I are on the horse together, doing partnered moves. I shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a hard knot in my stomach. I knew exactly what we were going to be doing, and, to tell the truth, I was terrified.

    “I have no idea,” I lied smoothly. “We work on different things every time.” My mom nodded. We pulled into the parking lot, if it can even be called that, of my barn. The “parking lot” is basically just a flat piece of dirt with some ruts in it. A sign above the front entrance has our logo and the words Woodside Vaulters written on it. I snatched up my bag, waved to my mom, and ran inside.

    Erin wasn’t there yet, but Clara and Hanna were. They were perched on top of a barrel, doing their individual freestyles. They greeted me and we started warming up. As we were doing our five- minute run, Erin came sprinting up to us late, which was an abnormality. Since she’s always excited for pas de deux, she normally beats me to the barn.

    “You’re late!” I called to her, and she rolled her eyes.

    “Trust me, I know,” She responded, and we fell back into our conversation about our uniforms, picking up right where we left off from last week.

    We got back to the barn and did the rest of our warm up, which took us right to the time when the horse was ready. The longueur brought out Calandra and started getting her to canter. We ran up to the top arena, fastening on our belts for safety and wrapping our legs in polos (fuzzy wraps that you put on horses so they won’t hurt their legs) so we wouldn’t get bruises. That’s when my coach, Isabelle, told us exactly what I had been dreading for the past week. We were going to do the jump.

    In my and Erin’s pas de deux, we came to the decision that each of us were going to be basing, or supporting the other in the move, and flying, which is the one usually above the other (in a lift or something, hence the word “flying”). However, somehow I got stuck with stand basing Erin, something that I had never done before. I had always been one of the fliers on a team. So, basically, I would be standing on the horse while supporting her in moves. In the jump, I am standing with one foot in the handle, pushing her upwards so she gets more height and air time. This may not seem hard, but I was nervous. Basing someone is a commitment, and if they get hurt, you feel as if it’s your fault.

    I mounted at the canter, warming up the horse for both of us. Then I got into position, and helped Erin mount. We did a couple of easier moves, such as the supported handstand, to get ourselves ready, and then Isabelle told us it was time for the jump. I put my foot in the handle, and Erin stood up. I rotated my upper body to face her, and we gripped each other forearm to forearm.

    “Ready?” I asked, trying to be calm so that the horse would sense security and not fear.

    “Ready,” she confirmed. I could see that she felt the same as I did. We counted off, and she jumped. Everything was going well, but as she started to come down, I could feel that she was just a bit too outside of the horse’s center of gravity. But a bit can matter a lot in vaulting.

    Sure enough, as she came down, her weight was too far to the outside. Time slowed down. Noises faded into the background. I could see her tipping, starting to come down from the jump in slow motion. It was as if we were in a vacuum, time and space irrelevant, only the sound of the horse’s hooves thudding and my heart pounding resonating in my mind. I sensed the horse’s beat and my heartbeat lining up for a millisecond before, even in the vacuum, I seemed to be snapped back into reality. She landed, but she was going to fall. And I was going to fall with her. 

    In the position I was in, it would not be good if I fell. I would basically tip backwards, and if I was lucky, my foot wouldn’t stay in the handle. However, there was a strong possibility my foot would stay stuck. If that happened, I would still fall backwards, but my foot would stay in it’s position. My ankle would break, at best, and I would be flipped through the air, possibly dragged along with the horse. I could get seriously injured, and so could she.

All these thoughts raced through my head in a split second, as she let go with one of her arms, windmilling to try and keep her balance. I felt myself starting to tip with her momentum. I gritted my teeth, tightened my core, and dragged myself out of the falling position I was in like my life depended on it. My quality of life for the next couple of months, even in the best case scenario, certainly did.

I bent over sharply, and grabbed the other handle. I was safe. But my quick movement caused Erin to let go of my wrist. She was about to go over.

(I’d like to make one thing clear– it wouldn’t be so bad if she fell then. I wasn’t connected to her, so she wouldn’t have my weight complicating things for her. And she was in a good position to land on her feet. However, this wasn’t about her getting injured anymore. If Erin fell on a simple move like a jump, I would not feel qualified to base her on any other moves. I would feel like a failure as a base, like I couldn’t do it. I would always be nervous when it came to stand basing, because I wouldn’t think I could save someone if they fell from a more dangerous move.)

I quickly rotated my upper body to face her, and even though I was bent over, I could still let go of the handle with one hand. I reached for her, trying to grab the belt we wear around our waists for scenarios just like this. My fingers grazed the belt. I missed. Shoot. I had to either let her fall or try again. I shot my arm out desperately, extending my arm and shoulder out as far as I could without letting go of the handle. I felt the belt under my fingers…

I was sitting on a bench in the spectator area at a competition. My teammates were gathered around me, watching the girl in the ring do her freestyle. We had just turned away to go see our scores, when there were gasps all around us. We spun around quickly, watching the girl on the horse tip slowly over, falling out of her jump. The vacuum swallowed us all as her feet disconnected from the horse, and in slow motion, she fell at a diagonal. She hit the ground slowly, it seemed, with a sickening crack that we could hear from the spectator area. We launched to our feet as a keening scream spooked the horse, and it shot forward around the circle. The longueur got it under control enough to guide it away from the girl, so she wouldn’t get trampled. The girl was a mess of tears and pain as people rushed in to carry her out of the arena and into the medical tent. She had broken her leg. The color drained from my face. The horrid crack rang out again and again in my mind as I tried to move on. When I couldn’t move on, I tried to help her in my memories. I reached for her just as I was doing for Erin, but I couldn’t quite reach her, I couldn’t quite get there fast enough–

The belt was suddenly in my grasp. I tightened my grip in relief, pulling her out of her unstable position. She grabbed my belt to steady herself. We were both okay. It was over.

What seemed like it had lasted for more than a minute was actually only 3 seconds, maybe less. I could suddenly hear voices again. I was out of the vacuum that had held me during the incident. I found myself looking up across the circle at Isabelle, who was asking us if we were okay. I glanced over at Erin, who looked pale but not too badly shaken. She nodded at me, urging me to go ahead and speak. I darted my gaze over to Hanna and Clara. Clara was filming with wide eyes. Hanna still had a hand clapped over her mouth. I smiled, throwing off the remainder of my anxiety. Maybe I could be a standing base after all. I brought myself up and grasped Erin’s wrists again.

“Yeah,” I called to Isabelle. “We’re fine. Let’s try it again.”