After work, I went down to River Street to get in line for the ferry to go to the expo.  My offices (like I actually have an office) overlook River Street, so I'm able to get an idea of what's going on.  Here's a secret: I love folk music.  I was slowly going insane being able to hear banjo cords and a tambourine but not being able to see the musicians.  In line, I was able to meet and greet the illegal street peddlers (we actually have legal peddlers - they wear badges) and purchased a CD, wrapped in a brown bag.  It was a fellow and a lady, both young, both scruffy, with beat up instruments (he had the banjo, the tambourine strapped to his right foot and his left foot on a kick drum; she was holding a stand-up bass), and a sweet old dog.  Called "Wilder Lee" in case anyone else loves some folk music.  I took video.  I will share video.  I'm a giving person.

Hubs met me at the expo.  He ran into a bunch of people he knew and I got pissed off when I fell off the rowing machine in a competition.  Best time for 500m got a free month of CrossFit training.  The current best when I went was 1:50.5.  Including the time that I fell off, I did it in 2:02.  Grumble.  Grumble.

Got up a little later than normal for a race day.  9 o'clock start time.  We got a good parking spot and sat for a while.  I ate my millionth pumpkin spice bagel and he played on his iPhone.  Then we headed out to the starting line.  While there, we bumped into a woman that I know from soccer and she hung around until the race started.  She drank some pre-workout drink that the Husband wants to get and I can totally see why.  She didn't have jitters, but she was very.. squirrelly. 

As far as the race went, they made us run a mile through the city before we got to the actual bridge.  This was not part of the 5k last year.  I'm not sure what the hell they were thinking, but I was damn grumpy about running through the city considering that I'd already ran 13 miles through it less than a month prior.  And I think the bridge is steeper going over than it is coming back.  I took a lot of blurry iPhone pictures.  You're welcome.

I think this is going up the first time.

Downtown Savannah.

Post race with my hyperactive friend.

Check the number.  (Technically, it was 4666.)

Big ol' costume contest.  I can only hope they did the 5k.

My third beer.  ...What?

(I'm sort of ashamed about my time.  It took 1:13.  I ran a 10k (flat) in February in 1:06.  I ran this damn bridge last year in the 5k in :34.  I suck.)

After running, eating lunch, getting cupcakes, going home, cleaning up and sleeping for two hours, I went to ride the pony.  He'd had Friday off.  BO was tacking up when I got there and asked me if I wanted to go on a trail ride with her.  I said sure.  I knew Archie would be fucking bonkers if I tried to ride in the pasture while the Skinny Guy went elsewhere.  

I'd told BO previously that Archie was a horrible follower and that he got pissed off.  So she started the trail, of course, by leading.  He spooked about four times before we made it to the road.  When I finally got in front and felt comfortable trotting, he was high as a kite.  I felt like I was on a racking horse.  We did pretty okay for most of the trail.  Maybe.  There was one point coming back that I was leading at the trot and the Skinny Guy did get a little close to Archie's butt.  So.... Archie slammed on the brakes and started bucking.  Skinny Guy had to jump out of the way.  We walked the rest of the way back to the pasture, where BO continued to ride on the trail and I attempted to ride Archie in the "ring". ..Until he started bucking/crow hopping again and I broke the Tack Puritan rule of staying in the saddle and hooked his crazy ass up to a lunge line.  By the time he was less bonkers, she'd returned.  So I mounted again and pushed him out to the front pasture to actually ride.  It was all pretty horrible.

After all of that, I felt disgusting so we ordered Chinese and watched Dr. Who.

I slept in a little bit and woke up to the husband doing laundry.  It's not his passion; it's mine.  Eh.  We watched another episode of Dr. Who while munching on Clif Bars and then I went back out to the barn to help discover What The Fuck Is Wrong With My Horse.  It's a disease.  Mental.

First, I'm already trying to determine if he's got some neurological problem or if he is just crazy or I'm a horrible rider or what.  Because the boy has been naughty and funky lately.  So, I mount.  We walk forward.  I hear a loud crack and Archie lurches on the back end.  As I'm throwing my body out of the saddle, I think, "Oh, god, my horse has EPM and Wobbler's and his leg just disconnected from his hip and he's an asshole."

See the little scratch next to the patch of white in the front? 'Twas all.  My ballerina twacked the brick mounting block.

I started him in the front pasture and from the first trot, I felt like I had my real horse beneath me.  BO credits his running around while she rides to why he's so sane.  I don't.  I credit working his crazy butt five times a week, which I just haven't been able to do.  So, anyways, he was excellent.  We trotted, we jumped, we landed cantering and cantered around some.  

He was still funky tracking right.  He got tight in that right front shoulder and it didn't feel like he appreciated me asking him to bend.  I'm torn between calling the chiro out early or giving him another week to see if he feels more normal.

I spent a lot of the ride talking to him.  Telling him that if he could just trust me a little more and mellow out some, we'd be able to do so many more fun things.  Like trail rides off the property.  Fox hunting (if I found one).  Hunter paces and little shows.  I'm not completely crazy, but I tried to envision us hand galloping through the meadow and the woods and I tried to push that vision on to him.  Okay, maybe I am crazy.

But maybe it worked.  Because after the ride in the pasture, I took him on the exact same route that we'd gone on the day prior and he was, again, high as a kite.  I made him trot all the same parts.  I rarely feel completely "unsafe" on him, but yesterday it was like I was on a cracked out racehorse, scared of everything and just wanting to run away from it all, instead of the Arch that I know.  His complete body was telling us to go, go, go, but that my participation in this "going" wasn't absolutely necessary.  I didn't feel safe.  Pain or lack of work?

After I got done torturing the poor guy and blowing his mind, I went home and cleaned up.  The Humane Society was having a volunteer appreciation party at one of my favorite restaurants, so I wanted to go.  I could tell that the hubs was hesitant, but I won.  And he felt a lot better when, as soon as I walked up, someone ran up to me and said that she was so glad that I was there.  Volunteer Coordinator.  I got an award.  :)  We also got an opportunity to walk around and mingle with some of the board of directors.  D's got intentions in that direction.

Then it was on to the actual Humane Society to take more photos.  It was amazing:  all of those that were in surgery last time were adopted by the time I came back.  That's surgery Thursday, adoption by Sunday.  My one buddy helped me with the dogs and the husband attempted to go to SportsClips to get a hair cut.  He failed.

Then it was home, recover and our weekly Mexican.