Horse riding. It was my life until the age of 18. Everything was about horses – I was obsessed. I learnt to ride under the arches at Vauxhall City Farm in London and most holidays in Devon I would get to ride on Exmoor. Then when we moved to Oxford I volunteered and then got a Sunday job at a riding stables here. I loved it, everything about it. I loved getting filthy mucking out, I loved grooming ponies, cleaning tack and even sweeping the yard. I loved getting home on a Sunday afternoon, filthy and ravenous. I loved how I smelt! I know that sounds odd, but to this day I love the smell of horses.

I had lessons once a week and grabbed any other opportunities I could to ride and became a fairly competent rider. Then I was lucky enough to get a pony on loan and then eventually buy him. I have so many wonderful memories of time spent with some of my best friends at the time, at the field, hacking out, trying to make jumps, we had so much fun. I was dedicated too! We used to cycle after school to ride, groom and feed the ponies. Sometimes we’d be in the field in the dark and bitter cold, trying to make sure the ponies were fed and ok. It was everything to me. My second horse was a feistier character but a beautiful mare. I loved her dearly but as I got older other things started to creep into my life. Non-horsey friends would invite me to parties and I discovered boys. My 39 year old self would tell my then self to stick with horses and ignore the boys, but I didn’t!

Anyway, by 18 I was rarely riding and eventually made the difficult decision to sell my horse. Looking back I think I was crazy, but it was the right thing to do at the time. So that was that, I stopped riding, the thing I loved the most. I’d always planned to go back to it but the years flew by and it became a distant memory. I’ve ridden a handful of times over the last few years, each time finding it pretty hard work in a riding lesson. I have thought about it more recently though. I’ve thought about how, like when I run, my mind just seemed to settle when I was riding. I’ve wondered whether I would have suffered the same stress and anxiety had I continued to ride.

So you’re probably wondering why on earth I’m waffling on about horses and my childhood. It’s because a couple of weeks ago I got back in the saddle. My children have nagged me a lot about riding on Exmoor, but I’ve tried to resist them following in my footsteps. Riding is dangerous and expensive and I wasn’t too sure I wanted them to start the hobby that I loved so much. However, I should know better than anyone that trying to talk a strong-willed girl out of something is pretty impossible. So there we were at the stables I used to ride at when I was little. I was anxious to be honest. I was nervous for myself but also for my children.

I needn’t have been. The moment I climbed back into the saddle, it all came flooding back to me. I was also very lucky that I got to ride Murray, who was an absolute dream of a horse. The weather was absolutely perfect, a beautiful clear day, unusual on Exmoor in my experience! We headed off in a group onto the moor. Halfway though the ride another woman asked me if I was worrying about my girls. I’d been so sure I wouldn’t enjoy the ride, as I’d spend the whole time fretting about them. I had to confess to this woman that I was having so much fun and was so focussed on my own ride, that I’d not worried at all. I had an absolute blast charging across Exmoor on this big, muscular horse. We rode right up close to Exmoor ponies and looked across spectacular views. I was beaming by the time we got back and had had the most fun I’d had in ages, my love for riding had come flooding back to me. My children had also really enjoyed it and I was so pleased we’d decided to go.

The thing about riding (and actually running) for me is that I’m entirely focussed and in the moment. Sometimes my mind might wander, but I know that right then the only thing I can do is ride (or run). Both activities require me to use my whole body for something that pushes me but gives me such a buzz. Sometimes it’s hard and uncomfortable but the euphoric feeling afterwards is almost always worth it. Someone asked me recently what it is that I think about when I run and I was stumped. I couldn’t really remember and it felt like sometimes I don’t really think about anything except the pounding of my feet, my heart, the fresh air on my skin and the beat in my ears. It was the same for me with horse riding. As we cantered across Exmoor, the only thing on my mind in that moment was my body on that horse with the wind in my face. For someone whose mind races constantly, often to places it doesn’t want to, this was the best therapy. So I reckon despite the fact that my poor thighs have taken over a week to recover, I might just do it again soon.

I urge you to go and find your thing. The thing that makes your heart race and your mind quiet.