FINALLY, I got back in the saddle this week, but my leisurely hack among the sand dunes was as far away from the thunder of the pack at Aintree as horse riding could possibly get.
Still, it was a relief to simply be holding reins at last, regardless of what was biting down on the other end of them.
After being glued to the thrills of Cheltenham a fortnight ago, however, Tuesday's trot was yet another sobering wake-up call to the challenge ahead of me.
The prospect of riding a real racehorse right now is certainly daunting to say the least.
But we all start back somewhere and for me that was among the schoolgirls and their ponies on Meols beach.
The staff at Jo Mason School of Riding at Park Lane Liveries heard my cries for help last week and kindly invited me to join one of their Easter Holiday hacks aboard big old girl, Molly.
Like in life, it was nice to start out again with the help of a female with a little bit of experience. Tall, leggy with huge eyes and massive lips and with greying hair. Safe to say that Molly was certainly of the type I usually go for.
And this old girl wasn't about to start doing any party tricks that's for sure.
She was content enough plodding along the dunes but any encouragement to break into a trot was met with a half hearted response, followed by a swift nibble at my toes.
I didn't even attempt the gallop. She certainly wasn't in the mood for any of that and after a couple of days neglecting my strict diet at the weekend I could hardly blame her.
She'd been saddled to entertain some out of shape middle aged suit, not a Frankie Dettori wannabe.
But her stubborn attitude didn't stop me from drifting off to my little fantasy world while looking out at the bitterly cold Irish Sea.
Plodding along the fringes of the beach, I couldn't help but recall the famous black and white photographs of Red Rum training on the sand over the other side of the bay back in the Seventies.
With a tiny jockey perched on his back and that famous stripy blanket, those shots are synonymous with the Grand National magician’s iconic career and, just for a second, I was there with Rummie on a swift dash along the water’s edge.
Back in the real world though, Molly's heartfelt desires lay not with the world's greatest steeplechase but, after a long winter munching hay, the lush green grass now breaking through the dunes.
But as the lads down at the gym always say, 'a rides a ride' and I think that after our leisurely two-hour ordeal was over both Molly and I were happy to go our separate ways.
A bit of a ‘one afternoon stand’.
SPECIAL WORD OF WARNING
THE big guy (or gal) upstairs enjoys nothing better than throwing down a life lesson or two just when we need it and I was handed a painful one this week.
As I sat majestically aboard my steed on Tuesday, confidence and authority growing with every step, I was shown a sign of what can happen when things go a little wrong.
Our hacking group bumped into a throng of teenage girls and their prancing ponies at the end of the dunes and we decided to walk back along the beach together.
However, one little girl, quick as a flash, ended up flat on her back with her pony on top of her after the little thing reared up and fell backwards.
Thankfully, after one or two tears, both were fine. But it was right in front of me and for a few minutes all I could think of was the damage a fully grown horse like the one I was aboard could do to me if the same thing happened.
There would be more than a few tears that's for sure.
In my current svelte condition I'd be lucky to escape with a broken leg the way they went over.
A message to the enlightened one . . . "Thanks for the sign. Duly noted."
LET'S WARM TO A BETTER DEAL
ONE thing I have noticed after losing over a stone is how cold this month has been.
Last year I can recall rolling my sleeves up and sporting shades at Aintree, but I can only imagine a sea of brollies at the festival this year.
I am wearing thermal T-shirts and vests every day now to substitute the spare tyres that I have lost, while the extra padding lost from my backside is certainly being missed.
The seat on the gym’s exercise bike now feels like it is cast out of granite, while the prospect of many more hours in the saddle has already got me reaching for the pain killers.
A pair of padded cycling shorts is definitely top of the wish list now. Along with a little sunshine.
Gym’ll fix it.
