There were barely a dozen other players on the field, but I was still riding scared at La Patrona, a palm-shrouded polo club in the tiny Mexican hamlet of San Pancho. As my fellow riders expertly maneuvered their horses among the goal posts and one another, I found myself resisting when my instructor, Raul, implored me to follow through with my swing. I was terrified of accidentally whacking my horse—or myself—with my mallet. The proximity of the other animals put me even more on edge. Horses kick and hiss, crash and bash into each other on the field. More familiar with single-file rides from summer camp, I was convinced a polo pile-up was inevitable.
By David Kaufman " The Wall Street Journal" |
