So…I went into the European Open Team USA Tryouts this past weekend with a couple of goals in mind—not just to run well and hopefully earn a spot on Team USA, but to earn that spot by working to match the kind of handling people compliment me on. The kind I see when I watch videos of my best runs. The kind of handling that looks smooth, calm, and effortless—like the handlers I admire. I admire that kind of handling because it looks easy.
And at a big event like EO Tryouts, it’s easy to fall into the trap of wanting to make things look easy—to be in control, cool, calm, collected.
In my head, a run wouldn’t just look better if it felt effortless—it wouldn’t truly be good unless it felt good. Smooth, calm, collected. Pretty.
You’d think that after decades in this sport, I’d have learned by now that being good and feeling good aren’t always the same thing. That being good and looking good aren’t always the same thing.
So, for the first two rounds with each dog, that’s what I aimed for. I wanted my internal experience—the way I felt while running—to match that external experience that others see in my best moments. But everything felt off. It wasn’t bad, exactly. It just wasn’t me. But the worst part was, my dogs’ response was awful.
It was like Dude & Savi had both suddenly regressed to unskilled 2-year-olds—our teamwork was frustratingly absent. Instead of flowing together, it felt like we were speaking different languages. The runs were just disappointingly poor, and the results reflected that. Round two with each dog just left me with the worst sense of disappointment – what was going on?
I was disappointed, and also…not going to lie…angry. I can do better, I can be better, so what was UP?!?
Then round three happened:
Inside my head, it wasn’t smooth or calm. It was an angry bar fight.
But here’s the thing—it worked. It was the right kind of fight. The kind where you’re present, attacking the course, committed to every step.
And when the dust settled, Dude came in 10th out of over 100 dogs, and Savi came in third. Huh.
So for round four, I leaned into that fighting mindset instead of resisting it. And it worked again. Except instead of coming out of the ring saying “why does it have to feel like a bar brawl?”, this time I chose to go in feeling like a boxer getting ready to spar. Game on.
Savi came in 9th, and Dude came in 11th.
Man, why did it take me til round 3 to be able to get in to that mindset? Sigh…
At the end, I didn’t earn a spot on the team. Two bad rounds can’t be overcome by two good rounds in a four-round cumulative tryouts game.
But, I walked away with a huge win: the realization that the best version of my handling isn’t about chasing a specific feeling—it’s about embracing what actually works. Even if it doesn’t necessarily feel ‘like me’…it kind of IS me.
So maybe next time, instead of trying to force myself into an effortless flow, I’ll actually remember and be able to remind myself that sometimes, that knives out attitude is exactly what’s needed. Even if it doesn’t feel like me in the moment… maybe it is me.
Honestly, at this point, I should probably just tattoo “knives out” on my arm. Or my forehead. You know, just for easy reference, because I’m prettttty sure this isn’t the first time I’ve been smacked in the face with this lesson. 😆
There’s something powerful in accepting that success might not always feel the way you expect it to. I’ll be packing this lesson in to my competition go-bag moving forward, and I’d love to hear—have you ever found success when you least expected it, just by leaning into your way instead of someone else’s? Have you found out what your way looks and feels like, especially if it doesn’t feel ‘like you’?
Leave a comment and let me know!
