When I was in college, I was a competitive public speaker. I wasn’t world class, but I was pretty good. What I lacked in raw talent and maturity (I started college at 17, so I often a year younger than most of my peers), I made up for in practice. I spent hours in the library researching and hours working with my wonderful (and patient) coach Brad Atchison.
Brad believed in me. Like many forensics coaches, Brad was a successful competition himself during his competitive years. He gave me so much good feedback and honestly, is so much a part of the person I am today. He challenged me, pushed me and made me better. He helped me fall in love with Rhetoric, the subject I eventually majored in. He always, always, always made time for me.
In my final year at University of Alaska Anchorage, I qualified three events for our national competition. I worked really hard for that, our competitive season was long, from September to April and it is not an exaggeration to say I put in 3 hours a day 5 days a week. Brad was so much a part of my world. And not just my world, he influnced so many of us competing in the early 90’s, he is loved and revered.
When I hit nationals in 1994 with my three events, I was ready, researched, practiced and ready to give it my all. And I did. And I didn’t do well. I didn’t qualify any of my events for quarter finals (final 24). I wasn’t heartbroken, but I think Brad was. The work we did together was not just mine, he was invested in my success and said to me ‘I wish I could have coached you to a quarterfinal’, there was sadness in that statement. He really believed in me and I believe he took that loss personally. There was a lot of talent at UAA (and in the northwest) at that time, but I think Brad believed no one worked harder than I did. I worked very hard. I’m a hard worker at anything I love.
I loved competing, not to win, but being there, amongst the individuals and trying to figure out how to be better than I was yesterday. I truly loved the hundreds of hours I spent in the library doing research, refining specific words in my speeches and practicing with Brad. I absolutely loved the process. It was one of the most rewarding times in my life. I loved it when I won, but that was NOT the goal. It was the process.
And in dog training, I LOVE the process. I *love* spending time on the phone/in person/on internet with my friends giving them ideas on how to solve problems, because they trust my judgement. I love the science. I love getting behavior. I cannot express how much I love it. Competition for me is only a measurement of my success in training behavior. And for Meisje the challenge is huge and complicated with many layers of complexity that only exist in competition. And when I fail in competition, sometimes I want to quit.
Unlike public speaking, I am now both competitor and coach. The failure of my dog is my own failure, it feels very personal. And I know my dog loves me. She tries hard, she works so hard and does what is not easy and doesn’t come naturally to her. But she is a hard worker. She doesn’t care about ribbons or titles. She wants to feel confident and successful. It is my job to help her feel that way. Maybe I will never coach her to a High In Trial or a MACH, but it doesn’t mean I have failed as a coach. It doesn’t mean we haven’t worked hard. It doesn’t mean we are not talented.
Sometimes I am heartbroken by Meisje’s performance and I want to quit. I do. But the reality is, I love this. I love training. I love learning. I love my dog. We will keep trying. And in the back of my mind, even though the two are not related, someday when we do really great, I will thank Brad and let him know, it may take 20+ years, but the discipline he taught me, it ended up being a different sport, the success was worth the wait.