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Co-sponsors of the 2023 Winning Out
Certificates
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American
Meg McCarthy expected to be upset after FCI
Worlds—a lot, actually. It was her first time at the event and the first time
she had represented the USA. It was an adventure she'd been dreaming of for most
of her life. She hasn't cried over it, surprisingly enough, though she's come
close, probably because life elbowed in as soon as the Team landed in the form
of a chair sliding on a kitchen floor.
My grandmother has been sick for some time.
For those close to me, you understand this relationship well. More of a
parent-child role, rather than a grandparent. She helped to raise me. We speak
(spoke) on the phone daily all my adult life. Before leaving for AWC, she made
me promise that no matter what happened to her, I wouldn’t leave the
competition. It was a promise kept, but still, that chair. In a daze from
medication and lack of sleep, she climbed on a kitchen chair last Thursday, lost
her balance, and fell. I wasn’t there, but yet I imagine that sound over and
over. Wood creaking against tile, a heavy thud, the sharpness of bone connecting
to the floor. I don’t want to hear it, but I do.
A fall is bad for anyone over the age of 75,
but specifically for those in end-stage cancer.
I was kept from most of this knowledge while
we were in Spain. An attempt not to drag focus away from the competition is
leaving me with a nagging sense of guilt (it’s an inherited trait, this guilt,
among other things), but being back home, we have been thrust fully into it. An
inescapable truth leading to the construction of a well-built wall. (That’s the
other inherited trait, in case you were keeping track). I have distanced myself
from this pain as well as the end of AWC as much as I can. Healthy? Maybe not.
Necessary? Yes.
Walls are good at keeping tears at bay, too.
They started a little the night we returned, as I hung my uniform back in my
closet, being sure to include the jersey I wore alongside it. There was a
metaphor in there. About hanging things up, shutting a door. Maybe it was the
jetlag and lack of sleep and the culmination of too many emotions spilling out
of the week. I worried that after AWC I would feel a little emptier– and I’d be
lying if I said that wasn’t true. I feel sort of dug out in the center, a little
raw, and a lot adrift. Imagine planning a vacation for ten years (even if you
didn’t know the exact destination) and visualizing it over and over. There was
so much leading up to it, so much hope and energy and imagination put into what
would happen and what things could be. There were countdowns and parties and
then, just like that, it’s over.
Where do you go next? What now?
I’m not entirely sure it would be possible to adequately describe what the week
meant and how incredible of an experience it actually was. At one point in the
weekend Maureen asked me if AWC had lived up to my expectations, and my answer
was immediate and truthful: it was better.
If you’ve never been, please, please try. Add
it to the bucket list even just to spectate. It is worth it, it will change your
perspective on this sport, I promise.
There is an unparalleled energy in the
arena which exists even when the five thousand spectators weren’t chanting from
the stands. I can romanticize endlessly of how countries come together for the
love of this sport and these dogs. How language barriers break down over the
mutual understanding of communicating on course.
Reaching this goal was only a step. Getting to the line, laying down runs,
learning what strengths we had and what more we needed to work on was
invaluable. There was a worry long before we landed in Spain (I know, lots of
them) that stepping to the line would prove to be a nerve-shattering experience.
I feared that my mind would race as fast as my heart until the courses blurred
and were forgotten. That the din of the building, both at it’s loudest and
quietest, would be too much. Tori said simply as we watched, “You’re a
competitor, it won’t be.”
I learned that we have a place there—that we belong, that we can thrive as
competitors.
Goals evolved quickly over the weekend. The fire in me was poked every time the
song “Champions” blared over the PA until it was consuming. I think many of my
teammates felt this same swell of motivation. We began making plans in the
stands for the coming months. I scribbled training notes in my book and wrote
back a list of things I wanted to work on back home. We had mistakes on course,
but they were small, manageable, fixable. Goals expanded to fill the hole
leaving Zaragoza would create.
Last night, as I left my grandmother’s, I was
called back in. Her neighbor was visiting, sitting at the foot of the
newly-delivered hospital bed in the living room and they had been talking. She
looked at me as I came back in, my grandmother, and asked for me to get my
computer, to show her friend Bolt’s runs from Worlds.
“Show her how fast he is”, she said weakly,
“how good.”
Fighting hot tears then (and now) with that
request. To be so proud of that little dog and what we did even then. It means
so much to her, more than I realized. I owe it to her to continue towards this
goal.
The promise was made to not leave the
competition no matter what. I think there’s more to it than just this year.
There’s more to take from it. That no matter what, we will retain our
competitive spirit, to fight, to work hard, to run with joy and purpose.
That’s a deeper promise I can keep.
About the author...
When Meg McCarthy was 10, Animal Planet appeared on cable TV and
she watched it a lot especially the episodes that showed dog sports and, more
importantly, showed dog agility. She became obsessed with the sport and
particularly with the adorable little Shelties that zipped through the courses.
By the time she was 11 or 12, my aunt had started to train her Golden
Retrieverss at a local facility. Meg followed her there every week (obviously)
and watched, and sat in the x-pen with a group of shelties and hoped to get a
chance to run. I fell in love with it, and the dogs in the class. Specifically a
beautiful sable girl named Flame. By the spring I was offered the opportunity to
run Flame at a local trial in novice. Uh, again, obviously. I did- she won- I
took the ribbon to 7th grade show & tell and talked about it to anyone who’d
listen, and probably to those who didn’t really care either.
I’m getting off topic. Short version. Right.
Thirteen years later I’m still competing in agility, though at a much higher
level than I could have imagined at age twelve. My second dog, Nike, took me to
the AKC Nationals, AKC world team tryouts, and on adventures through the
country. He was an incredible dog to learn the sport with, but more importantly,
learn how to win, lose, and grow up.
My youngest, Bolt, has brought me an already incredible journey in his young
life. AKC Nationals, world team tryouts, titles, double-Q’s: always exceeding
expectations. More than anything else though he’s taught me what this adventure
in agility means. I have big hopes for our future together.
Currently I am teaching master level handling classes in Freetown, MA and in
Hyannis, MA. I am also available for private lessons in the New England area.
Seminars are in the works– Bolt and I would like to continue adventuring and
meeting new people. Please feel free to contact me to schedule something.
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