13/07/2025
Agility is unlike any other sport. You’re working fast-paced in unison with another species, your equal teammate, relying on them to complete a course as they rely on you to guide them. There’s no collar and lead. You’re not riding them. You can’t discuss tactics. Both sides of the team need to be in total synchronicity for it to go right. Which means, more often than not for a lot of us, it doesn’t.
For all its highs and brilliance, agility can be bad for our mental health. From winter to a few months ago, I was actively telling people I hated it. I really did. Competing had totally drained me, and I frequently was leaving runs in tears, breaking down to fellow competitors and feeling like I was wasting everybody’s time. Over winter I was spending thousands on entries, driving hours across the country to try to move up the grades with wins that constantly evaded us. The more I needed that win, that boost, the more it felt out of our reach.
It’s the 3am starts, the driving in the dark, the standing in freezing cold fields, soaked through by the rain. It’s the hopes and dreams pinned on 25 seconds in the ring. The adrenaline and fatigue. The shattering moment one tiny thing goes wrong, a pole drops, a contact is missed by millimetres, and the whole thing was for nothing.
That is not what agility is about.
Winning isn’t what agility is about.
That is not why we started this.
When we start out, a clear round rosette is like a champ ticket. It’s like winning at Crufts. Our dogs complete the weaves in the ring and we are on cloud nine. And at some point along the way, we lose sight of that. We get used to the clears and the winning, and it no longer gives us the buzz it once did.
One dog getting to the top isn’t enough. The next one needs to be even better. We need to leave a legacy. Grade two, grade three, grade four. Grade seven. One ticket. Three. More. More. We need to be on the national team. We are a failure if we don’t qualify for Crufts this year. If our first dog was a champion, the next dog must be too.
And we don’t stop to see that our dogs are our legacy. Not the prizes they win, but the lives they lived. Their short lives.
Most dogs get 15 summers. Maybe 8 competing seasons. Our time together is crushingly short. And isn’t that part of the problem? That clock ticking in the background- we are always aware that if not now, when?
Running my fifteen year old dog in anysize is one of my biggest joys. I never used to see the point in anysize classes, they felt boring. Now they’re my favourite. The old dogs that still think they can clear their old competing heights as they jump over 20cm. They don’t know it doesn’t matter. It’s a champ final to them. It reminds me why I started: because I love playing this silly game with my best friends.
It breaks my heart that I have often allowed my ambitions to eclipse that. And there it is- the reason why dogs jumping over sticks is so bad for our mental health. The person who started this dumb sport all those years ago, just so they could have fun with their dogs who they love so much, is still in there. And, more than anyone else, we are letting them down when we lose sight of what’s truly important. But we don’t have to.
Your wins do not determine your worth.
Do it for your dog, and the person you were when you started off in grade one. Not for anybody else. Not for the whisperers or the need to get to the top and never fall from there.
I don’t hate agility. I never hated running around with my girls. I hated the pressure I had put on myself in competition. It doesn’t make the way I felt any less valid, it just helps to understand it. And I know so many people are feeling the same way. I’m seeing it in person and online more than ever, people are feeling disillusioned by the sport.
Understanding helps. It doesn’t fix it, but it helps me to recognise why I’m feeling the way I am. It helps to give me perspective. It doesn’t always have to be this way. Right now, agility is so good for my mental health. But it’s also not the most important thing. Scrapping runs and going for walks, supporting friends at shows, rewarding the dogs even if it goes horrendously wrong. That’s good for mental health.
I’m not pretending I have all the answers, because I don’t. I still do, and probably will always struggle with this to some extent. But it’s good to talk about it.