When the plan breaks (dealing with setbacks)

One of the things the Olympics never quite shows is the in-between.

We see the comeback.
We see the medal.
We see the triumphant return.

What we don’t see is the stretch of time where nothing makes sense anymore.

Injury, setbacks, forced downtime — whether it’s your body, your dog, or your circumstances — don’t just interrupt training. They disrupt identity. Suddenly, the plan you were following no longer applies, and the version of yourself you were orienting around feels… unavailable.

And that’s the part no one really prepares you for.

Most competitors build identity around what they’re doing: how often they train, what level they’re at, what they’re chasing next. When that’s taken away or altered, the loss isn’t just logistical — it’s personal.

You’re not just rehabbing a body or waiting for a dog to recover.
You’re renegotiating who you are in this season.

That’s why advice like “just focus on coming back” often falls flat. It skips over the reality that the old version of you may not be waiting on the other side, at least not in the same form. Sometimes the hardest part isn’t returning to sport — it’s re-orienting yourself when the familiar markers are gone.

This creates an identity gap.

Before the setback, there was structure: clear goals, familiar routines, known expectations. After, there’s uncertainty. Doubt. Pressure to be the same as you were before — even when that no longer fits.

Quietly, the question shows up:
What if I’m not that handler anymore?

Elite athletes don’t avoid this phase. They move through it — but not by forcing themselves back into the old mold.

What they actually do looks much less dramatic.

They allow the identity shift.
They don’t rush to reclaim the old standard. They accept “different” before chasing “better.”

They rebuild trust in small, boring ways.
Consistency. Predictability. Controlled exposure. Not to prove anything — but to stabilize the system.

And they redefine success temporarily.
Not forever. Just for now. Long enough to regain footing.

This isn’t lowering the bar.
It’s stabilizing the ground underneath it.

For dog handlers, this phase shows up in so many ways: injured dogs, aging dogs, dogs changing venues, confidence shaken after a tough season, feeling off-timeline compared to where you thought you’d be.

You’re not behind.
You’re just in a different chapter.

Setbacks aren’t just interruptions — they’re identity checkpoints. They ask a quieter, more important question than How fast can I get back?

They ask:
Who am I now, and how do I train from here?

That question doesn’t require urgency. It requires honesty.

So if you’re in a season where the plan has broken, consider this:

• Who are you right now, in this phase?

• What does training look like for this version of you?

• What would rebuilding trust — not performance — require?

This time isn’t wasted.
It’s formative.

Every elite story includes a chapter where nothing is clear yet. That chapter doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re still in it.