The Never-Ending Athlete

Written by Amanda Arnold

I once had an argument with a (now-ex) boyfriend who was busting my chops about whether, at approaching 30 years old, I still considered myself an athlete. The sheer AUDACITY of him to ask such a question was beyond me, but it was unsurprising considering he’d never known the beat in your chest after scoring a game-winning goal, nor the pride of setting a new lifting PR. He’d never run so hard he puked, nor cried next to a teammate after hanging up his jersey for the last time. Poor guy. 

But what happens to the competitor when they stop competing? From AAU basketball, travel-league field hockey, or high school lacrosse, I spent my whole life competing up until I graduated college in 2007. I can describe to you what “field hockey” smells like as if it were food, and to this day my dreams still fill with the signature squeak of basketball sneakers running down a court. I played Division 1 field hockey in college and although the soon-approaching 40-year old me is rolling her eyes at my attempt to hang my hat on accolades won 20+ years ago, I did well for myself. I miss sports more than just about anything I can think of and when it ended I (mistakenly) swore my best years were behind me. It took some time and rediscovery, but I’ve come to understand that while being an athlete will forever be a part of me, it has never been all of me.

In 2006, it all ended on the turf at the University of California where I played (lost) my last game of my college field hockey career, peeled off my sweaty jersey, and bawled my eyes out straight into retirement. There wasn’t one piece of me that was ready for it to all end. After finishing school I graduated and moved back to NJ where I navigated entry into the professional world and real adulthood. I floundered getting used to my new normal and wondered if I’d ever fill the void that retirement had left. I struggled with my mental health, convinced I was the only one who struggled with the transition, only to find out years later my experience was far more common than I ever expected. 

For any athletes preparing for, or struggling with, the post-competition transition, I’ve identified a few things that helped me find my way. 

1. BE MORE THAN YOUR SPORT. You’re capable of being good at, and investing time in, valuable pursuits other than sports. Find those things. Identify those passions. During my transition, I threw myself into marathon running and travel. It reminded me of what it felt like to commit to a goal and achieve it. It also brought me to Peru. Chile. England. France. And Spain. I’ve run marathons and learned how to say “Cheers!” in 5 different languages. My knees didn’t thank me for it, but my mental health sure did.  
2. KEEP COMPETING. That’s where you’ll find your people. When you’ve spent most of your life surrounded by athletes, it’s a tough reality that the “real world” isn’t structured that way. The athletes, though, found ways to keep competing. They play in adult leagues, join running clubs, and play in pickleball tourneys at the local athletic club.  The competitive monster in you didn’t die when you retired, so find ways to feed it. In the process you’ll again build your village. 
   
   
3. LET YOUR TEAM LIFT YOU UP. You’re an athlete and that means you know the importance of teamwork. There’s little you’ve done up until this point completely by yourself and this is no different. Identify the people you trust and lean on them. They may be friends, family, or therapists, and I can promise you they want you to WIN. Let them lend a hand in getting you past the finish line. They may not wear jerseys, but you still have a team, don’t forget that.
   
   
4. STAY OFF THE INTERNET. When I first graduated I used to sit at home and torture myself scrolling through the profiles of all my teammates that were still playing. It was like rubbing salt in an open wound. Take a break from Instagram. FOMO doesn’t happen when you’re actively and intentionally living your life. Do yourself the favor and disconnect, even if just for a little while. 
   
   
5. DON’T MARRY THE PERSON WHO DOUBTS YOUR INNER ATHLETE. Seriously, just don’t.