Here is what I think is a great article that my wife wrote a few months ago explaining the struggle that some of us older athletes must come to grips with. When do we hang it up? When do we accept that our best races are behind us? What will do to fulfill that void? Personally I've been fighting this some and I'm focused on efforts to relinquish running at a competitive level one day and still run of course but for different reasons and have some other activities to balance my life. Going out under your own terms is the better option but it is not always the hand you are dealt. Read on to see what some other athletes that Anne interviewed has coped with and maybe it will help us all with some of the closure.
“After the Applause”
By Anne Lundblad
As a master’s athlete heading toward my mid-40’s – yikes! – the issue of retirement from competition comes up from time to time. It doesn’t help any that each time I plan another event, my family asks whether I’m about through with all this racing stuff. And it’s really no fun to get beaten by girls half my age. The thought of retiring from competitive running is an odd one, though. What would I do with my time, my energy, my seemingly insatiable competitive drive?
Last summer and fall, watching Dara Torres, Brett Favre, and Lance Armstrong make comebacks with varying degrees of success, I began to wonder what it is that makes retirement from sport so difficult. Obviously at the professional level there are issues of finances and lack of alternate career options, but even for the non-professional elite athletes, letting go of that dream can be a challenge. Is it a matter of unfinished business? Or the question of “what’s next”?
By the time they reach the point of retirement, elite competitors have spent years developing their bodies and minds in pursuit of athletic excellence. Often this comes at the expense of other aspects of life, including education, hobbies, even family and social relationships. For athletes who begin their competitive life at an early age, this can result in the establishment of an identity formed solely on the basis of being an athlete. No matter what they tell you, athletes thrive on the glory that comes with being a champion. It is easy to become addicted to the limelight, and hard to figure out who one is without that status.
Tracy Steele, a former competitive runner from Atlanta, says, “Still I struggle with where I am compared to where I have been. I’m not sure if it ever goes away. Running has been my full identity. It put me through college. It gave me confidence when I had none. I created my whole social network around it. And still I wrestle with where I fit in the whole thing.”
Steele’s retirement came gradually, as injuries and age began to increasingly affect her performance. For several years she chased her old PRs, hoping to reclaim her previous form, although now at age 46, she is beginning to come to terms with the fact that her best days are behind her.
Stacey Enos, Head Women’s Soccer Coach and Athletic Director at Warren Wilson College in Asheville, had a more sudden conclusion to her competitive career. In her early twenties, Enos was at her physical peak. She was a starter on the first U.S. national women’s soccer team and had played in international tournaments, achieving great success against the top players in the world. When she was in the zone, she felt infallible. A car accident on her twenty-third birthday brought everything to a crashing halt. Rather than competing in a tournament in China as she had planned, she spent the next six months in a cast, recuperating from a badly broken leg. Enos describes intense feelings of isolation and vulnerability, as the team had been her primary support system and she was no longer able to travel or train with her teammates.
After what she describes as a challenging year of rehab, Enos moved out west and channeled her competitive drive into other outlets. She went back to school and took up a variety of outdoor activities. Today, although she still wonders what could have been, she recognizes that her injury and forced retirement ultimately helped her to develop into a healthier person. “Athletes are selfish”, she says. “My injury helped me to explore other avenues of myself – mentally and spiritually. I challenged myself with different questions and learned to be a more giving person in society.” Although she no longer plays competitively, she still loves the game and remains active through coaching and the development of “Go to Goal”, a non-profit soccer program for underprivileged girls.
Maylon Hanold, a 1992 Olympian in whitewater kayak slalom, chose a similar path following the conclusion of her competitive career. For her, retirement meant deciding not to compete at a high level anymore, but, “retirement is a misnomer when it comes to where I still put my energies or how I live my life. I try to be good at whatever I do – it’s both a blessing and a curse.” For Hanold, one of the biggest adjustments to life outside of the athletic arena was no longer being around people who wanted to be the best they could be. “I was dismayed at people who just seemed to be going through the motions…the passion and drive I was used to being around was not there.”
In the world of competitive sports, things tend to be black and white. You either win, or you lose. For high level athletes, the adrenaline and excitement associated with a win can be intoxicating, making ordinary life seem mundane. As soon as I began to contemplate life after racing, my mind began to swirl with ideas for the next challenge in my life – should I seek another graduate degree, write a book, learn a new skill? Athletes are used to challenging themselves, and it can be difficult to face a future with no concrete goals.
Rather than giving up their sport entirely, some athletes choose to continue at a more recreational level, leaving the door open for a comeback. Lecky Haller, who competed in whitewater canoeing in the 1992 and 2000 Olympics, was on the U.S. national team for twenty years. From his early twenties through his mid-forties, paddling was his full-time job. He made the decision to retire after getting married and feeling pressure to give up his hand-to-mouth lifestyle in order to support a family, but continues to paddle frequently. He still considers making another Olympic bid at age 51. That might not be such a long shot, seeing as how he placed a close 2nd in the National Downwater Championships last summer.
Talking with Lecky, it is obvious how much he misses his life as a professional athlete, but he recognizes the need for balance at this point in his life. “I understand how retirement could be depressing if that was all you had, but there’s more to life,” he says. Yet the ambivalence is apparent. When asked about his chances of making another Olympic team, he replies, “I’m hopeful.”
So for me, the question remains – when and how will I leave this sport? Will I exit gracefully, recognizing that I have achieved what I can and that it is time to move on? Will I go down kicking and screaming, hopelessly chasing old dreams? Will it be a gradual diminishing of speed or a sudden, life-changing injury? Talking with these athletes, the main thing that seems clear is that I will need balance in my life, along with new goals at which to direct my passion and energy. In the long run, I guess that’s what all of us need.
“After the Applause”
By Anne Lundblad
As a master’s athlete heading toward my mid-40’s – yikes! – the issue of retirement from competition comes up from time to time. It doesn’t help any that each time I plan another event, my family asks whether I’m about through with all this racing stuff. And it’s really no fun to get beaten by girls half my age. The thought of retiring from competitive running is an odd one, though. What would I do with my time, my energy, my seemingly insatiable competitive drive?
Last summer and fall, watching Dara Torres, Brett Favre, and Lance Armstrong make comebacks with varying degrees of success, I began to wonder what it is that makes retirement from sport so difficult. Obviously at the professional level there are issues of finances and lack of alternate career options, but even for the non-professional elite athletes, letting go of that dream can be a challenge. Is it a matter of unfinished business? Or the question of “what’s next”?
By the time they reach the point of retirement, elite competitors have spent years developing their bodies and minds in pursuit of athletic excellence. Often this comes at the expense of other aspects of life, including education, hobbies, even family and social relationships. For athletes who begin their competitive life at an early age, this can result in the establishment of an identity formed solely on the basis of being an athlete. No matter what they tell you, athletes thrive on the glory that comes with being a champion. It is easy to become addicted to the limelight, and hard to figure out who one is without that status.
Tracy Steele, a former competitive runner from Atlanta, says, “Still I struggle with where I am compared to where I have been. I’m not sure if it ever goes away. Running has been my full identity. It put me through college. It gave me confidence when I had none. I created my whole social network around it. And still I wrestle with where I fit in the whole thing.”
Steele’s retirement came gradually, as injuries and age began to increasingly affect her performance. For several years she chased her old PRs, hoping to reclaim her previous form, although now at age 46, she is beginning to come to terms with the fact that her best days are behind her.
Stacey Enos, Head Women’s Soccer Coach and Athletic Director at Warren Wilson College in Asheville, had a more sudden conclusion to her competitive career. In her early twenties, Enos was at her physical peak. She was a starter on the first U.S. national women’s soccer team and had played in international tournaments, achieving great success against the top players in the world. When she was in the zone, she felt infallible. A car accident on her twenty-third birthday brought everything to a crashing halt. Rather than competing in a tournament in China as she had planned, she spent the next six months in a cast, recuperating from a badly broken leg. Enos describes intense feelings of isolation and vulnerability, as the team had been her primary support system and she was no longer able to travel or train with her teammates.
After what she describes as a challenging year of rehab, Enos moved out west and channeled her competitive drive into other outlets. She went back to school and took up a variety of outdoor activities. Today, although she still wonders what could have been, she recognizes that her injury and forced retirement ultimately helped her to develop into a healthier person. “Athletes are selfish”, she says. “My injury helped me to explore other avenues of myself – mentally and spiritually. I challenged myself with different questions and learned to be a more giving person in society.” Although she no longer plays competitively, she still loves the game and remains active through coaching and the development of “Go to Goal”, a non-profit soccer program for underprivileged girls.
Maylon Hanold, a 1992 Olympian in whitewater kayak slalom, chose a similar path following the conclusion of her competitive career. For her, retirement meant deciding not to compete at a high level anymore, but, “retirement is a misnomer when it comes to where I still put my energies or how I live my life. I try to be good at whatever I do – it’s both a blessing and a curse.” For Hanold, one of the biggest adjustments to life outside of the athletic arena was no longer being around people who wanted to be the best they could be. “I was dismayed at people who just seemed to be going through the motions…the passion and drive I was used to being around was not there.”
In the world of competitive sports, things tend to be black and white. You either win, or you lose. For high level athletes, the adrenaline and excitement associated with a win can be intoxicating, making ordinary life seem mundane. As soon as I began to contemplate life after racing, my mind began to swirl with ideas for the next challenge in my life – should I seek another graduate degree, write a book, learn a new skill? Athletes are used to challenging themselves, and it can be difficult to face a future with no concrete goals.
Rather than giving up their sport entirely, some athletes choose to continue at a more recreational level, leaving the door open for a comeback. Lecky Haller, who competed in whitewater canoeing in the 1992 and 2000 Olympics, was on the U.S. national team for twenty years. From his early twenties through his mid-forties, paddling was his full-time job. He made the decision to retire after getting married and feeling pressure to give up his hand-to-mouth lifestyle in order to support a family, but continues to paddle frequently. He still considers making another Olympic bid at age 51. That might not be such a long shot, seeing as how he placed a close 2nd in the National Downwater Championships last summer.
Talking with Lecky, it is obvious how much he misses his life as a professional athlete, but he recognizes the need for balance at this point in his life. “I understand how retirement could be depressing if that was all you had, but there’s more to life,” he says. Yet the ambivalence is apparent. When asked about his chances of making another Olympic team, he replies, “I’m hopeful.”
So for me, the question remains – when and how will I leave this sport? Will I exit gracefully, recognizing that I have achieved what I can and that it is time to move on? Will I go down kicking and screaming, hopelessly chasing old dreams? Will it be a gradual diminishing of speed or a sudden, life-changing injury? Talking with these athletes, the main thing that seems clear is that I will need balance in my life, along with new goals at which to direct my passion and energy. In the long run, I guess that’s what all of us need.
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