The word retirement was never in my vocabulary. It still isn’t. When someone asks if I am retired from weightlifting, I say, “No, I’m not retired. I just don’t compete or train anymore.” I never submitted retirement papers to USA Weightlifting or the United States Anti-Doping Agency. That is too much official closure for me. Silly, yes, but it doesn’t make me freak out as much as saying, “Yes, I’m retired” even though it is not official since it is not on paper.

Whether you do it on your own terms or due to an injury, retirement is difficult. I would say that when you make the choice to retire from sport on your own, it is a little easier. When you’re told you can’t lift anymore, that is a whole other wave of emotions to work through. You leave the sport both injured and retired. I was fortunate enough to be able to determine on my own that I was done competing and training. I have unfortunately witnessed firsthand with my husband what it is like to not be able to train and compete at your highest ability due to a major injury causing retirement. When you’re told you should stop lifting for the future of your quality of life and if you want to be able to put your socks on or chase after your kids, you do it.

When I was competing (1996-2008), at times I honestly did contemplate retirement, but it was usually linked to a bad workout. This was also usually the only bad workout I had in weeks. And when I say bad, they probably weren’t even as bad as I had envisioned them to be. I had a tendency to focus on the one bad workout and not all the good ones I had completed.

I remember having a conversation with a teammate who said he was retiring. He was (and still is) someone I highly respect and value input from. He had witnessed my ups and downs of emotions in the training hall, so he knew that I wasn’t truly serious about retiring when I brought it up. That I was merely just frustrated. It puzzled me as to how he could just say, “I’m retiring” and be completely content with it. He too, started lifting at a very young age and had taken on the weightlifter identity to his friends, family and community. I recall asking him how he knew it was his time to retire. He said to me, “You just know. It’s a decision you make and you’re so confident that you don’t look back and have regrets. That’s when it is time. When you can say I’m 100 percent okay with my decision.” This stuck with me over the years, on the good training days and the bad ones.

Prior to the Olympic Games, I made the decision that once I had reached the pinnacle of sport I would retire when I walked off the platform. However, that did not happen. I came back from the Olympic Games on such an emotional high that I actually trained for a few months. Some days the burnout and fatigue caught up with me and I wasn’t committed. Those day it would take all I could do to go train as the post-Olympic depression was setting in. Other days I was laser focused on the next 4 years of training to go to London and compete at the 2012 Olympic Games.

There were two senior leaders of staff at the United States Olympic Committee who knew my intentions of retiring after competing at the Olympic Games, so when they saw me at the Olympic Training Center months after the Olympics, they were both surprised. Whenever I saw them, they would ask, “So, have you made your decision yet?” and I would respond, “Yes, I’m here, aren’t I?!” This went on for several months. Sometimes when I saw them, I was positive and enthusiastic about the future. Other times I would talk to about the struggle of retiring and the feeling of losing my identity.

Early January 2009, I went into the training hall for the resident program’s afternoon to workout. I was in a good mood and positive mindset, so there was no premonition of what was yet to come to me during that workout. I was in the middle of a squat workout, literally in the middle of a set. I stood up, racked the bar and asked my coach if I could talk to him in his office. This coach had only been my coach for a short period of time but is an experienced coach and an Olympian himself. We went into his office and I said, “I’m done.” His response was, “okay.” I think that he knew that this day was coming, but I had to be the one to make the decision on my own and he wasn’t going to pressure me or force me out of the gym. He had been in my position once himself and coached many athletes over the years, so I am sure he saw all the signs, hence why he was not surprised when I told him I was done lifting.

I can’t tell you the sense of peace I had when I walked out of the training hall that day. I was done. Of course, I cried, but they were honestly happy tears. I knew in my heart that I was done. I had no reservations or regrets. I was moving forward with my life and on to my next challenge, finishing my studies at the local university. The next chapter of my life consisted of being “Carissa the student”, not “Carissa the Weightlifter.” That was my new identity, or so I thought.

When you enter a sport at a young age and have successes, you unknowingly take on an identity that you probably never intended to nor asked for. For me, I was always “Carissa the weightlifter,” or “that girl from Vermont who lifts weights” or “the Olympian.” The identity component of not training or competing was the hardest for me to process. I look back now and can say that I was afraid of who I was going to be. That is why it took me so long to make the decision to move forward with the next phase of my adult life.

I recently ran into a woman at my daughter’s swim lessons. We both recognized each other but could not place where or how we knew one another. After a few seconds of staring at me she says, “Oh, I remember, you’re the weightlifter girl! We worked in the same building together a few years ago.” I walked away thinking how crazy it was that 11 years prior, I was so worried about my identity and who I would be after ending my weightlifting career and here I am, once again “the weightlifter girl.”

If you’re worried about not being connected to the amazing weightlifting community just because you’re not lifting or competing any longer, there are ways to stay involved. You can become a coach and share your love and passion of the sport with athletes or become a referee or volunteer at a local meet and help load a few sessions.

I share my experience with you in hopes that it will help if you’re contemplating retirement. If you’re worried about who you will be without weightlifting in your life, I want to tell you that it is a part of who you are and will never leave you. Even if you’re not in the gym snatching or clean & jerking, you are and always will be a weightlifter.