I have identified myself as an athlete my entire life.

In high school, everything I did was dedicated to being an athlete: intense training, multiple practices, traveling the country with my club team, being able to eat anything I wanted, and working towards getting a college scholarship to play volleyball.

There wasn’t a greater feeling in the world than the day I signed my National Letter of Intent and knew I had reached my goals in becoming a Division II collegiate athlete. But not once did I think about who I would be when those four years of my collegiate athletic career were over.

The days following my last collegiate game, I was sad. But at the same time, I was almost relieved. I was burned out. I had spent the last 11 years pushing my body to the limits, training hard during season, and even harder out of season. I gave my sport everything I had so no one could say I wasn’t the hardest worker on the team, and made sure I left everything I had on the court. So now, I figured that I could finally relax and have time to focus on other things I usually didn’t have time for because of my hectic practice schedule. I could be a normal person whose life didn’t revolve around sports. It didn’t take me long to realize, that just isn’t who I am. I am not a “normal” person. I am an athlete. I am a competitor. I live for the challenges that my sport bestows upon me daily, the competition my teammates give me, and the goals I strive for during workouts. Who am I now that I don’t have that?

I was not prepared for the extreme FOMO I experienced this year when I saw my team returning for preseason in the late summer. I never wanted to perform a fitness test so much than when I wasn’t forced to run timed 300’s on the track. I would give up anything to have the dreaded three practices a day for three weeks straight again, barely being able to walk out of the gym from being so sore. The worst feeling in the world was watching my team play their first game without me. Seeing them stand on the line, having the line-up being called, and knowing that I will never experience the feeling of butterflies before a big match again, was heartbreaking. The hardest part about it all was that the girl now wearing my number doesn’t even realize how lucky she is to be on the court. The aches, pains, and stress of being a college athlete are all worth it, but so short lived.

There are so many things you lose when your collegiate athletic career is over. Despite not losing your teammates as friends, you do lose that special locker room time when you get to bond, do pregame dances, post-game win screams, and have a place to call your own. You no longer have team meals or spend hours traveling to games. Working out now becomes something you have to motivate yourself to do intrinsically, rather than something that is built into your day for you. Not only that, but you have to find your own goals to work for in the weight room. As an athlete, I knew I needed to work towards agility, speed, and increasing my vertical jump. I had a purpose, goals to strive for and a feeling of accomplishment when my hard work paid off on the volleyball court. Without my sport, there is no direction in the weight room.The place I used to feel the most at home felt like a foreign country. Obviously, working out for my health was important, but it’s not the same as working out to be the best you can be for the sport you love. But the worst part about retiring from college athletics is the inability to play my sport on a daily basis. I think during college we take for granted the opportunity we have to be able to practice every day, and that adrenaline rush from games was the ultimate drug. Now, being in the real world, it is much harder to schedule ‘practice’ time into my day, or even find people to play with.

When I hear my former teammates complaining about a coach, their schedule, or how tired they are, I feel sorry for them because they will never understand how lucky they are to be college athletes until it’s over. They don’t know to cherish the times they have with their teammates, or having their name called before a game, and what a blessing it is to go to practice every day.

Being an athlete was my identity. My sport was my identity, and everything about being an athlete has helped mold me into who I am today. My sport gave me a purpose, and without it, I am left stranded, in search of finding a new purpose. I have been lucky enough to get a graduate assistantship at a new college as both the men’s and women’s volleyball assistant coach. Coming to the realization that just because my collegiate athletic career has come and gone, does not mean I am at a total loss; coaching is a new passion I love and get to engage in my sport every single day. My newest challenge is redefining myself as “Coach Nikki” instead of “Nikki the Volleyball Player.”