Small Changes, Big Impact for Athletes

As athletes, our identity is often tied to the sports we love. From a young age, we’re taught to push our limits, train hard, and always aim for success. But what happens when that sport is taken away from you? Whether it’s due to injury, illness, or another reason, losing the ability to participate in something that defines you can be incredibly challenging.

I know this struggle all too well. I was a dedicated runner, having completed thirteen marathons, including three Boston marathons, and countless half marathons. I also dabbled in triathlons and dreamed of one day completing an Ironman. But all that changed, and for the past two years, my gear—running shoes, bikes, race shirts—has sat unused. It has been a long journey to come to terms with this change, and I hope my experience can help others facing the same loss.

If you’ve lost the ability to compete in your sport, you understand how deeply it affects you. For many athletes, the transition out of sport is more difficult than people realize. When your sport becomes your identity and your social circle revolves around it, losing that connection can leave you feeling like you’ve lost a part of yourself. I found it incredibly hard to adjust, feeling disoriented when I could no longer run or train.

Here are a few tips I wish I’d known earlier to help navigate this transition:

1. It’s okay to ask for help.

When I lost my sport, I also lost my usual coping mechanisms. Suddenly, I had no outlet for my emotions. I learned that it’s not a weakness to ask for help—it’s a necessary step for healing. Working with professionals helped me process my feelings, and I discovered new ways to manage my emotions. Learning to acknowledge and address the loss was harder than ignoring it, but ultimately, it made me stronger.

2. Find a new outlet.

While yoga never seemed like “real” exercise to me, I eventually gave it a chance—and it became a valuable part of my routine. Although yoga hasn’t replaced running or triathlons, it has given me something to look forward to while keeping my body moving. I also began strength training with a trainer, which was something I’d never considered before. You don’t have to take up yoga or lifting, but finding a new activity that keeps you active is crucial to maintaining both your physical and mental health.

3. Explore your creativity.

When you’ve been training for hours every week, losing that time can leave a big gap in your day. I decided to try new things—like learning Italian (even if my grammar was less than perfect) and experimenting with new recipes. I even wrote a book! Finding new creative outlets helped me rediscover my passion for learning and self-expression, giving me a new sense of purpose.

4. Establish a new routine.

Athletes thrive on routine, and when that routine is disrupted, it can be disorienting. I used to wake up at 5 a.m. to run, with a strict schedule dictating my day. When I no longer had that structure, I felt lost. It wasn’t easy, but over time, I established a new routine. Now, I can even enjoy sleeping in until 7:30 a.m. Some changes take time, but eventually, I found a rhythm that works for me without my old sport.

5. Shift your perspective.

At first, I focused entirely on what I had lost, unable to see the good that was still in my life. But with time and support, I learned to focus on what I still had, rather than dwelling on my loss. Gratitude became a powerful tool for me. I began writing down things I was thankful for and kept them in a jar. On difficult days, I would read through them. It might sound simple, but this daily practice helped me gain a more positive outlook.

Losing your sport can feel devastating, especially when it’s tied to your identity. In my case, I was diagnosed with ARVC, a rare genetic heart disease that forced me to stop competing. I am incredibly lucky to be alive—ARVC is one of the leading causes of sudden death in athletes. While my experience was extreme, many others face similar challenges, from injury or other setbacks that prevent them from doing what they love.

I hope that if you are ever forced to give up the sport you love, you won’t hesitate to ask for help or explore new opportunities. You may not replace what you lost, but with time, you can find new paths that bring happiness and fulfillment.

As someone who once thrived in endurance sports, I know firsthand the passion and dedication that comes with pushing your body to its limits. I loved everything about endurance sports— the sense of community, the commitment, and the exhilaration of pushing through a challenging workout. But it took a life-altering experience for me to realize that pushing too hard isn’t always the answer. It nearly cost me my life.

On April 13, 2015, my son’s first birthday, I experienced a life-threatening cardiac arrhythmia known as ventricular tachycardia during a morning run. I had been feeling unusually tired for weeks, but that day, it felt different—far worse. Despite my body’s signals, I pushed myself to go for a five-mile run, hoping it would help me feel better.

It was a warm spring day, with the humidity returning and pollen blanketing everything in sight. I slipped into my favorite running gear—a pair of Boston Marathon shorts and brand-new shoes. I love the excitement of lacing up a new pair of shoes, but on this day, that excitement would quickly turn into fear.

During the run, I felt “off” several times, occasionally struggling to catch my breath. These feelings would pass, and I assumed I was just out of shape. In my typical fashion, I pushed harder, determined to finish strong. I was training consistently, sleeping well, and staying hydrated. Yet my body wasn’t cooperating.

When I hit the final stretch, I decided to sprint the last half-mile to make up for my slower pace. As soon as I stopped, everything went wrong. I felt dizzy and unstable, unable to keep my balance. My heart raced so violently that I could feel it in my chest. I collapsed onto my front steps, trying to calm myself by focusing on my breath. But nothing helped.

At that moment, I genuinely feared for my life. My heart was beating so rapidly that I could see my chest moving in and out with each beat. I looked down at my Garmin, which was struggling to keep up with my heart rate. The numbers kept climbing—220, then 240, and even 250 beats per minute.

That day, I was incredibly fortunate to survive. I later learned I had a rare genetic heart condition known as ARVC (Arrhythmogenic Right Ventricular Cardiomyopathy). This diagnosis meant no more running, swimming, or cycling for me—activities I had once loved. Despite these restrictions, I am incredibly grateful to still be here to share my story.

Every February, during National Heart Month, I reflect on my experience and use it as an opportunity to raise awareness that athletes are not immune to heart disease. My hope is that by sharing my story, we can encourage early detection and prevention, so others don’t face the same near-death experience I did. If you’re an athlete or know someone who is, it’s crucial to listen to your body and seek help if something doesn’t feel right. Early detection can make all the difference.