An Introduction to the End

For more than ten years I have defined myself by what I do. Many people on first hearing about my sport (the sport of Judo), do one of two, or both off the following things.

1. Say "Hiiiyaaa - Judo Chop!"
2. Ask "Does that mean you could beat me up?"

The answers are 1. No such thing! and 2. Probably not.

Judo is an Olympic sport, and martial art, from Japan, and translates literally as 'the gentle way.' Any person who has ever taken part in sparring (randori), or competed in this sport knows that to be anything but the case.

You win by throwing you partner on their back (with control), pinning them on their back or by making them submit by either armlock or strangle. Sounds difficult. It is.

Many judoka (judo players in Japanese), describe judo as a way of life.

For almost everyone I have met who has come into contact with judo it has been a positive experience. It teaches respect and control, the importance of dedication, hard work and resilience and the people that are involved in judo are products of these disciplines.

My career in judo has not only made me into an athlete, but has shaped my views and values as a person as well as my lifestyle choices. I started at age 16, and instead of going to university to study engineering, I cancelled my place and started out on a quest to be Olympic and world champion. I had fantastic coaches, role models and a fire to succeed that I had never experienced before.

Thirteen years later, international medals and wins against former Olympic champions, world ranked number one athletes and countless thousands of pounds spent on traveling to train or compete, whether that is my judo club down the road, the national training centre, or some of my more far-flung destinations such as Samoa, Korea, Argentina, Peru, Japan... (the list goes on) have left me with a handful of medals, a hell of a lot more losses, and a thousand incredible memories.

Any person that has experienced life (and that's everyone...) can relate to cliches such as 'success doesn't come overnight,' or 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.'

What if you're so sure that you are going to achieve something great, and for years thats the only thing that matters, and then one day you realise that it isn't going to happen? Not only that, but its not going to happen because you no longer want it to happen? That thing that defines you, that has been your reason for getting out of bed, your very existence, no longer excites you the way it did.

It is currently well documented that athletes in the position I find myself now, at the tail end of my career, face a myriad of struggles. I won't delve in this piece into the bits of the end of a sporting career, that makes for sad reading, a brief search on Google will yield plenty of athletes discussing intimately their struggles, all of which have taken bravery to share, and a painful journey to realise.

A very honest piece of writing (and one I found hauntingly accurate), for any experiencing this transition, or anyone interested in the difficulties faced by an athlete at the end of their career is by Simon Orchard, the Australian hockey Olympian, and was published in the Guardian in August of 2017.

What I will do instead is offer some bits of advice, as someone who has experienced a lot of the amazing things by having a single overriding passion and goal brings (regardless of what that is), but is looking towards what happens next, in the hope that it makes the transition easier for others, and offer an insight in to this experience to anyone not involved themselves.

1. Acknowledge what you have done.

A million people will be there to tell what you could have done, what you have failed at or what others are doing. Take some time to look at what you have achieved, and if you have put your all in to it, take some time to appreciate it. My coach recently told me that when I first came to judo he didn't think I would even get my black belt, let alone compete at any level due to starting my sport late and my lack of physicality at the time, and that I have been a ruthless trainer and competitor my entire career. These were things I knew myself all the time, it wasn't until someone who's opinion I value voiced it, that I allowed it to become my own truth. Have the confidence to be proud of what you have done.

2. Believe the success is in the journey.

A friend, mentor, colleague and senpai (look it up) of mine somewhat famously (in the world of judo anyway) said close to the end of her career: "The journey begins when you get back up." It encapsulates exactly how I have learned, from coaches and experience alike, how I feel about life. Any person who has dedicated their effort, attention and time to something and given everything in pursuit of their dreams has achieved something. The end result is where you are when you decide, whatever the reason, that you are finished, not where you thought you would be when you set out to get there.

3. Allow people to help you.

For me this was a big one. I have been incredibly lucky to be supported through parts of my career by government and university funding and more often, family, when it came to paying for training and competing.

However, financial help is not the help that I am talking about. I am positive, with hindsight, that if I had been able to express what I was feeling at certain times in my sporting career to someone else, I would have dealt with situations much better. I can't be sure it would have helped me gain better results in my sport, although I suspect it is the case, but I know it would have made me happier, and nothing in life is more important.

A life in competitive sport is by definition, a lonely one, as no one else can train for you, no one else can do the work. That doesn't have to mean that you are alone. In my experience, many athletes take their problems from training and competing home with them, and deal with it the way they deal with training, alone.

4. In equal measure, help others.

For a significant part of my career, I was only interested in myself, that is, doing absolutely everything I could to win, often I expect, at the expense of others. Athletes have to, be to a degree, selfish. They are at training.

The best feeling I have ever had as a full-time, international competitor was not on the top of a rostrum, but has been at my own club helping others gain the knowledge to succeed at the sport that has literally changed my life. It has segued into an interest in coach education and applying for a course at university, studying psychology. Giving back is not just good for the people you are helping, but it is good for the soul.

5. Take your time, but find a passion in something new.

Your sport has defined you. I defined myself as the hardest working, most dedicated and mentally toughest athlete in my training environment (whether that was true or not). I had, for over ten years, believed that the only thing worthy of effort, or of my time, was my sport. More latterly, I realised that, although when training and competing, it is essential that it is the only thing that is important, it is even more essential to have activities, relationships and passions that motivate and excite you outside of your sport.

6. And most importantly, know that the sum of your sporting career do not define you as a person.

The motivation, dedication and effort you have put into your passion has been what has made you so successful. Whether you achieved what you set out to, or not, you are a success. Your worth is not defined by the medals that you have hanging in the house (or hiding in the closet in my case), but by the blood, sweat and tears that you have put in to your endeavour.

These attributes, that have served you so well in your field WILL transfer to other aspects of your life. It'll take a while to realise it, but you are able to succeed at the next step, whatever that is.

n.b.

The title at the top of this piece is very final. It says an introduction to 'the end.' For a while, I wanted space from judo, and whenever I went to training, regretted it. It was a relief to me that 'the end' is not an end to my judo story, nor is it an end to my competitive career. A change of context, geographical in my case, and a study of what is important to me made me realise that I will never stop being a judo player. My perceived loss of my passion and love for judo wasn't so.

A final piece of advice to anyone going through a particularly hard time is this: take the time to find out why you want a change, and find out if you maybe still have your passion, you just need to change things up a bit.