Commentary: ‘Walking away from swimming is not failure’ - Joscelin Yeo on life beyond the pool

SINGAPORE: When I worked at Suntec City after I retired from competitive swimming, it took me three years to realise there was a McDonald’s outlet there.

As an athlete, McDonald’s was never a part of my fuel source. Despite it being the go-to supper joint in the building after hours, I never paid attention to or even registered that it was McDonald’s that I walked past every day.

That’s the thing about humans; we have limited attentional and processing capabilities, and so we filter out what is not relevant to us.

Life as an athlete mirrored this selective focus; my time and attention were devoted to becoming the most successful swimmer I could possibly be.

I knew what I needed to eat and how much of it. I knew what time I had to get to bed and the little wiggle room there. I knew precisely how long it would take for me to go from alarm clock to being on the pool deck, down to the exact minute, so that I maximised my sleep. I was single-minded in my drive to be successful.

WHEN THE FIRE STARTS TO DIE OUT

What happens though when that fire starts to die out? Where there was joy, was now dread. Where there was drive, was now drag. Would it pass? Was it just a phase? Or was that it?

Joseph Schooling’s retirement announcement on Tuesday (Apr 2) has brought the topic of elite sports and burnout back into the spotlight. In an interview this week with reporters, he said he just didn’t "enjoy the grind" anymore.

I get him. When the fire began to wane for me, I first tried to fan it back into flames. I thought that perhaps I’d lost focus and had not tended to it like I should have. I saw a spark and something slowly catching fire, and presumed that things were back on track. So I added more fuel because that was the right thing to do. More fanning. More effort. More sweat. More of everything. But my arms were tired. My eyes glossed over from the smoke I’d been giving out. Nothing was working.

People kept asking, “How’s it going?” With a forced smile I would tell them, “Yeah, I’m still at it, trying my best,” because that was all I could give.

There was a sinking feeling that the fire was dead for good, and I didn’t know what to do. When fire turns to ash it’s like falling out of love; there’s confusion, pain, but also in an odd way - relief.

I was 27 and had been swimming internationally for Singapore for 17 years when I decided it was time to leave. Swimming was all I knew. It was scary to think of an alternative life.

As elite athletes, we derive our sense of identity from the discipline we have honed, the work ethic we’ve cultivated and our ability to last longer, go further and dig deeper than most.

Our teammates and training partners are the ones we see, eat, sleep and train with every day. They are our pillars of support, our network, the people who truly get us and all our idiosyncrasies. They get our super competitive mindsets because they are the same way. Every task has a clear goal because we find life’s purpose in the long-term and short-term goals we set for ourselves.

Retiring meant leaving all that behind.

Swimming wasn’t just a job, it was my entire life. It was what I knew and was good at. Mentally and emotionally, it was a safe space. But there was also cognitive dissonance. Deep inside, I knew I couldn’t live that life anymore because what it demanded from me, I lacked the will to do.

WALKING AWAY IS NOT FAILURE

When I finally accepted that the fire was dead for good, my only choice forward was to retire.

Life was a buffet, and it was time for me to explore other cuisines in the spread; me as a sister, a friend, a partner, a parent, a colleague, a staff, an entrepreneur, a business owner, a recreational athlete, the list was long.

The transition proved to be a journey in its own right. I had to change my mindset, recognising that swimming was something I did, and not who I was. I had to repaint expectations of myself and the expectations that others had of me.

Swimming did not define my life; I defined my life. Walking away from swimming was not failure, failure was me not being true to myself. And being true to myself meant that it took courage and strength to know when to walk away from everything I knew and to start afresh.

Strength does not come from a physical capacity, but from an indomitable will. Just because your appetite has changed, doesn’t mean you’re not hungry anymore. It just means that you’re now hungry for something different.

In transition, there’s also translation. I had to learn to translate the life lessons sport had given me into a new context because I needed them to be successful again. I did not look at transition as a new identity I had to build, instead, I looked at transition as a chance to build upon my identity as an athlete, to build a bigger network of support, and to once again, challenge myself to accomplish what I never thought possible.

To Joseph Schooling, thank you for sharing your sporting journey with us and allowing us to experience Singapore’s Olympic glory as we lived vicariously through you in that 50.39 seconds. You have everything it takes to be successful in your next phase of life. Keep dreaming and chasing those big dreams of yours! Yours truly, Jos.

Former national swimmer Joscelin Yeo is a four-time Olympian who also won 40 gold medals in the SEA Games during her 17-year swimming career. Yeo, a former Nominated Member of Parliament, is now the co-founder of Into The Wild, which organises wilderness camps for children.