This is an installment of Good Fit, a column about exercise.

The first time I stepped into a gym after my years of playing Division I lacrosse had come to an end, I was so overwhelmed that I left after 15 minutes of half-assed mat stretching. The sheer number of options far exceeded what I was used to in terms of exercise. “College athlete” had been my identity—from intense game schedules to practices that stretched into dinnertime—and it had taken the guesswork out of how to move my body. Most days, our team workouts began with a simple “Get on the line.”

Suddenly, having “retired” from my sport—meaning I did not, like most other college athletes, go on to play professionally—I was no longer working out alongside cheering teammates. Instead, I was among fellow exhausted “real-life” people trying to squeeze in their Pilates classes and StairMaster climbs after work. And they all seemed to know what to do and where to go without being told.

Obtaining a high level of physical fitness is a badge of honor in the athletic community. Excelling at a sport demonstrates dedication and physical toughness. The worst label an athlete can receive is “lazy” or “lacks hustle.” Admitting to my lack of motivation in the gym—even to myself, really—seemed impossible because it felt like a confession of laziness.

Then I found Madison Paige’s TikTok account. She’s a former college soccer player who knows her way around a gym. But, as she’s revealed in videos, that wasn’t always the case. After she graduated, exercising felt pointless. “I didn’t even know where to begin,” she tells me. Watching her lessened my shame. It wasn’t erased, but at the very least I understood that I wasn’t alone. I set out to learn more about why the plummet in motivation happens, and how other retired college athletes manage it.

It is, in fact, common for college athletes to struggle with retirement from their sport. Ex-athletes are surprisingly more prone to weight gain and depression than are their peers, according to a review article published in the journal Nutrients in 2019. “If you give the majority of college athletes a piece of paper and ask them to write down who they are, most of them will write down athlete,” says Jamie Shapiro, a professor of sports psychology at the University of Denver. Losing that identity can be extremely difficult.

Many athletes who play in college have worked their entire young lives in order to be recruited. Of the high school soccer players in the U.S., only 7 percent go on to play in the NCAA, with less than 3 percent competing at the Division I level. College recruiting is a highly competitive process that entails participation on club teams, in weekend tournaments, and at college camps, as well as a high level of year-round fitness to ensure that the potential recruit is ready to perform at any given moment.

There is no “off season” during recruiting. For me, this meant spending every summer from the time I was 11 on hot turf fields and in the car driving to tournaments. In high school, I was meeting coaches on different campuses nearly every weekend instead of hanging out with friends or getting schoolwork done. I verbally committed to Brown University when I was 15.

Once the goal of making a college team is finally realized, the real work begins. In college, all athletes have one thing in common: they, too, were the best at their high school. You’re a star playing alongside other stars. Cross-country times are quicker, point guards are taller, and tennis serves are faster.

To keep up, you have to work and work and work. “Working out when I was an athlete was very transactional. It was: Get these reps done, get through the workout, and in an hour you’ll be done,” says Tilly Burzynski, a former Providence College ice hockey player. “I was always just trying to get stronger, faster, and bigger.” Hayden Mitchell, a former University of Virginia football player, tells me that in college his days started at 5:30 a.m. and could go until 9 at night. He jokes that he worked longer days than he does now at his real-world nine-to-five job.

Fewer than 2 percent of college athletes go on to play professionally. For most of us, the time comes, sooner rather than later, when all the structure and motivation of a team suddenly drops away. After graduation, the retired college athlete has to learn how to transition from training—with a specific physiological goal in mind—to exercising, explains Brian Cain, a mental conditioning coach who works with both professional and collegiate athletes. With training, success is clear: You get stronger, faster, your team wins. Exercise can be hard to quantify. It’s about health, but maybe more so general well-being. Exercise is about “good energy,” Cain says.

Shapiro advises former college athletes to ask themselves what it was they enjoyed about participating in sports, and to then use that aspect of their former motivation as fuel in their exercise regimens. For many, competition really is a large part of that joy. One of the simplest solutions to post-college athlete blues is to join a recreational sports league. Paige is now part of an all-women’s league, though she maintains only a part-time membership, playing in about half of the games. Mitchell plays pickup basketball a few times a week. Other former athletes find themselves drawn to apps such as Peloton that use leaderboard functions to keep users competitive.

I, like many retired athletes I know, don’t think I am capable of playing my sport recreationally. My college sports experience was characterized by a coach who was known for mocking players, which laced practices and games with anxiety. To pick up a stick again would be to scratch at healing scabs. I wish I had the ability to play for fun, but despite my love for the game and my former teammates, I’m not quite there yet.

For some, time can make the sport appealing again following the intense experience of being on a college team. “I needed time away from it,” says Burzynski, the former ice hockey player, who quit a season shy of retirement. “I never could have put skates on right after leaving the sport.”

But it wasn’t until Burzynski discovered yoga, a form of exercise actively against competitive comparison, that she began to find her place in the gym, eventually making her way back to skating just for herself.

“Moving in a way that was energizing rather than depleting? The idea that exercise could feel good?” Buryznski says, laughing. “I had never even learned that or been exposed to it. Now working out isn’t something just to get through. It’s a treat. One hour out of my day where I get to decompress.”

A year after I graduated college, one of my siblings decided to run a marathon. Another sibling joined in, registering for the same race. And another. And then my dad. Soon, almost my entire family had signed up to run. I decided to as well, mostly because I feared missing out far more than I feared the 26.2 miles. I’d hated running for most of my athletic career.

But the goal I set—to finish the race with my dignity still intact—put me back at ease in the gym. This wasn’t a goal that my whole future was hanging on. There was no overbearing coach. And I had something to work for again, and a team of people to do it with—even if that team was just my equally slow family.