Athletes are trained to prepare for big moments, championships, final seasons and career-defining performances. What they are rarely prepared for is when the ending comes quietly without a final lap or a closing whistle.
A conversation with Arizona State University student Casey McNulty reveals a reality many former athletes share. The most difficult loss is not the sport itself but the identity that disappears when it ends.
McNulty’s experience challenges the idea that leaving a sport is a failure. Instead, it shows how walking away can be an act of self-preservation. Her story highlights a truth often ignored in college athletics that knowing when to stop can be just as important as knowing how to push through.
McNulty swam competitively for most of her life. Swimming structured her days shaped her goals and defined how she saw herself. “My life was swimming,” she said.
“There was nothing else beside it.” Continuing into college felt inevitable not optional. She committed to Florida Southern College, believing it was the natural next step after years of training and competition.
That expectation quickly unraveled. Academically, McNulty felt unchallenged. Physically, she struggled with illness, including repeated bouts of bronchitis and the flu. Practices were held outdoors and her health continued to decline.
“I was literally doing so bad in the water,” she said. “My times were nowhere near where I was in high school.” The environment turned a sport she had loved for years into something she began to resent. “That was the first time in my life where I didn’t want to be there,” she said.
The end came abruptly. Two months into the season, McNulty quit the team. There was no final practice, no closure and no time to process the loss.
“I didn’t even know that was my last practice,” she said. “One day I was swimming and the next day I was just done.” The speed of that transition left her grieving not only the sport but the identity built around it.
Explaining that loss to people outside athletics proved difficult. Well-meaning advice often misses the reality of a competitive mindset shaped over years.
“People are like just go swim for fun,” McNulty said. “But I don’t know fun. I would turn it into a full state championship in my head.” For athletes like McNulty, there is no casual switch only intensity or nothing at all.
McNulty transferred to Arizona State University in search of a reset. The move brought academic rigor but also intimidation. Entering the Cronkite School of Journalism and Mass Communication without a traditional media background, she felt behind peers with years of experience.
“There were kids who had won student Emmys in high school,” she said. “I didn’t even know how to do a voice recording.”
Over time, McNulty found stability by reframing her relationship with swimming. Through student media and later Sun Devil Athletics, she began covering the swim team rather than competing on it. Being on the pool deck now brings relief rather than regret.
“Every time I’m around them, all I feel is relief,” she said. “I know that’s not me anymore.”
Her experience also exposes a broader reality of college athletics, particularly for women. Outside of Olympic or professional pathways, the long-term return is limited.
“You have to think about what comes after,” McNulty said. “People aren’t going to ask what your time was. They’re going to ask what you did.”
McNulty’s story reframes success. Persistence is often praised but discernment matters just as much. Choosing to walk away created space for growth beyond the pool and toward a sustainable future.
Leaving a sport does not erase discipline, work ethic or ambition. Those qualities remain long after the competition ends. For athletes whose careers conclude quietly McNulty’s experience is a reminder that identity does not disappear when the sport ends. It evolves.
