Its hard to retire, My retirement story Part 1

ramanda56
Jan 9, 2018
4 min read

Updated: Apr 19

My Journey Back to the Mat”

By Randi Miller, Olympic Medalist

Leaving wrestling was never part of the plan—either time I stepped away.

The first time was after the Olympics. Looking back now, I’m proud of what I accomplished. But in that moment, all I could feel was disappointment. I had dreamed of being the best. I had sacrificed so much—and so had the people who loved me. And I came up short.

What followed was a deep depression I didn’t even recognize at first. Over the next year and a half, I gained 100 pounds, bounced between friends’ couches, and worked odd jobs just to get by. I had no real direction—just survival.

Things started to shift when a friend offered me a steady place to stay. She was engaged to a soldier I knew well. Not long after I moved in, he deployed, and she left for Army training. They asked me to house-sit—and I said yes.

Being alone in a quiet, stable space gave me time to reflect. To really think about my life and what I wanted. When they returned, I planned to go back to Texas and live with my mom. I was ready to start over.

But that’s not what happened.

Wrestling pulled me back in.

How do you say no to something you love that much?

Around that time, my friend Cathilee—now known as MMA fighter Cat Zingano—offered me a coaching job at her gym. (She’s no longer with that gym now.) I had already been training MMA casually, and instead of going home, I took the job.

I’m so glad I did. I wasn’t ready to go back home. I was still healing.

That year surrounded by my wrestling family gave me space to recover. No judgment—just support.

After nearly two years of drifting, I finally had clarity:

I wanted to wrestle again.

My career felt unfinished. Yes, leaving was my choice, but it hadn’t been on my terms. (One day I’ll tell that story, but not today.)

The next morning, I called the national team coach.A week later, I was back at the training center.

And it felt right.

Even with renewed focus, it wasn’t easy. I struggled to find sponsors. The club I used to wrestle for no longer existed. Other clubs wouldn’t commit until I proved myself again.

That hurt.Even in the sport I loved, I sometimes felt like an outsider.

Then came the U.S. Army wrestling team.

They didn’t question me, my motives, my talent, or my commitment.They welcomed me with open arms. The only condition?

I had to join the Army.

It wasn’t an easy decision, but the benefits outweighed the fear. So, I signed up.

And it turned out to be one of the best choices I ever made.

Basic combat training and serving,even in a limited role,was powerful. I now believe every American should experience something like that.

As a soldier-athlete, I earned:

2014 World Team Member
2014 Military World Champion
2015 National Team Member
2016 National Team Member

It wasn’t the plan I had in mind, but maybe it was exactly what I needed.

Eventually, those experiences brought me to my final match in the iconic Hawkeye Arena. A place that had inspired me throughout my career.

It was the 2016 World Team Trials.I finished 3rd that year.

I remember sitting alone on the cold cement floor after the match. My singlet still on. Shoes unlaced. My teammates and coaches gave me space.

Every wrestler knows that feeling, the quiet after a tournament, when it’s just you and your thoughts.

But this time felt different.

I was a little older now, maybe a year or two into my 30s. More experienced with life. And for the first time, and almost afraid to admit it I started to feel at peace.

It was bittersweet, but I could see it clearly:

It was time to move on.

I didn’t have the same fire anymore. And honestly, I was okay with that.

I was proud of my performance.I had done my best. I prepared with integrity. I didn’t cut corners. I stayed true to myself.

And for the first time in my career, I let myself feel proud.

Before, when I had results like this I would think..... “Why should I be proud? This is my job. I’m supposed to win. And I didn’t.”

But now, with about 8 more years of perspective than the girl who won a medal at the Olympics and some years of a life outside of being an athlte, sitting on this cold floor in the carver arena, I saw it differently.

Winning bronze didn’t mean I failed

It meant I fought, and I achieved something truly difficult.

That day, I gave myself permission to be proud of myself

in my career I: