Titmus visited Ash Barty’s house. When she left she knew she’d retire
* The following is an excerpt from Ariarne Titmus’ new memoir Relentless. Nine.com.au is publishing it with permission.
I knew I wanted to retire in August 2025, even before the egg-retrieval process had begun. I hadn’t completely decided, but in my heart I could tell there was a very slim chance I would return to St Peters and begin the slog all over again.
I had been telling most people close to me that I would see how I went with the egg - retrieval process, and that would shape my decision. But I had been talking to Dean (Boxall) more than anyone, and he knew how I was feeling all along. In public, when he was speaking at lunches or events, he would have to make out like he was waiting for me to give him my answer.
Four-time Olympian Ariarne Titmus made her retirement decision at 25. AP Photo/Natacha Pisarenko
I think publicly most people thought I was biding my time and would be back. Behind closed doors, the opposite was true; there wasn’t a single bone in my body that had any inclination, whatsoever, to resume my career.
Even though I was extremely close to finalising my decision, there was no need to rush, and I wanted to sit with it for a while and see how retirement felt on me. It’s the oldest cliché in sports - you only retire once - and I didn’t want to press the button and make a big announcement, only to return 18 months later in a last-gasp attempt to make the team for the LA Olympics.
If I was going to opt out, I wanted to make sure the reasoning was rock solid, I felt good, and the decision was made for all the right reasons. People might think retirement comes as a light-bulb moment, this snap decision where you go, I’m done. And maybe that is the case for some athletes.
For me, it was a progressive series of events and developments that kept that conversation going until I was at a point where I knew what I had to do. I was maturing, my priorities were shifting, and that was completely fine. I had a few weeks in the middle of the year where I gave myself some space, and had some time at home with nothing much to do at all.
That precise scenario can be terrifying for a lot of athletes who are either newly retired, or considering it. That absence of structure, control, routine and constant and incessant measurables - time, weight, speed, repetitions - can create a feeling that you have achieved nothing, and progressed nowhere.
That’s the thing as an athlete - you want to be moving forward, towards something. A lazy day is a wasted day; your rivals are out there making gains while you are making toast. But that wasn’t the case for me at all. I would potter around the house or garden, do some shopping, go for a coffee, do some cleaning and live the most normal life possible.
And almost always, when the sun went down, I would think, Geez that was a good day.
I’m definitely not downplaying the very difficult transition many athletes go through when they leave elite sport - I know it can be an enormous challenge. But for me, the ease with which I untethered myself from that life was almost frightening in its ease. From the moment I started competitive swimming, I had been obsessed with every single aspect of being an Olympic champion, and lived life accordingly through the disciplined choices I made and the goals I pursued.
Now, that life seemed a long way away, and the world seemed to be making decisions for me. Another part of the jigsaw involved a deeply emotional moment of reflection at home in the Brisbane apartment I shared with (my sister) Mia. Mum and Dad had come over for dinner that evening, and the mood felt right to finally take stock of everything. For the very first time ever, I went and gathered all of my Olympic medals, which had been safely stashed away (I never kept them on display).
Titmus’ career hasn’t stopped, becoming the face of the Melbourne Cup and joining broadcast teams. Getty
I brought them out and laid them carefully across the table, so I could look at them all at once, in their totality and not just as individual achievements. Seeing them sitting there together - the physical proof of everything I had worked for across the Tokyo and Paris Olympic cycles - hit me like a shockwave. They’re just lumps of metal, really. But they are the most special lumps of metal on Earth, and signify so much more.
I had dreamed about them as a kid, and here they were - mine forever. It’s a special club, being an Olympic champion, and it was so good to remind myself of that. As we sat around them, I just broke down. I cried tears of joy, tears of complete disbelief, and, more than anything, tears of overwhelming relief. Together, we reflected on those early days and just how incredibly tough it all had been to get to this point. We talked about the brutal, dark, early mornings, the endless sacrifices, and the ceaseless pursuit of perfection that had consumed my entire life.
Francesca Cumani form guide Tara Blancato
Swimming was truly all I had ever known, and those medals represented every ounce of energy our family had given to the sport. I sat back on the couch, exhausted but at peace, and looked over at Mum and Dad. I mumbled through my tears, finally voicing the thought that had been building up inside me: ‘I just don’t think I want to do it anymore,’ I told them. ‘I did it. I did it all.’ Saying it out loud felt like lifting a huge weight off my shoulders.
It was a melancholy, beautiful and serene moment, with all of my walls down, with my perfect people. My issues around fertility and meeting (partner) Mac were key drivers of my decision, but I also wanted to make sure I was settled on my final call from a competitive standpoint. I never wanted to be part of a team if I wasn’t at my best, or head to an Olympic Games where I was miles off the pace for medals.
It had to be all or nothing. Swimming changes all the time; new talents arrive, and people can improve dramatically. If I didn’t have the competitive fire roaring to go back with the same relentless intent and desire, I knew it would be an exercise in futility. I had done so much, finished on such a high, that I knew that fire was all but extinguished. There were moments of melancholy and reflection, but mostly satisfaction at where I had come from and what I had done, and excitement about the opportunities and possibilities that lay ahead, both privately and professionally.
There was another interaction earlier in 2025 that also gave me some clarity around my future. I love tennis and am a fan of Ash Barty. She stunned everyone in sport when she retired two months after winning the Australian Open, and when she was ranked number one in the world. She was 25 years old. I had never met Ash in my life, and wasn’t sure she would know me from a bar of soap.
But I managed to get her number and messaged her, and she invited me over to her house just outside Brisbane. I sought her out because I really felt like I could identify with her - she was a highly competitive elite athlete who had a whole other side to her life, and placed a huge value on family. I knew she couldn’t make my mind up for me, but I wanted to know how she knew it was time, and how she was feeling after she had walked away from it all.
Ash Barty. Getty
Like I said, we had never met, but I trusted her right away, and told her how I was feeling and what was happening in my life. Tennis is very different from swimming, and the travel was crushing, she said, and not really compatible with a stable family life. She said she just wanted to stop, and that was okay. She said one thing that really had an impact, and would stick in my mind from that moment on: ‘You’d rather people ask why you are retiring, not when you are retiring.’
It struck a chord instantly, and was true of so many swimmers who had defined themselves through their sport and felt like they couldn’t replicate those highs in the outside world. But the further they swam chasing that feeling, the further away it would get. It was a cautionary tale, and I never wanted to be an athlete chasing something that was increasingly out of reach. Being around swimming through the media also helped give me some clarity.
I was part of the commentary team at the World Championships trials in Adelaide, and then the World Championships in Singapore. I was there when the team was named, when the races were in full flight, when the thrill of victory was in the air…and I didn’t miss a single thing about racing. Meanwhile Mac and I were all over the place geographically, me in Brisbane and he in Melbourne, and something had to give. The final decision had been made. It was late August, and now I had to work out how to deliver the news.
Relentless is out in all book stores on November 3.
