Obviously, I think this [162 games a year four times] caused my early retirement, but I couldn't do it any other way. Just for the record, I never asked for any of the days off in my career.

Obviously I wasn't playing well at the time. But as a player, you lie to yourself. You say, "There's nothing wrong. I'm just not on time [at the plate]." You make something else up because pain is not an option.

It was pretty hard to actually have to say the words with my teammates, my wife and my boys there. I realized it was going to happen before that day [I announce retirement], but to have to announce it and talk about in front of a lot of people was tougher than I expected. I'm glad that feeling has kind of gone away. That sadness hasn't lingered.

A friend of mine asked me a question at the end of 2015. We were going over my finances and setting things up for the future when she said, "What do you want to do when you retire?" I said, "I always wanted to do a food show."

There are maybe one or two hours a day when I think I can play, but I get over that real quick once I realize the risk and my wife tells me, "Just take a seat."

It's easier for me to accept that I can't play anymore because I literally gave it all I got. That allows me to be a little bit more at peace.

It's nice to finally be able to wake up and tie my shoes without feeling like I'm about to tip over, or walk a straight line without feeling dizzy, or be able to feel my left arm. That means a lot more to me.