Why the Hell Am I Still Playing First Grade Rugby in My Mid-30s?
Last weekend, I pulled on the Footscray jersey and ran out for another first-grade cap. Mid-30s. Lower back slightly sore. Surrounded by boys ten plus years younger. And yeah — I still love doing this!
It hurts more now. The body doesn’t bounce back like it used to. Recovery takes a bit longer (similar to the hangovers). Preseason feels like even longer these days. But somehow, every run-on feels like a privilege. I’m not nervous anymore — I’m present. Calm. I know my role. I remember the chaos of my debut in 2013 for Power House, nerves in my chest, butterflies in my stomach. Now, I think slow and try to be the voice of reason amidst all the chaos.
Right before kick-off, I can feel it — the pregnant pause from the crowd, the younger boys unable to keep still - filled with nerves. I always take a moment to take these moments in. Right after the final whistle? Relief. I got through unscathed. Given the risk of injury at my big age, that’s a win in itself.
People ask me - why do I still try and play top grade? Here’s why:
It’s about the story. A mini-documentary every year. Preseason sets the tone. Mid-season’s a rollercoaster. Late season? It’s do or die. At my age, you don’t play to prove anything to others. Only to yourself. You play because you’ve built resilience. You play because winning does matter — but so does doing it with your people.
In my mid 30’s - I’m not out here pretending I’ve got it all. I’m not the fastest. Not the strongest. But I’ve been on this journey enough. When the momentum swings, when you don’t get the right calls, when things fall apart — I know that it’s going to be ok.
This isn’t forever. I know that. Eventually, I’ll slide into lower grades, pick up golf and hoop in a friendly but competitive way. But until then - I’ll keep going.
Because this is still my thing. It’s community. It’s identity. It’s a way to give back to the game that shaped me — and the people who still carry it forward. And until I hang up the boots, I’ll keep showing up — bruised, grateful, and ready.