(Not) A Stroll in the Park - My Introduction to the World of Walking Football


The last time I tried any competitive sport was three years ago. I joined an impromptu cricket match in the park with some friends and after five minutes fell over chasing the ball, smashing my knee which blew up like a balloon! My retirement from any further such activity was immediate on the basis that I was too bloody old for all those shenanigans. However, after reading one of my previous blog posts, my friend Andy suggested walking football to me as a good way of getting fit. And at first glance, sport at a walking pace on a flat and true artificial pitch carried no threat of repeat damage to my personage. Even though Andy is as fit as a butcher’s dog (despite being roughly the same age as me, for shame!) it still sounded like something I may actually be able to compete at. Or at least something at which I wouldn’t embarrass myself. I signed up for a trial session the following week.

My knee performing a perfect impression of a cricket ball
just to mock me!

It was only the night before that the problem hit me. I literally had nothing to wear. I didn’t possess a pair of trainers worthy of the name and had nothing resembling tracksuit bottoms. I had my gym shorts of course, but this was outside in early March so sod that for a game of soldiers. I thus found myself at TK Maxx in Ealing Broadway (other stores are available) at opening time the following morning. I finally unearthed a pair of tracksuit bottoms that would fit and were cheap enough for me to prise open my wallet for but this left me no time to look for footwear; my knackered old gym shoes would have to suffice.

I got back from my shopping trip just in time to make it to the park and meet up with my new potential playmates. I was relieved to see that everyone was older than me, aside from Andy, a young lad running the show and Ali, who had a day off from work and came along for some much-appreciated moral support. A bit of a warm up which involved passing a football around and I was feeling confident. I hadn’t played football at any sort of level since I turned up to secondary school and looked dejectedly at a sea of rugby posts, but you never lose it, do you?

It was shortly afterwards that I remembered that “walking” spans a pretty wide range of activity. An amble along the riverside is walking, but then so is that mad sport we see once every four years in the Olympics, where athletes motor along a road course seemingly as fast as the marathon runners do. Walking football more resembles the latter definition. Whatever you may think, the sport is not, pun very much intended, a stroll in the park. I was sweating and tired by the end of the match.

And I did OK. I had periods where I wasn’t able to track back as much as the others – no, my relative youth did not translate into superior fitness and agility – but my ball skills weren’t as bad as they might have been. I even scored a cracking volley of which Mark Hughes in his prime would have been proud…humour me. More so, I avoided any sort of injury as, despite the players approaching the match competitively, there was no foul play or skulduggery. Well, aside from me repaying Ali for his support by blatantly tripping him up. I ached a bit the following couple of days, but all in all it was a successful outing and I couldn’t wait for the following week.

As reparation for tripping Ali up, I agreed
to be his ventriloquist dummy for the rest of the day
(photo: Andy McCormack)

It was about half way through that following week when I stretched for the ball and, ping, there went my groin. I had been warned this could happen the previous week but, having survived that, I had clearly become blasé and paid the price. I hobbled my way through the rest of the session, more so after my right thigh muscle also became a casualty late on. Week three, I took it easier but the thigh went again almost immediately and I was reduced to playing (appallingly) with my left foot. My cockiness had long since dissipated. Thoughts of retirement again loomed large.

But perseverance has paid off. Week four, I got through without trouble. What’s more I was noticeably fitter than when I started and had even gained some agility, scoring a cracking individual goal (I’m allowed to boast a bit on my own blog, aren’t I) that I simply wouldn’t have been flexible enough to even consider a few weeks ago. I have become a enthusiast for the sport in a very short space of time and am singing its praises to anyone who'll listen. Walking Football has become a permanent fixture in my diary!

Next time I'll be changing track a little and writing about my experiences as part of a team in conceiving, writing and performing a play from scratch in 24 Hours. In the meantime, if you enjoyed reading this, you may want to check out my previous blog posts:

More Than A Milestone - That Fifty Feeling

Fifty Fat & Unfit

Battling Bertram for Supremacy - Back to the Gym

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 About Walking Football

Although walking football is aimed primarily at the over 50s, the drop-in sessions I attend in Ealing’s Lammas Park, run by Will To Win, do not have age or gender restrictions. They are always looking for fresh blood and there’s no need to book. Just turn up at 10am on a Tuesday morning, either in the Will To Win clubhouse or at the entrance to the 3G football pitches. The atmosphere is very friendly and supportive and the players of varying ability. These are also drop-in sessions, so there’s no week-by-week commitment. However, there are more structured clubs and leagues should that appeal more.



Walking Football Association - the governing body





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