“Walking soccer has given me the most powerful sense of community I’ve ever had”

Last July, I was sitting at my desk during my lunch break when I came across a headline: “Meet the members of Toronto’s first walking soccer club.” I was intrigued. I clicked and learned that walking soccer is just like regular soccer, only the teams are smaller and the players always need to have one foot on the ground. Most players are in their 40s or older.

I haven’t touched a soccer ball since I was a child—but, at 42, I was looking for opportunities to exercise more and meet new people. At the time, I was grieving the end of a long-term relationship, and the severe persistent depressive disorder I’d been managing for two decades had flared up. I was taking Prozac and a million other pills, but I couldn’t shake the aching sadness. I especially missed seeing my ex’s eleven-year-old son, whom I had co-parented and watched grow up.

Anyone could join Toronto’s walking soccer club—the Toronto Loons—so I showed up to Cherry Beach Sports Fields early on a Saturday morning, around a week after I saw the article. I sat down on a bench, clutching the black and red shirts I had been instructed to bring.

Just as I began to feel awkward sitting alone, people started filtering in. When the first person came up to introduce himself, I began to relax, but after all 30 people had come up and introduced themselves, I found it bizarre—and utterly wonderful. Not a single person started putting their cleats on without first welcoming me to the group. When they found out it was my first time playing, they were quick to add, “Take it easy!”

Ten minutes into practice, I was smitten. There were many times when I kicked at the ball and missed. I sucked. But everyone on the field was incredibly encouraging. I received so many compliments that I almost felt embarrassed. By the end of practice, I already felt like I was part of the team.

I’m not going to lie: power-walking up and down the field can look a bit ridiculous, and I felt silly at first. But we laugh at ourselves and have a great time. Our team has a three-touch rule, meaning that a player cannot touch the ball more than three times consecutively. Some of my teammates are former competitive athletes who could probably take the ball all the way up the field and score single-handedly if they wanted to, but they never do that: instead, they pass the ball to me—someone who basically never scores—so that I can have a turn. And when I do get the odd shot in, the whole game stops and everyone cheers and high-fives.

In the past, there had been times when my depression kept me in bed all weekend. But, after joining the Toronto Loons that summer, I started bounding out of bed at 7:30 a.m. on Saturdays and racing to the field for practice.

The sense of community is one of the most fulfilling things I’ve ever experienced. If I miss a practice because I’m injured or travelling, my teammates will text me to ask if I’m okay, and I do the same for them. I love that it’s an older crowd—most of the participants are between 55 and 70. One of our players, Malcolm, just turned 85 and rides his bike to every single practice. My teammates give me wonderful life advice, like reminding me to enjoy each moment as it comes and reassuring me that most problems will be resolved by time.

Walking soccer was invented in England in 2011 and arrived in Canada within a few years. Since then, it has spread around the world, and it even has its own world cup. Last year, Greg Mitchell, a fellow Loons player who has become a good friend, was tapped to coach Canada’s Women’s Over 50 team. He asked me to be the team manager, and my heart pounded with excitement. I immediately said yes.

I only knew one player from the Loons; the rest of the women on the national team came from around the country. But everyone was friendly and welcoming right from the start. Most of my day job consists of managing corporate operations and building strong relationships, and I’ve been able to hit my stride quickly. It has felt incredibly rewarding to use my particular skill set to give back to a sport community I love.

This October, we travelled all the way to Torrevieja, Spain, for the World Nations Cup. We beat Hong Kong and Wales to secure our place in the bronze medal game against Australia. We were neck and neck right up to the final buzzer. The game ended with a penalty shot for Australia; if they missed, we would win the bronze medal. When the ball bounced off the goalpost, everyone froze for what felt like minutes but must have been only a second or two. Then we all started jumping and cheering. Greg and I, who were watching from the sidelines, clutched each other with tears streaming down our faces. We were ecstatic. Soon, everyone was hugging, even members of Team Australia, who were proud of us for making it so far. We were all sweaty and dirty, but no one cared.

A year and a half has passed since I started playing walking soccer, and I’m as in love with the sport as I’ve ever been. I’m at the pitch every Saturday afternoon—and occasionally I get in trouble for chatting too much, since we have the pitch for a strict 90 minutes in the winter. Outside of practice, my teammates and I have gone lawn bowling together, and we do a holiday get-together every year. This past spring, we had a joint birthday celebration for two of our members: one was turning 85, the other 82.

Walking soccer didn’t cure my depression—mental health is never that simple. But knowing that I always have the next practice to look forward to gives me the energy to keep going. I have a routine now. Every Saturday, I know exactly what I am doing. I will play soccer with my team, and afterward, like always, we will get a pint and a meal. And for a few hours at least, everything will be okay.