The ways our ageing bodies change has never been clearer to me as when I strapped on a pair of soccer boots for the first time in over a decade.

I'm three games into my social soccer career and the results have been... mixed.

Admittedly, I'm only 28 but my temperament adds on another decade, my knees another and my back yet another on top of that.

And I have felt all 58 of those years in the 120 minutes of mixed competition soccer I've played so far on a worn out, sandy pitch that absorbs my every step for some added physical mockery.

Let's run through those three matches.

Game one saw me hunched over my knees after barely five minutes of play, wheezing out the previous weekend's wedding, with studs to the knee and several falls wrapping up a truly pitiful affair.

Game two resulted in a minor calf strain that hobbled me for two days, which is not nearly as embarrassing as letting in a goal off my face (it was the ground's fault, mostly...).

And game three finally saw some fitness results of the runs I've forced myself to go on but was otherwise plagued with awkward bickering about the legality of tackles.

I'm not sure if it's my previously concerted efforts to avoid organised sport as an adult, my extreme lack of fitness or if I've grossly overinflated my own abilities as a high school soccer player.

But the hard reality is my body feels completely out of step with what my brain commands - like in a frustrating dream or the way fictional giants trudge along.

That's without even mentioning the recovery time involved after the final whistle.

My return to soccer was not inspired by the recent World Cup or by a New Year's resolution but rather because it's what you do in a regional city like Wagga Wagga in NSW's Riverina.

For those of you considering the path of organised adult sports, I suggest lowering expectations and warming up three times as much as seems humanly necessary.

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