This trans football player turns 55. Here are the five gifts football gave her.

This weekend I’ve got the Connecticut Ambush at New England Rebellion on my football schedule.

For me, it’s “Karleigh Bowl LV”.

May 30 is my 55th birthday. At that age, most people are cool with a nice dinner, maybe sip on something and paint with friends at a trendy bistro.

Get off the sidelines and into the game

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I’ll be spending an afternoon padding up, and firing out on the snap alongside my teammates in an effort to secure an American Women’s Football League playoff spot on the final weekend of the regular season.

I came out to myself as a matter of fact in 2017, but these last four seasons of sweat and toil ushered in a coming forward that took transition to a deeper level.

Football at age 55 has me thinking of five special birthday gifts given.

First Down: Coming forward to acceptance

My first practice in pads back in my first season. First time in pads since 1988. I remember running sprints during practice and screaming out of pure joy.

That joy came from feeling at home.

My greatest worry was “how much dysphoria will hit me by putting on full pads for the first time since the Reagan Administration?”

Answer: NONE

One of the biggest misconceptions people have of gender transition is that a person is changing to something else, and some of us who go through it may see it on those terms.

What’s really happening is we’re stepping into what we already know. How we do it is different for everyone.

Football is how I stepped into my womanhood in a way that was greater than presentation. On the fieId, the only look that mattered was the look of making the block, the catch, or the tackle.

I didn’t need to explain my existence or fight for any space except a place in the lineup.

You put in the work, share the struggle, be a good teammate and the trust gets built.

I’ve earned that acceptance on every team I’ve been on and being on the field also helped me fully accept myself.

Six weeks after the epiphany at that practice, a seam route became an interception in my hands that I turned into a 60-yard touchdown. I was embraced by a sisterhood of sacrifice and victory with happy tears.

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A post shared by Karleigh Chardonnay Webb (@rocketdyne1965)

Second Down: Coming back to the roots

“It’s easier to perform when you aren’t keeping a secret.” — Cyd Zeigler.

I want to add three words to that piece of wisdom: “even to yourself.”

When I first started my transition, I wanted to hide my past. There was a even a point where I figured I’d erase it if I could.

I softened on that after a few years, but being around sports brought me to revelation.

How could I bury younger me growing up in Omaha, Nebraska, living and dying on Huskers football? The sadness of that dang two-point conversion against Miami in 1984. Or the excitement of witnessing and covering the Tom Osborne dynasty of 1990s as a journalist.

How could bury the joy of a grass field in North Omaha in a helmet, pads and cleats every fall, or the excitement of high school football, even if at your best you were scrimmage fodder as a student-athlete.

Erasing the past means erasing doing those Friday Night Football highlights as a young-scrappy-hungry anchor/reporter who found themselves a decade later at their favorite sporting event, the Indianapolis 500, as part of a production crew from ESPN’s SportsCenter.

This game especially was a balm. I could stop seeing my younger selves as something to run away from. I could celebrate and hold those times close, if those younger versions of me were dealing with something that didn’t have the words to describe.

This game and the connections forged helped me look at the pictures of the past and smile. I could watch my airchecks as a reporter/anchor in my 20s and could feel pride and cringe at the same time. Was I really that young?

Third Down: Coming into change

This season, I was told “Karleigh, we want you on the offensive line”. That’s seismic change for a running back/diva receiver. I’m not built for that kind of roughness, or so I thought.

What I found was I could still learn, adapt and evolve, the same way that my view of myself was growing adapting and evolving.

A big piece of that evolution was a whippersnapper Gen Z offensive line coach 33 years my junior who said when they looked to move me there last season, “Karleigh, you have capability to be good on offensive line, but you lack the discipline.”

That lit a fire under me that still burns hot.

Last month I had the best game I ever had as a guard in a close, heartbreaking loss. I got a snapchat from that coach. “You played well and with discipline. I’m proud of you and you should be, too.”

That passion, and discipline, even down the film study, has permeated every piece of my life as a journalist, an activist, and a person.

Fourth Down: Coming to terms with age

Our fourth game of the season was a heartbreaker. A 1-point loss to the Upstate (N.Y.) Predators. It was my best game on the O-Line, I had some tackles defensively. I also played a lot of special teams that day. I was all over the place.

But I also frustrated. The opposition had speedy back and receivers and a couple of times I lost contain at defensive end and once it cost us a touchdown. It was frustrating running as fast as you can but not being able to run these youngster down.

In my youth, I prided myself on speed. I was a track athlete. I was pretty quick, and my mind still thinks, “you’re still 16 Karleigh, you got this!”

After the game, despite playing a good game. I was feeling fifty-ish, tired, sore, and ticked off that I couldn’t run those young fast backs down.

I grumbled about it in the locker room after the game, and our starting quarterback asked matter of factly, “Hey Webb, how old are you again?”

“I’m 54.” I answered

“Okay then,” she barked. “Shut the f— up. You did your best.”

A few days later I was at my sports orthopaedic specialist with a stiff knee and was told, “You put a lot on yourself in that last game. The x-ray shows a tight IT band and a little arthritis in that knee.”

Thanks for reminding me I’m old, doc.

This year I earned All-League honors with a body running on Cramergesic, Ibuprofen, and high levels of stubbornness. Yet, aging feels less scary, even with the tempest surrounding being trans right now.

The thought of aging and the regrets that sometimes surround transitioning later in life can be frustrating and little haunting. The feeling of freedom when I’m on the football field helped cut those fears down to size.

Touchdown: Trans, out, and truly proud

I am trans. I am out, but football helped me to be truly be proud. Not just proud of where I am and who I am now, but of what got me here as well.

You can’t hide out on the field, but these season showed me that I don’t need to there or anywhere else. Sports when I was younger was about easing pain. Shedding blocks and opening up holes now is about coming into my life without doubt or apology.

Football gave me the best birthday gift I’ve gotten since my mom got me a library card when I turned 7. It opened a door to a beautiful way of life that will set a course for the future.

It’s been said that every player has at least one play left in them. Number 35 maybe turning 55, but I think I have a few more big plays left.

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