A Love Letter to Germany
June was always going to be big. After months of rigorous preparation with Team Australia, I finally found myself in Heidelberg, Germany. The historic city was buzzing with life, and it wasn’t just the tourists crowding the cobblestone streets; it was the energy of competition. Stepping onto the field with the team was electric. The anticipation, the unity, the sheer joy of being in that moment—it was everything we had trained for.
The games in Heidelberg were intense. Competing against some of the best teams in Europe was humbling, but also exhilarating. I could feel my game evolve with every match—my throws sharper, my reads faster. But all too soon, it was time to part ways with my teammates. Saying goodbye wasn’t easy; these were the people I had bled, sweated, and laughed with. Yet, as much as I missed them, I knew my journey wasn’t over.
Neukölln
Berlin welcomed me with open arms and a kind of chaotic charm. I moved into a modest flat in Neukölln, a district as vibrant as it was gritty. Every corner seemed to offer a new experience—street art that told stories, bustling markets, and food from every corner of the globe. But I wasn’t here to sightsee. My new team, Jinx Berlin, awaited.
Kann ich bitte ein Bier haben?
Life became a delicate balance of training, exploring, and surviving. Between sessions with Jinx, I took weekly trips to Belgium, the Netherlands, and Austria. Each journey was an adventure, a reminder of the freedom frisbee had afforded me. But no matter how far I traveled, Berlin always pulled me back—its energy, its people, and its promise of growth.
Of course, it wasn’t all discs and layouts. I had exams to finish, deadlines to meet, and the looming question of what came next. Mornings were often spent hunched over my laptop, trying to churn out the last essays for my degree. Evenings, though, were a different story. Whether it was sprint drills at Tempelhofer Feld or tactical discussions over beer with teammates, I was always moving, always learning.
Freelancing became my secret weapon. It gave me the flexibility to keep up with training while earning enough to fuel my travels. Some days, I’d be editing an article in a cozy Neukölln café, my cleats tucked under the table, ready for the next training session. Other days, I’d finish a client call and jump straight onto a train bound for another European city.
As September rolled around, I started to reflect on the whirlwind of the past few months. Living in Germany had been a lesson in adaptability—both on and off the field. The cultural differences, the language barriers, the new styles of play—all of it had stretched me in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
I laced up my cleats for one final session with Jinx, I felt a mix of gratitude and anticipation. Gratitude for the memories, the growth, and the moments that challenged me. Anticipation for what lies ahead—because if this chapter has taught me anything, it’s that the best stories are the ones you can’t predict
