I was surprised, nay horrified, to learn that the only entry requirement is to be of a certain age. 

I pass that test, indeed with flying colours. Without being big-headed about it, I do age rather well. In fact, it's one of the things I do best. Just look at that old fella at the top of the page. He's no spring chicken.

If I was featured in a top trumps pack, I would recommend playing the age stat every time. Ability, bravery and talent would score as heavily as trustworthiness on the Lance Armstrong card in the Professional Cyclists Top Trumps.

To paraphrase Groucho Marx, I’m not sure I would want to take part in any event that would allow me to enter it.

But being in Tasmania seemed too good an opportunity to miss. 

The Australian Masters Games. It just sounds impressive. It's got the word Games in it, with a capital G. That puts it in the same bracket as the Olympics or Commonwealths.

And “Masters”. Gullible observers may naturally assume its competitors are masters of their craft rather than just – and let’s not sugar-coat this – old.

The website explained that the Australian Masters Games “is a biennial sporting event that is regarded as one of the premier and largest participation sporting events on the Australian sporting landscape”.

Note the word “sporting” three times in one sentence. For a sport addict, this was becoming irresistible. 

This would be the 16th edition of the Games (note the capital G again) and a return to the state that hosted the inaugural event in 1987.

I entered the mountain biking, not because I am any good at it but, having studied the 50-odd sports, I determined it was the one I was least bad at.

Filling out the entry details I diligently responded to inquiries of age, address, choice of sport etc fully expecting the question “Are you having a laugh?” to appear, but it never did.

As it also exhibited an overwhelming lack of interest in any previous sporting experience, I hastened to the payment section.

The $185.50 represented a $126.50 “standard competitor registration fee”, an additional $50 individual sport entry fee and, just for good measure, a $9 “service fee” whatever that is.

If organisers are wondering why competitor entry was less than they had hoped, they might like to read the previous paragraph.

Undeterred, I signed up, invested in a new back tyre for the bike, made a token effort at washing it and by 9am on Saturday was on the outskirts of Devonport sporting unflattering lycra and unrealistic expectations.

​It was indeed like other Games. It had medals and spectators and everything. It even had a logo. And Twitter hashtags. This was the real deal.

I hastily collected my free backpack (well if you forget the whole $185.50 thing). My accreditation lanyard had the word “competitor” on it. I have hundreds of lanyards but most just say “journalist”. This will take pride of place.

I was reasonably optimistic of a top-50 finish. This was largely because I had studied the startlist and, as it totaled 51, knew all it would take was one DNF and I would achieve my goal. 

The schedule was a two-hour enduro on the old school trails of Kelcey Tier followed by a Sunday morning time trial and then three-hour enduro on the smoother trails of Penguin Mountain Bike Park complete with its man-made obstacles like walls, bridges and other riders.

Five hours, 41 minutes and 32.7 seconds later, I had completed 62.5 horizontal kilometres and 1661 vertical metres.

I have to say I particularly enjoyed taking part in a mountain bike race where I wasn’t lapped by someone young enough to be my offspring before the end of lap two.

When I was overtaken I actually had some respect for the fellow oldie doing the deed rather than my usual thought of “Shouldn’t you be at school?”

I can legitimately claim to have finished 11^th in a national sporting event.

I may have fudged this somewhat, but there is some truth in it. I was the slowest of seven 11th-place finishers in my age category, ahead of only two others (who failed to show up for legs two and three). 

But I have both competed in, and completed, a Games. 

Like Olympians who rush out to get the five rings inked on their torso, I may have to introduce a tattooist to the AMG logo.

Admittedly, it didn't exactly feature Tasmania’s Rio Olympic mountain biker Scott Bowden. But he’s only 22 so wouldn't have been allowed to enter because he doesn’t meet the minimum entry requirement.