The Buzz Before the Whistle.

“It was the first place I didn’t feel like I had to tone myself down,” she told me. “I could just go at it. Be aggressive. And it was positive.”

THE CHARGE.

I’ve never met a buzz like the one Karen Paquin described.

The way she told it, standing on the field in a Canada jersey doesn’t just make your heart pound, it traps it in a current of static, humming inside and outside of you all at once. You’re wired, lit up, overwhelmed, and ready. That image stuck with me long after our interview. Because Karen isn’t just a player I admire, she also isn’t just the blueprint; to me, she owns the patent. For fire. For fight. For choosing rugby not once, but every single time it has called her back.

My name is Kiki Idowu. I’m a Junior National Team athlete trying to earn my stripes in this game. A month before Canada takes the field at the 2025 Rugby World Cup, I sat down with Karen Paquin: World Cup medalist, Olympic medalist, and trailblazer. I didn’t just want to talk about the wins. I wanted to understand what keeps her coming back, what made her stay, and what that means for players like me who are trying to follow in her footsteps, or blaze new ones.

WHERE THE SHARP EDGES FIT.

Before the podiums and pressure, Karen Paquin was just a kid from Quebec who found rugby and never let it go.

She told me she loved it right away. But it was deeper than that. She didn’t know rugby yet, but rugby already knew her. It was the first place that welcomed her intensity, the kind most people ask girls to tone down. Rugby said: bring all of it.

For Karen, short high school seasons weren’t enough. She kept coming back, season after season, for the feeling. “It was the first place I didn’t feel like I had to tone myself down,” she told me. “I could just go at it. Be aggressive. And it was positive.”

I felt that. Still do. Rugby was the first time I realized my toughness wasn’t a problem, it was a skill. Something to sharpen, not shrink. And hearing Karen say it out loud, I knew we started in the same place: not chasing titles, but chasing that feeling of being seen for exactly who we are.

Lighting the Match.

When I asked Karen if she ever saw herself as a pioneer, she shook her head.

She named Gillian Florence instead, a legend who paved the way in Quebec. Karen didn’t see herself as trailblazing. But 2014 tells another story.

That year, Canada beat France in France to reach the Women’s Rugby World Cup final. The win shook the sport. But the moment? That was bigger. Social media erupted. The world was watching. “We realized we were building something bigger than ourselves,” Karen said. “Bigger than just our team.”

That line stuck with me. Even though I didn’t know rugby in 2014, I know now that moment helped build the path I’m walking today.

Then came Rio 2016. The Olympics. Pressure. The world tuned in. Karen said they knew the medal mattered, but so did the moment. “We wanted to reach all the little ‘Kikis’ at home.”

I laughed, not because it was funny, but because I’m living proof she did.

Karen’s story makes one thing clear: this game isn’t just about the players wearing the jersey today. It’s about the ones watching, dreaming, and daring to imagine themselves there too. I’m one of them. And thanks to her, I don’t have to wonder if there’s room for me, I know there is.

The Rebuild.

Karen never fully left rugby.

Even when she stepped away from the national team, she was coaching, playing locally, staying close to the heartbeat of the game. But she told me something that lives in my head rent-free: “When you step away, it gives you the chance to choose the game again.”

That hit different.

Because when you’re in the cycle: training, competing, recovering, it can become automatic. You forget to ask yourself if the joy is still there. Karen did. And when it wasn’t, she stepped back. Not out of weakness, but clarity.

She talked about burnout. About how back-to-back Olympic and World Cup years wore her down. She didn’t quit rugby, she quit the grind. She coached. She watched. And then she saw something in the new style of play. “That’s fun,” she thought. “I want to be part of that.”

So she came back.

Not entitled. Not expecting anything. Just ready to earn it all over again. That kind of return isn’t about ego. It’s about peace. Karen told me, “You have to take care of your passion the way people take care of their bodies. If you don’t, the rest won’t follow.”

That line is carved into me now. Because I don’t just want to shine for a season. I want to sustain. And that means feeding the fire, not letting it burn me out. Protecting what I love so it can carry me further.

The Static Charge.

I asked Karen what it really feels like, standing in a Canada jersey in front of thousands.

She didn’t say proud. Or honoured. She said: buzzing.

Not the good kind. Not the calm kind. The electric kind. The kind that makes your whole chest hum, like energy looking for a way out. “It’s a buzzing sound within you that just wants to get out by any means possible,” she said. “But the buzz is also outside. It can’t get in, and it can’t get out. It’s just stagnant.”

That answer matters because it’s real. It’s not about perfection or highlight reels. It’s about holding pressure, adrenaline, history, and expectation in your hands.

I haven’t played on that kind of stage. Not yet. But hearing Karen describe it, I could almost feel the hum. And I realized: it’s not the moment that defines you, it’s what you bring to it. And how you manage the charge.

So if I ever get that shot, I won’t flinch. I’ll let it buzz. Let it burn. Let it remind me I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Building Forward.

Before the Monty Heald Fund, women like Karen had to pay to represent Canada.

Let that sink in.

They trained like pros and competed like pros, but paid out-of-pocket to wear the maple leaf. They made it work, because they loved the game enough to carry it on their backs.

Karen told me the Fund didn’t just change finances, it changed mindsets. It showed the country that women’s rugby was elite, worth supporting, and worth investing in.

“The women before us made that happen,” she said. “They didn’t just support, they believed. And they gave forward.”

That phrase stuck with me. Give forward. Because I’m playing in the system they fought for. One where survival isn’t the bar, excellence is. Where we can train with focus, prepare with purpose, and play without wondering how we’ll afford our next season.

Now it’s on us. To honour that belief. To raise the bar again.

The Thank You That Matters.

When I sat down with Karen Paquin, I thought I was going to learn something. I didn’t expect to walk away changed.

Karen didn’t just talk about rugby, she modelled how to live in it. How to love it through burnout. How to leave it and still stay close. How to protect it, even from yourself. How to choose it again.

She reminded me that you don’t need permission to be intense. Aggressive. Loud. You just need the right place to put it. Rugby says yes. She showed me that when you keep saying yes back, something incredible happens. You build a career. A legacy. A ripple effect.

I look up to her not just for what she’s done, but for how she’s done it. She plays with joy and grit and has never stopped growing. She’s not just a blueprint, she again, owns the patent.

I don’t just want the jersey. I want the buzz. I want the weight. I want the responsibility. And thanks to Karen, I know it’s possible. I know how to chase it.

So thank you, Karen. For saying yes. For showing us how to take care of the fire. For reaching all the little Kikis. Because you didn’t just reach me, you lit the way.

We’ve got next. And we’re ready.