TRYING EXTREME SPORTS
Nowadays, you can’t move for soul-searching middle managers on the Kokoda Trail, the cyclepath of any freeway at 4.30am is a mess of fortysomethings pumping $15,000 of carbon like they’re Cadel Evans with a paunch, while the entire Crossfit industry is held up by former 1st XV blokes refusing to let go of PBS. But you’ll hear no judgment from us. We say yes to extreme fitness as an antidote to the post-40 funk. Not only because getting and staying fit will stave off the less appealing aspects of extreme-late-youth (man boobs, making an ‘oof’ noise when sitting), but because, confidence-wise, training for the New York marathon, tackling the amateur leg of the Tour de France or hiking to Everest base camp will offset the sad realisation that not only are you not going to play for the Wallabies, you’re old enough to be David Pocock’s father. But again, work up to the new you. Nobody wants ‘He died playing squash for the first time since ’96’ on their headstone. Train properly, engage a professional, get the right gear and look after the irreplaceable bits of the dadbod so the next decade isn’t blighted by a busted knee.