In his late thirties, a man looks down at himself, wondering: "Where
did the years go?", "What have I done with my life?" and "Where on
earth did that fat stomach come from?". He usually then goes down
the pub and maybe skips on the crisps for a night. It's not fat,
it's just bones reaching full maturity.

Then the magic fortieth year approaches. It really does looks like
there are more good years behind than there might be ahead. There is
only one thing for it -- get fit.

With my usual foreboding, I was ahead of the curve by about six
months and in late July 2004 I made my first steps towards the body
beautiful. With a new pair of running shoes, a new pair of swimming
goggles, and my mountain bike rescued from the back of the shed,
I announced: "I'm doing a triathlon!".

I.ve decided to do a sprint distance triathlon in mid May, and though
the individual distances of 400M swim, 20K bike, and 5K run may not
sound very much, putting them all together in one session is pretty
scary.And this 400M swim is on a lake, and the water will be cold. But
before I get to the lake, I book a couple of swimming lessons.

Never be afraid to make a complete fool of yourself when you are
learning new things.  Breaststroke is fine, but 10M of front crawl and
I.m gasping for air. My coach watches me flailing around ineffectually,
but tells me that there isn.t anything too wrong that can.t be fixed. A
few minutes later, as I.m concentrating on moving my head sideways
every three strokes and pushing my arm into the water properly,
I find myself unexpectedly at the 25M mark.  Fool yourself into
thinking about so many other things that you forget to drown.

Joining a local cycling club is a similar experience in humility. I
turn up on my cheap mountain bike, and admire the sleek machines
(and even sleeker cycling outfits). "It.s a gentle two hour ride"
I.m assured.  Twenty minutes later, dripping sweat even though the
temperature is only just above freezing, my legs give up and I have
to turn back for home.  What went wrong? A chat with the cycle pro
reveals that it really is "about the bike". The following week,
my bike and my wallet considerably lighter, I maintain the pace,
and though it nearly kills me, I finish the ride with the pack.

Running is the simplest and cheapest sport, and I quickly settle
into a training rhythm. I run up my road and back for a 25 minute
three mile circuit most evenings. Everyone tells me that I.ll only
improve if I train with others, so I make my way to a nearby club,
where it's a seven mile run on my first night -- a gentle jog for
these seasoned marathon runners. At four miles my vision starts to
blur, but some hyperventilating seems to fix that. Maybe the cheese
sandwich hours ago wasn.t really enough nourishment. I do make it to
the end though, and my new colleagues are surprised when I casually
mention that that was the longest run of my life.

So the dreaded birthday appears, and I stand in front of the mirror
and look at myself.  I feel fit, I like not having to hold my belly
in at the swimming pool in case small boys think I.m pregnant. I.m in
better shape than I ever have been in my life, and can run further
and cycle for longer.  But no sportsman ever won at the age of 40,
did they? Well, in what is probably the world's toughest race --
the Ironman endurance triathlon in Hawaii -- a former champion called
Dave Scott returned from retirement, at 40, to take an unprecedented
2nd place.

I get my running tights on, pull my shades down, and grinning like
a madman, decide I will do that extra three mile run after all.

(c)Robert Shiels 2005