Why I’ve started going to the gym at 46 – and why I’ve had to park my ego at the door

It’s time to start thinking about what quality of life I’m aiming for in my 70s and beyond

‘Initially, I was mortified that someone I knew would see me struggling to lift what always seemed to be the smallest dumb-bell on the rack. Some were the size of pumpkins, mine were more like cucumbers'. Image: Getty

​Darragh McCullough

I joined a gym for the first time in my life last week. The legs have been a bit wobbly ever since. In fact, every time I bend down, a little groan escapes my lips. It’s all part of getting a bit older. And a sign of the times perhaps.

The closest my dad has ever got to a gym are the pilates classes down in the parish hall. Feeding calves twice a day was my grandad’s version of resistance training. When you think about it, he was on the ball.

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