So I am oldish and big as a walrus. No matter how many knives, pots, tarps, tents, gidgets and gadgets I get I still blow wind going uphill, creak like a tallship in a storm and don't hike much of anywhere. If I was to call myself a bushcrafter I'd be a fraud, a mountebank and a base canard. At the age of fourty and four I've found myself in the gym for the first time and actually enjoying it. I'm 360lbs (and falling) of newly-motivated, formerly-sedentary fatarse. I'm in the gym twice a week, doing a simple program of weights (my best friend was a personal trainer back in the day) for warmup and an ever increasing distance on the treadmill (up to a mile and a half in 25-27 minutes, which ain't bad for this belly, busted knees and an aversion to sweating). I'm trying not to eat as much crap, cook more from scratch and avoid the salty, fatty death of fast food. I indulge myself on occasion so I don't go mad, but I'm eating a lot better. The crockpot is my friend. I finally figured out, my corpus is the only thing I can't buy or trade better. Got to make that crap from scratch apparently. It's the prep we need the most and a some of us do the least.