RDAU_2026-ISSUE0809_DIGITAL MAGAZINE

millennial midlife crises found that more than half of us don’t think we’ve succeeded in adulthood, 38% of us don’t feel mentally stable, and a stag- gering 87% don’t believe that older generations understand the challenges we’re up against. More than other age groups captured in another recent study, we’re burning through our paid time off to simply lie down and sleep. Unlike middle-aged adults of yore, we wake up each morning to phones that barf out bleak factoids about climate change, political violence, racism and automation. Our economy, mean- while, is little more than a plaything for man-child billionaires who have finally grown too lazy to disguise their mis- deeds. Staggering wealth inequality has become the cloud cover of our daily lives. Forget affording the ill- advised red Mazda Miata. We can’t afford even the divorce. Experts agree that millennials’ cir- cumstances are unique. “A lot of the things that go on in midlife really hav- en’t changed,” says Margie Lachman, a psychology professor at Brandeis Uni- versity who has studied the concept for 30 years. “What’s changed, to a certain extent, is the external forces, or the environment, or things that are affect- ing people’s ability to accomplish the goals that they had set for midlife.” Yet she’s also quick to point out that the stereotypical trappings of a midlife crisis—sports cars, affairs, leather jackets—are mostly just Hollywood hogwash. In fact, midlife can present a happy array of opportunities: You’re old enough to have mastered a vocation or hobby, yet not so old that your skills have deteriorated. As proof of this, Lach- man, in studying the output of inven- tors, has found that their most produc- tive periods occurred in their late 30s and early 40s. I wondered if my chicken-throwing record might count in the same way. After all, wasn’t I deploying an entire array of skills—physical, intellectual, administrative—that few others would have the persistence to meld in such a way? And when all was said and done, wouldn’t I enjoy telling my children, my friends, that I was the world leader in a lone, esoteric feat? Was I not at the peak of my powers? “Don’t think you’re running out of time,” Lachman told me. “Realize you have a lot of time left. You have half a life left!” In the immediate term, though, I had just a fewweeks to break this record. JUST AS THERE IS an art to throwing rubber chickens, so too is there an art to practicing the act without detection. In the lead-up to my Guinness attempt, I had taken to training in a local park’s tree-lined corner. The timing of these sessions was critical: I needed to get my reps in before elementary-age children arrived at the after-school program nearby and started asking tough ques- tions: Who are you? Why are you throw- ing rubber chickens? Do you really think this will cure your nagging sense of abstract forfeit? In times of doubt, reader ’ s digest 120   august/september 2026 I called to mind advice fromCincinnati Bengals quarterback Joe Burrow, who years ago warned the next generation of athletes against turning their work- outs into TikTok fodder. “Work in silence,” he advised. “Don’t show everybody what you’re doing.” Thus, I settled into a weekly routine: I would walk to this park with a peep of chickens tucked into a canvas New Yorker bag. (I had to be careful not to halt or pivot abruptly, lest the sack emit a chorus of mortifying squawks.) I would warm up with a few dozen ten- nis ball tosses against a cement wall, then it was off to the field to chuck my birds. Because of the Guinness rules forbidding a participant from gripping the chicken by the head or neck, I had tweaked my approach to more closely resemble a javelin toss. The first time I broke the record, unofficially and by myself, was on a breezy November day. The chicken I was throwing was not the same model Gürcü had used. But it was store-bought and met several essential criteria: not too long, as heavy as possible. My best throw that day—around 116 feet—was undoubtedly wind-assisted. But it felt monumental anyway. As I was packing up to leave, I heard a child’s voice coming from the school building nearby. He had been watching me the whole time, despite my efforts at subterfuge. readersdigest.com.au     121 Just for Fun