David Whitley tries to rectify his overindulgence in Noosa, Queensland, and finds that he’s got an enormous game of catch-up to play.

It was probably an error to look in the mirror in the first place. After all, the steak had just looked too good to resist. Same with the dessert. And all those ice cream stalls. And the fudge bought at the market. What I was presented with was not so much a six pack, but a big wobbly bag of wine. I was in shape, but that shape was round.

This is the major problem with tackling Noosa the way that most visitors tackle it. For many, the Sunshine Coast’s upmarket hotspot is all about lounging on the beaches, mooching around the shops on Hastings Street and eating out.  In a place where the restaurants are mighty fine, having breakfast on the terrace is part of the quintessential experience and the heat demands ice cream, a kilo or two extra can be expected.

But the little piggy doesn’t necessarily have to turn into a big piggy. And it’s only when you decide to throw yourself into action for a remedial exercise binge that you see the other side of Noosa. My plan was thoroughly wholesome. I would get up at 5am, and go for a good old bushwalk before everyone else rose. The Noosa National Park is just over a kilometre away from the main drag, and a series of walking trails are scattered throughout it. Most go through the forest, while one follows the coast like an overzealous stalker.

Anywhere else in the world, this place would be deserted so early in the morning, save for the odd koala having its mandatory hour of leaf-munching before going back to sleep again. Not Noosa – on the way, I’m overtaken by a fleet of joggers. It becomes immediately apparent why I’ve not seen a scrap of fat on any of the locals – this is an early to bed, early to rise kind of place, where the health kicks are permanent rather than a token effort for a couple of weeks after New Year.

Aside from the odd fitness freak motoring past, however, the Tanglewood Track is exceptionally peaceful. It’s not named ironically – many of the tree branches act like vines, and others entwine like a rope. It’s as if the different species are all auditioning as contortionists for a woodland talent show.

The real joy is not to be had with the eyes, though – it’s with the ears. Hidden away amongst the canopies are all manner of birds talking amongst themselves over breakfast.

There’s the Grizzling Baby Bird, the Cheap 70s Sci-Fi Movie Laser Gun Sound Effect Bird, the Machine Gun Bird, and many more with proper names as well. All compete above the sound of the sea crashing in the near distance, but it’s the most peaceful racket imaginable.

The Tanglewood Track joins up with the Coastal Track to create a circuit, and the second leg reveals more sporty types up obscenely early. The surfers monopolise Winch Cove and Tea Tree Bay at this time of day. In truth, they don’t really have much competition at peak hour either – the two beaches are jaw-droppingly beautiful, but most visitors stick to the main one, largely because it’s patrolled.

But the whole Noosa cult – and for the uninitiated, those who live here tend to think they’re in the best place on earth – begins to make sense. They’ve got the weather, they’ve got the lifestyle and they’ve made the choice to properly enjoy what nature has provided them with. You still want to see the joggers suffocated by a giant cheeseburger though...

By David Whitley