NEED TO KNOW
- A South Australian farmer visits his doctor after developing a snoring problem and is told to lose 5kg.
- After reluctantly joining a gym with a mate, he improves his health, loses weight and realises how much better he feels.
- He convinces other local farmers to train together, and the group adopts the tongue-in-cheek name Fat Farmers.
- What begins as a small workout group grows into a national charity, helping thousands of rural Australians improve their physical and mental wellbeing.
- Ben Wundersitz, 57, from Maitland, SA shares his story…
A sharp nudge in the ribs jolted me awake.
“I am sick of your snoring,” my wife, Belinda, groaned.
“I was snoring?” I asked, stunned.
At 43, I’d never had a snoring problem before.
“You certainly were, and it’s keeping me awake,” she huffed, rolling over.
Worried I might have sleep apnoea, I visited my GP in March 2011.
After running some tests, he ruled it out.
“Lose 5kg, mate, and you’ll be right,” he said.
I glanced at my middle-aged spread and nodded.
Belinda and I ran a 6500-hectare cropping property, but despite working on the farm, my days were surprisingly sedentary, often spent sitting in a tractor or harvester for hours.
On weekends, I’d watch our kids play sport while tucking into burgers and pizzas on the sidelines.
It was time to do something about it.
The problem was, in our small country town, blokes just didn’t go to the gym.
Farmers were expected to get their exercise from working the land, so there was a stigma to exercising indoors.
One day, I discovered my mate Greg had started snoring, too.
“My wife bought me three personal training sessions,” he told me.
“I’ll come with you,” I said.
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When we arrived, the trainer pointed towards a rowing machine.
“Hop on,” he said.
Keen to impress, I went as hard as I could.
Within minutes, I collapsed on the floor, totally spent.
“How was that?” Belinda asked, trying not to laugh when I hobbled in the front door.
“Every muscle in my body is screaming,” I groaned.
I’d signed up for two sessions a week, so swallowing my pride, I kept going.
At first, simply surviving the hour felt like an achievement.
But within weeks, I’d stopped snoring, had far more energy and was getting through more work each day.
Within a few months, I’d also lost 5kg.
Feeling like a new man, I wanted other local blokes to experience the same benefits.
I started cornering anyone I saw around town or at the kids’ sporting matches.
“Come join me at the gym,” I’d say.
Everyone claimed they were too busy.
So Greg and I came up with another idea.
One weekend, we held a barbecue outside the gym to encourage more farmers to give it a go.
Ten men signed up and became regulars.
Aged 18 to 60, we quickly became a close-knit group.
“Come on, ya fat farmers,” Greg joked one day as we sweated through another workout.
“Get moving!”
The nickname stuck.
In September 2011, six of us, along with our families, entered Adelaide’s City-Bay 6km Fun Run.
Afterwards, we registered a domain name and asked a local woman to design a logo and website.
By February 2012, Fat Farmers had officially launched.
“You don’t have to be fat, a farmer or even a bloke to join,” I posted on our Facebook page.
Our mission was simply to inspire and support rural communities to improve their health and wellbeing through physical activity.
Soon, mates in nearby regional towns started four more groups, each with a local champion who organised workouts, checked in on members and shared updates.
We posted photos of our training online, secured local sponsors and printed T-shirts emblazoned with our logo.
When we returned to the City-Bay Fun Run the following year, everyone knew exactly who we were.
Not everyone loved the name.
“You can’t call people fat,” one friend said.
“Why not Fit Farmers?”
So we put it to a vote.
“I joined because of the name,” one member laughed.
“It’s funny and relatable.”
The overwhelming response was to keep it.
So we did.
Over the next five years, Fat Farmers expanded into towns across South Australia.
What surprised me most wasn’t just the physical transformation, it was the impact on people’s mental health.
“So often in the country, the only time we catch up is around alcohol,” one farmer told me.
“But when you’re exercising together, you connect on a different level.”
As we walked, ran or lifted weights, conversations turned to things that really mattered.
People spoke openly about prostate cancer, drought, financial stress and family struggles.
One farmer admitted he’d become a recluse who rarely left his property, but after joining the group he felt like a better husband, father and farmer.
Others said the friendships they’d built had helped pull them through depression.
In September 2021, Fat Farmers became a registered charity.
Since then, we’ve joined forces with Active Farmers, a like-minded organisation that’s helped us reach communities right across Australia.
Today, there are more than 80 groups nationwide, with around 1600 people attending weekly workouts.
Last year, we also bought a custom-built semi-trailer that travels the country providing free health checks.
The mobile clinic is used by healthcare partners, GPs and registered nurses at field days, community events and industry gatherings.
Since launching in December 2025, we’ve carried out more than 1000 health checks, helping detect conditions like skin cancer and heart disease.
People sometimes tell me I’ve saved lives.
I’m deeply humbled by that.
But I’m no hero.
I’m just an ordinary rural bloke who wanted to help fellow farmers take better care of themselves.
It all started because I wanted to stop snoring.
Now, it’s become the thing I’m proudest of.
Forget Farmer Wants a Wife.
This farmer just wants a healthy life, and thankfully, so do thousands of others.
