Known in Maori as Pukekura, the protruded piece of turf (which apparently dropped significantly during the '31 quake) has been the culmination of his daily constitutional for many years.
His is a truly promising feat for those of us lamenting early-onset ageing.
The nonagenarian is double my age - plus 10 years. It makes me wonder why some people's kneecaps nearing 100 can still handle Sugarloaf, while even kneeling is near impossible for the author.
Is he genetically blessed, or have I abused my knees after years of playing the national game?
Either way, it doesn't pay to dwell on the ageing process; sulky introspection doesn't slow the clock.
Truth be told my hair is appreciably more salt than pepper, I fell asleep during the 7.30pm All Blacks national anthem on Saturday and I now don reading glasses to better see the hair that sprouts from the ears like parsley gone to seed.
While it's easy to despair about the failing senses, it's better to regard Mr Page as an inspiration.
If my body clock ticks to the same tune as his, I've got a good chance of doing the same.
Thing is, a quick check on Stats NZ's life-expectancy calculator shows I'm expected to expire at age 87.
Sure, the pensioner uses a cane to assist his climb - but what I struggle to do now he's doing at an age 12-years past my expected expiry date.
Those of us experiencing an early midlife crisis secretly desire his secret. So what is it?
I'd suggest we need look no further than our modern sedentary lifestyle and reflect on the truism: "they don't make them like they used to".
