Overeating is a young man’s game. What seems like a fine idea when you’re 20 … seems like a really bad idea once you gain some maturity. (Talking age, as well as a dollop of sense.)

This was brought home to me again tonight in Abu Dhabi when I witnessed a donut-eating contest at an elaborate birthday party.

I didn’t mind watching — pretty much — but I had zero intention of joining in.

As a teen, I was the typical young-male eating machine. I have recollections of being part of conversations with my brothers about making an assault on a smorgasbord. You know, to see if we could put them out of business. What fun! What could go wrong? (We never actually attempted it.)

I also recall a time or two when I might have had as many as four hot dogs at Dodger Stadium. Now, that was over the span of two or three hours, but I probably should concede a Carnation frozen malt (or two) might have been involved, too.

But since the age of 30, I rarely have overeaten. I mean, it isn’t healthy. Look at all the old people you know; odds are strong most of them are wiry little people. Thin. They eat small portions. Often, they don’t eat at all.

Plus, the strain overeating puts on a body becomes more obvious, as you age. Especially eating heavy things. In a hurry.

Like, say, four Krispy Kreme donuts, the eating assignment at this particular soiree.

This was the third annual donut-eating contest at this particular party, and again it was a highlight of the event. Everyone in the apartment crowded into the ping-pong room (which also is the main gallery of the Abu Dhabi Museum of Bad Art), and there were five piles of four donuts.

Our contestants included the defending champion, a guy who has not yet reached 30, another guy who can’t be far past 30; the party host, who is in his 40s and, thus, not only had no chance but probably should have sat out the event, and two women, including one who stands 5-foot-nothing and has become a sort of competitive eating hero to regular party-goers because she can gag down donuts pretty fast, for such a small person.

So, the flag fell (or the gun went off), and there they went. I believe that, as a journalist, my ability to create distance between myself and what I was watching served me well, because five people were jamming donuts in their mouth and trying not to choke. It was fairly gruesome.

Like the professional speed-eaters who compete in Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest on Coney Island every year, some of the contestants made use of water, to help get those wads of dough down their gullets, and some thought it a good idea to smash the donuts into dense balls, though it put me in mind of the expression Heimlich maneuver.

The 5-foot-nothing woman, realizing she was not going to win, took to tossing bits of donut over her shoulders, which was a novel method for cleaning her plate but not really effective for purposes of the game — because 30 people were watching.

When we had a winner it was — no surprise — one of the two young guys. Not the defending champion, but the bigger and taller guy, and he wolfed down the four donuts in only two minutes.

(Now that I think of it, this was also the guy who had six shawarma sandwiches in one sitting last week, which became the talk of the sports department; I should have wagered all the money I was carrying on him.)

The cheesy, Burger King-style crown was duly handed over by the former champ, and everyone went on their way, and I was thinking, “No way I’m ever going to be involved in that.” (Then there is the whole donut thing I have, which I may get to someday.)

I’ve often wondered if people involved in the Nathan’s contest immediately go backstage to purge. I mean, 50, 60 hot dogs? You are going to digest those? Really? Does the expression “bust a guy” sound familiar?

But five minutes after this one was over, four donuts in two minutes, I asked the winner how he felt.

He said: “I feel great!”

Let’s check back on that in 20 years.