One of the four options you have for any problem is Radical Acceptance (Linehan, 1993). Radical acceptance is about accepting of life on life’s terms and not resisting what you cannot or choose not to change. Radical Acceptance is about saying yes to life, just as it is.

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I have a personal trainer who pushes me hard. Really hard. Three days a week we train for an hour, followed by 30 minutes of “homework” [support exercises] I do on my own. If I were 25 this would be a slam-dunk. Add 3 decades to that and not so much.

The problem for me is that I still resist where I am.

Let me restate that: I resent where I am, and, therefore, I resist it.

Case in point: On Friday we were doing vertical box jumps. I say “we” because I like to grab a bunch of kids half my age to do things like this with me to gauge my abilities against people who should be able top smoke me, but often don’t. It kind of my way of figuring out where I am in the scheme of things, athletically. Anyway, I had just completed a 36” jump when they decided to raise the bard 4 inches. Okay, I thought to myself, no big deal. It’s only 4 inches. I can nail this.

Side note: Truly athletic Boomers in the range of 60 are virtually non-existent. The ones who are, “juice” [i.e., take steroids], which makes up for some of the lost time, but never enough of it. But I don’t “juice,” which means I’m working with what I was born with and carved out over time.

So, back to the box jumps.

Two 20-something athletes before me barely made the jumps, and feeling immortal [I assume], I decided it was time to set the record straight on misconceptions about older men.

I approached the box knowing that I had done several sets before it, without incident, in spite of the soreness in my hamstrings from the previous Wednesday’s leg workout. My knees weren’t tucking the way they should have, but screw it, I was going in.

I raised my hands above my head as I readied myself to force them down to my sides, propelling me upward, when I stopped.

Something wasn’t quite right. I had to get my head in this if I was going to clear the edge of the monolith in front of me.

So I took a few seconds to compose myself, breathe, and visualize the jump.

This time, I approached the box with more determination and focus, as an audience stood around to watch this eccentric older man battle reality with a vengeance.

Again, I approached the box, raised my hands, took a deep breath…and jumped.

On the way up I could feel my left hamstring tighten slightly and all hell broke loose. My right leg cleared the edge perfectly, but my left foot hit the side of the box, forcing my shin into the hard foam cover a block of wood, and forcing me forward. The entire box collapsed with me along with it. I rolled twice and then stood up like a champ with a growing hematoma [a solid swelling of clotted blood within the tissues] on my left leg the size of a grapefruit.

I received applause for the effort and follow-through, but came away with the realization that not only was I not 25, but that I was in over my head.

While I could still outperform most guys my age by a wide margin, the kids were blowing me away.

“Not in everything!” I told myself, because it was true.

But what I failed to consider was the fact that, with the proper training, many of them would leave me in the dust. I was simply better trained no matter what the age difference happened to be.

This is textbook denial.

While I do accept the fact that I am older, and thus, less able to accomplish the feats of athleticism I could decades ago, I still try, thinking that I will somehow conquer the odds and land on my feet, instead of the floor.

Some will argue that without the belief in oneself, nothing would ever be accomplished. But there is a difference between running a Fortune 500 company and doing a 40” box jump.

Yea, I like the irony in that, too.

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Here is reality for me in a few bullet points. If I don’t practice radical acceptance on a daily basis, I’ll end up in a mental institution.

Here we go:

1] Age. 

Unless you’ve been here, walking a planet for damn near 60 years is an existential nightmare.

You have to get past the fact that time is not a figment of your imagination, so no matter how much you deny it, it keeps marching with or without you.

2] Skin, teeth, hair and nails.

Suffice to say, just looking at a high school photograph of yourself next to a recent photo-op at a gala is enough to trigger a 911 call.

Get a grip. It happens to all of us, and no one likes it.

3] Energy, recovery and fitness.

You’re no longer a kid no matter how much testosterone pellets you have imbedded in your butt.

This means that your physical condition is subject to the passage of time – no matter what the quacks who prescribe the aforementioned testosterone tell you.

4] Your children are younger than you are.

This one is particularly difficult for many because, on a certain level, they feel like children themselves.

But radical acceptance teaches us that no matter how strong one’s delusions happen to be, reality doesn’t give a damn about fantasy – and in this context – neither do your kids.

5] Sex.

You may have noticed that your sex life is – let’s just say – different than it used to be.

There are workarounds, of course.

ED meds will soon be stacked next to aspirin bottles at CVS, and medical science has a quick fix for everything else.

But the intense desire to copulate like a wild animal is now a more subtle compulsion that encourages us to think before we act.

This is an adaptation that helps preserve wealth in the middle years when faltering egos are most susceptible to the exploits of gold diggers.

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If you need more, fill them in for yourself.

I’m not that masochistic.