For those of you able to afford a personal trainer [roughly the cost of a week’s vacation in Costa Rica at the Ritz Carlton, including first class airfare from Houston], I suggest you get one.

Now.

Before the medical bills start piling up from all the margaritas and chips.

My trainer is the guy in the caption above. His name is Tim Lamando and he’s a badass with a degree in Kinesiology, among others. He kicks my ass three days a week and keeps me on track with my physical health, which includes rest and recovery, diet, and training sessions intense enough to keep the advancing years from rolling over me.

In other words, he keeps me in the game of life, rather than bittersweet and resigned like so many other men my age — the walking wounded, emotionally and/or physically, the ones who let go, accepted the inevitable, decided to live through the mantra, “everything in moderation.”

All of them, total bullshit.

My grandfather used to say “you make the bed you sleep in,” and it was as true back then as it is today.

Life doesn’t give a crap about you. It just gives back what you put out. This means that the less you do, the faster you fall apart.

I am pushing 60 years of age, but I still think of myself as someone in the neighborhood of 39. The main reason for this is that I can do pretty much everything I did at 39, and in some cases, more. I hold the Texas state record in the deadlift in the 55-59 age group through the USAPL. This Summer I will compete in the 60-plus category in the 220 to 242 weight class. My goal is to raw deadlift 500 pounds. No testosterone, or anabolic steroids. And yes, it’s drug tested.

Granted, I’ve been an athlete my entire life, so training is kind of second nature to me. For others, it’s daunting. I get it. When people see me train, they think I’ve lost my mind, or that I’m begging for a back injury, or both. And while the first part is debatable, the second part is ignorance.

See, it’s because I train like this that I don’t have back problems, that I stand up straight, that my bones and joints are strong and pliable. This doesn’t happen by itself. I have to make it happen. I have to stay committed to physical relevance, not decay.

Sometimes I swear I can smell death on some of these guys who might not technically die for another 30 or 40 years. It’s pathetic.

They’d be better off dying tomorrow having lived a full and healthy life, than limp along with indignity.

“Old man” is a missive you earn by giving up. It’s like blood in the water that everyone notices.

Don’t beg for it.