“Old age is no place for sissies.” That adage never made much sense to me. Navy SEAL training is no place for sissies. And you won’t find namby-pambies running a marathon, climbing California’s Mount Whitney, or playing college rugby. Milksops and snowflakes don’t raise six children, build skyscrapers, or work 70 hours a week to bring a restaurant to life. The difference between these sorts of activities and old age can be summed up in a single word: choice. The runner chose to enter that grueling race, and Mama and Papa chose to devote themselves to those kids. But old age is not a choice. It just happens. Sissy or not, live long enough, and you’ll be old. You can whine about your age, you can deplore it, you can curse it or embrace it, but there it is. Old age doesn’t care whether you’re a milquetoast or a braveheart. …