Ask anyone who works with teenagers why they do it, and they’ll eventually get around to the old “It keeps me feeling young” explanation.

It’s true, you know. Hanging out with teenagers — whether it’s via parenting, teaching school or working with a youth organization — really does keep one feeling young. Right up until that moment you realize it’s only a feeling, and that trying to keep up with this younger generation will eventually kill you.

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For the past three years I’ve been working with the 12- to 18-year-old boys in our neighborhood. And every summer, the older ones go on something called “high adventure.” I suspect it’s called that because, speaking as an aging leader, I must have been high when I agreed to do some of these things with the boys.

Backpacking. Mountain biking. Rappelling. River running. The Boy Scouts of America can think of more creative ways to kill off its adult leaders than even the most motivated of homicidal maniacs. Two years ago it was backpacking/mountain biking/kayaking on and around the Green River at Flaming Gorge. Last summer it was mountain biking/hiking/broiling in the sun at Bryce Canyon National Park and Kodachrome Basin State Park.

And this year I spent some of my hard-earned Standard-Examiner vacation pay on whitewater rafting/mountain biking/ziplining at the Teton High Adventure Base near Jackson, Wyoming.

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This past week, five of us adults took nine teenagers on a four-day road trip. Just imagine a family summer vacation with that many active children to herd.

“Yes, but you had five adults,” I can hear you counter. “Most families only have two parents.”

Maybe so, but one of them is usually a mom, whereas this group was all dads. We didn’t have that female voice of reason to remind us of things like, “You know, taking turns throwing rocks at a hornet’s nest probably isn’t the brightest idea you’ve had this week.” Or, “Well, of course if you eat eight slices of deep-dish meat-lovers pizza in one sitting you’re going to end up projectile vomiting inside your tent.”

Instead, what our little “family” got from the dads was advice like, “You throw like a girl — lemme show you how to bring down a hornet’s nest.” Or, “What’s the matter, lightweight? Can’t eat a ninth slice?”

On paper, the Teton High Adventure Base sounds like the experience of a lifetime. After all, who wouldn’t want to go whitewater rafting on the Snake River? But then you find yourself on a 16-person raft with 15 other people — not to mention one violently agitating body of water — all of whom desperately want to throw you into the cold, snow-fed depths.

I’ve been on enough of these trips to know that at various points the river guide will inform the raft’s occupants that they’re in a “safe-swim zone.” On the surface, it may seem that means it’s OK to get out of the raft and float in the river if you’re so inclined. But it’s actually code for: “You may now commence throwing everyone into the water.”

Emily, our seemingly mild-mannered Scout camp host who’d joined us on the trip, clearly knew the code. The words “safe-swim zone” had barely left the guide’s lips when she turned to the starboard side of the boat and shoved one of our more athletic boys in the water. Then, pivoting to port, she dove for the river, tackling another boy and carrying him with her into the water.

I quickly did the math in my head: While I was fairly certain none of the others could deadlift 270 pounds on their own, there were still a dozen other potential co-conspirators who together could easily hoist my flabby carcass over the side.

I think I now understand why skydivers jump out of a perfectly good airplane: They know if they don’t jump, someone will push them. And it’s always better to do something on one’s own terms.

So I jumped.

Of course, when this group of teenagers failed to drown me, they then tried to induce a heart attack by riding halfway across the wilds of Wyoming on mountain bikes. But that plan didn’t work, either. Nor did their attempts to lure me onto an elevated ropes course and zipline.

At the end of the trip, in a touching gesture, the other leaders and boys gave me a T-shirt they’d picked up in town. On the back is a photograph of a six-man rubber raft going through a large rapid on a river. The legs of one man can be seen as he’s thrown from the raft and swallowed up by the raging torrent. The caption under the photo reads: “It’s kinda like swimming. Except the pool is trying to kill you.”

Having now worked with a few dozen teenage boys and their adult leaders over the last three summers, I think it’s safe to say the pool isn’t the only thing that’s been out to get me.

Contact Mark Saal at 801-625-4272, or msaal@standard.net. Follow him on Twitter at @Saalman. Friend him on Facebook at facebook.com/MarkSaal.