Three weeks ago I did something stupid. I fell on ice and ruptured the ligament that connects the kneecap to the thigh. The moment I hit the ground I knew my right leg was inoperative. My first thought was, I guess I won't be running tomorrow.

Dragging my useless leg, I crawled to the back door of our home and finally got the attention of my wife, Gail. With her assistance I managed to get inside and to a chair where we could assess the damage. Some guests were soon to arrive at our home, and since I wasn't in serious pain, we decided to go through with our evening plans. Later, after everyone had gone, we drove to the emergency room and learned that I'd need surgery to reattach the ligament.

The next morning the surgeon confirmed the judgment of the ER people and told me what my future might look like.

"Your daily running is over, perhaps forever," he said. He spoke of a few months of physical therapy, relative inactivity, and pain. It was a dreadful mix of information. Only later would ...