What I try to control controls me. I once was a runner; not a jogger. What I did wasn't jogging. I ran . I gave it all I could. During 10-20-mile training runs, I did about 7:30 a mile. In marathons and shorter races, I was right around seven minutes. That's far from world-class time, but it was good enough for second place sometimes and for a top-three finish in my age group often. I loved to run, but it controlled me. For some time, I got up before dawn and ran five miles through town. Then I went home at lunchtime and, instead of eating, ran wind sprints. I was running three times a day. After a few marathons, I qualified and ran in the Boston Marathon. One Thanksgiving weekend, I ran a 50-mile race. After the 50-miler, I had to be taken by ambulance to the hospital due to dehydration. That day, running controlled me, not the other way around. By the time I reached middle age, my knee gave out and I needed surgery to remove cartilage. It still hurt. I tried a sport...