Peter McKay

The other week my wife went out for her morning run. She came back an hour and a half later limping up the front walk like a wounded puppy, a pained look on her face. Somewhere around mile two, she said, she'd experienced a sharp pain in her right calf muscle. Thinking she just had to "run through it," she did the dumbest thing you can do: she ran through it. It got worse.

I did the same thing a couple years ago, but I wasn't doing anything so noble as running. I'd been chasing our dog, who was intent on making a delivery to a neighbor's lawn. Determined to evade capture, he ran up a little hill. I got only halfway up before something in my leg popped, sending me into paroxysms of pain.

I had one of the kids run home and get a hockey stick for me to use as a crutch, while I sat on the neighbor's grass, watching our dog victoriously finishing his business. I hobbled around for the next two weeks, leaning on a cane I'd found by the front door — the kids called me "Gramps."

Because I'd been through it and knew it wasn't the end of the world, I (stupidly) told my wife she should keep off it and use a cane. This did not sit well with a woman who had been training for a half-marathon but was now rolling on the floor in agony.

And I wasn't much better later that week, when I reminded my wife that I'd promised my sister that we'd drive six hours to attend a family get-together. My wife, who I'm sure didn't relish the thought of 12 hours in a car, gamely and lamely agreed.

Our kids would stay behind for the day. Our 13-year-old daughter — taking pity on my wife and knowing it was going to be a cold weekend — offered to lend her mother her prize possession: her Uggs.

For those who don't have teenage girls, "Uggs" are extremely expensive suede boots lined with fur. I'm sure they're warm, but the real point, at least for these girls, is to make sure your friends know you own a pair. You can try to get away with wearing less expensive bargain brand substitutes, but girls will quickly discover you're wearing fake Uggs ( also known as "Fuggs").

We'd taken to referring to my daughter's dark-chocolate Uggs as "Chuggs."

That Saturday, my wife and I woke very early and made our way out to the car. I felt a little guilty as she tried to find a comfortable way to sit. I even offered that she could stretch out in the back seat if that would help.

The drive to Philadelphia also turned out to be a drive into a major snowstorm, and ended up taking a lot longer than I'd planned. As we drove along, inching along past an accident on the turnpike, my wife's cell phone rang. It was our daughter calling from home. I turned down the radio as my wife listened.

"No, honey," my wife said into her phone. "We're not going out that much. We're just going to lunch." She listened some more. I couldn't hear what my daughter was saying, but she seemed very concerned.

"Don't worry, sweetheart!" my wife repeated. "It's just a short walk from the car to the restaurant! It'll be fine!" Another big pause.

"Don't get upset!" my wife said. "There's a little bit of ice and snow, but nothing to be concerned about!" I heard a moaning sound from the phone, coming from a daughter who was clearly concerned. My wife listened for a while longer, making assuring noises, and then hung up.

I sat there in the driver's seat, mentally beating myself up. Maybe I hadn't been thoughtful enough, dragging my wife on a trip with her hurt leg. My own daughter seemed to care more than I did.

"That's the difference between males and females," I said, shaking my head. "She's worried about you that much?"

My wife looked up, confused.

"She wants you to be careful on your bum leg!" I said. My wife shook her head.

"She wasn't calling to check on me, she was calling to check on her CHUGGS!" she said, mouth agape. "She said she didn't know I was going to wear them in bad weather when she agreed to loan them to me. She demanded that I take them off!"

"Wow," I said, with just a little bit of pride and just a little bit of concern. "That's my daughter!"

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