In the adventure that is parenting, I try very hard not to impose my choices on my 15-year-old. She is she, and I am me, and we don’t have to make the same decisions. But isn’t it frustrating to have the benefit of hindsight, with no way of gifting our kids the learnings?

With this as our landscape, my daughter and I are in a constant dialogue about exercise. Specifically running. More specifically, her lack thereof.

“I wouldn’t be who I am without running. I wouldn’t have thought of most of my ideas.” Credit: ISTOCK

I am an avid runner. She’s not so into it. She’ll do it, for sport. But as an activity in itself, no. And that’s fine, of course. It’s not for everybody and she’s her own person. If she wants to spend almost every minute horizontal with a screen, to the extent I fear her body will atrophy, that’s her business.

But what kills me is that I was exactly like her. I actually made a dinner-time declaration to my family that running hurts, I’m no good at it, and I intend to never lift my pace above a brisk walk.

But when I was 30, anxiety and general life malaise caught up with me. I remember reading a thing........

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