t’s Sunday afternoon. I just lay down my sleeping daughter on the couch, after singing Frozen’s North Wind 10 times to lull to her sleep. I’m sandwiched between my child and my snoring husband. The dishwasher is running noisily in the kitchen. From my window, I can see a faint orange glow from the setting sun. The Christmas tree emits a delicious smell. It’s freezing cold but I’m wrapped in woolen socks, two layers of clothes and a thick blanket. In about an hour I’m going out for my second run this weekend before cooking dinner.