”Babe, you need to stand still,” I tell her as she wriggles with impatience. We’re standing in our hotel room in Delaware, getting ready to walk over to the start line of the half marathon along the beach.

”It’s hard to stand still when my boyfriend is about to stab me with fucking safety pins,” she growls, wriggling again and snatching them from my hand. ”I’ll do it myself.”

”Suit yourself,” I say, ...