For someone who runs most of the winter in New York City, the chance to run along warm wooded paths enveloped in green in the middle of January is a treasure in itself. But this run had more than that to offer: I left from the door of my brother’s toy store in Cole Valley, wound through the stands of redwoods and verdant gardens that make up Golden Gate Park, and turned around at the edge of the Pacific Ocean before making my way back to my brother’s apartment in the Richmond. It was one of the many times I wonder why we don’t all live in California.