The joy of an unexpected, stolen moment of a run

Around 5pm, as we made our way back to the holiday house, my brother uttered the magic words: 'Fancy a quick run?'

In borrowed kit, along the coast path I go.

I don’t know if it’s because it has been warm and sunny, but this has felt like an endless summer. I have no complaints about that - it has been wonderful to go swimming in the river in the evening, to head down to the beach (sandcastle competitions and all), to sit lazily by the harbour eating ice cream. This is what happens when you live in Devon (a popular holiday spot, for those who don’t know it) and it’s sunny (which is certainly not the case every summer). We’ve had a stream of friends and family visiting, and we haven’t had to go anywhere. It has been lush.

However, in terms of my running, all this hanging out and chillaxing has been less than ideal. I remember when I used to run regular road marathons, there was always a decision to be made as to whether to run a spring marathon or an autumn marathon. For me it always worked better to do a spring marathon, because that meant training through the winter, when I could get locked into a routine, when life was more structured. An autumn marathon meant training through the lackadaisical summer, when everyone was around suggesting picnics and trips to the seaside.

Of course, if I was determined, I could have continued training hard throughout the summer, simply by getting up early and running in the glorious dawn freshness, when the trails were empty. But I didn’t do that.

Instead, for the past few weeks I’ve spent the days ducking and weaving, looking for windows to get out for a run later in the day. More often than not, an opening never appears, and the day passes without any running.

“That’s OK,” I tell myself. “I’ve had a niggling achilles that could do with some down time. I have no big race coming up. Chill. Embrace the endless summer. Pass the lemonade.”

This past week, I had already missed my runs on Tuesday and Wednesday, and I looked set to miss my Thursday run too, having failed to get out early yet again. In the late morning, we headed off to meet my extended family, who were staying in a house by the beach in nearby Salcombe.

However, it just so happens that my youngest brother, Govinda, is also a keen runner. That afternoon, around 5pm, as we all made our way back to their holiday house, he uttered the magic words: “Fancy a quick run?”

I didn’t have any kit with me (schoolboy error), but I did have my running shoes, and he said he had some spare kit to hand. Within a few minutes we were giving our excuses to the rest of our families, tying up our laces, and zipping off up along the coast path.

I know most of the south Devon section of the 630-mile south-west coast path, but the route west from Salcombe is one of the few sections I haven’t run before. The sun was golden as we wound our way along past isolated coves of untouched, white sand, the sea a shimmering, paradise green. My achilles forgot it was supposed to be hurting as we surged up the hills and scampered across the clifftops.

I’ve written in the past about how competitive I was with my brothers growing up (and way into adulthood!), but now, at 51, I had finally matured enough to resist racing him on a run like this - although I couldn’t quite help showing him a clean pair of hills down one long, technical descent.

But apart from that momentary flutter of the old competitiveness, it was an easy-going, sing-song ride of a run, in which seven miles skipped by almost without effort, and before we knew it we were back at the holiday house without - hopefully - being missed too much.

There is something delightfully satisfying about a stolen, unexpected run like that. Unlike a routine run, as part of a training schedule, along a tired old route, which can often be undertaken with a certain amount of resistance, a sense, even, that you don’t really want to be going running, this was a spontaneous sunburst of a run. We cruised along without worrying about time or distance - it was all a bonus, without stress, full of the simple joy of moving, of being unexpectedly and suddenly out running along the cliffs on a warm, sun-blessed evening in Devon.

May the endless summer roll on.