I live on a headland between the mouths of two rivers, so each time I go out for a run I decide between the Cuckmere and the Ouse. Lately I seem to find myself going more to the former. For a nine miler, I chose to run out and up to High and Over, then down a long, beautifully grassy slope to the river itself, upstream to the Littlington bridge and back on the east bank to return home over Seaford Head. It was a glorious day and, though I find them a hindrance, I was grateful for my water bottle. I met a few ramblers, two herons and many sheep and their lambs. In the event, I covered nine and a half miles.

As I ran, I tried to understand whether running, and my approach to it, is either classical or romantic. I came to no clear conclusion.