I run to think, but also to escape. I started running as a teenager in Suffolk, along the beach and through the fields. I now live in north Lancashire, where they have hills. Quite big hills. I like running up them, and also back down again. If, for whatever reason, I can't run (you know, illness, and work, and other stuff that gets in the way), I'm a nightmare. A real nightmare: irritable, grumpy, monosyllabic. Where as when I'm able to run I'm just monosyllabic. Which is obviously much better.
Whenever possible, I run with my dog, Molly, because it just feels right. But Molly is now getting on, and isn't quite as keen as she used to be on the uphills. So she tends to do a deliberate 'go slow' in order to convince passing walkers that I'm an evil dog-owner who should be immediately shopped to the RSPCA for animal cruelty. Once on the top of the hill, she then bounds down like a pup.
For more on my love of running, see my recent piece in Outdoor Fitness and Adventure magazine (September 2017).