At dawn, I begin my daily run. Three miles down the beach, arriving at the cafe just as Bob, the proprietor, is opening up. He'll be expecting me, and always has my morning latte and croissant ready.

I pick this time because it's quiet. Another two hours and the beach will be full of noisy, annoying holidaymakers, and who wants that? So I'm not expecting anyone on the beach. My head is down, watching the sand, making sure I don't stray into the gentle waves and ruin my sneakers--again.That's why I run into you. Yes, I know it's an empty beach and you're standing there plain as day, but I'm just not looking up. I bounce off your chest and land on my butt in damp sand, blinking up at you.Well, that was embarrassing, I say.