"Are you going to get up, then?"

I snuggled up to him and flopped my arm over his chest, in a probably-not-so-subtle attempt to influence his decision.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Are you?"

"I suppose so... "

I may also have muttered: "Damn!"

I had hoped he would decide against getting up at six, thus giving both of us "permission" to snooze until at least seven. But, as usual, I hadn't considered, when agreeing on the six o'clock idea, the fact that Big is incapable of snoozing. My complete opposite. Many a Sunday morning I have hoped for hours of happy snuggling together, eating crumpets and reading newspapers (even though neither of us read newspapers), only to be denied by his restlessness once awake. "Sorry, love. I'm going to have to get up." He just can't do lie-ins. Or lies-in. Whichever...

To be fair, he only came up with the six o'clock idea for my benefit. I had claimed, last night, that I was going to go for an early morning run and he knew that if *he* got up, there would be a good chance of my doing the same. He has witnessed my alleged morning runs on too many occasions. They usually involve the alarm going off, some whimpering, a quick fiddle with the alarm clock and a long snooze, kit unsullied and running shoes left neglected on the bedroom floor until next time. He knows, though, that if I do manage to go for that run, I will feel better about myself and the world, and this is something that he tries to nurture at every available opportunity.

I sulkily dragged myself out of bed and started pulling on my kit, while Big smiled and shook his head at my morning glumness before going downstairs for a coffee.

The roads were eerily empty, as they always are at that time of the morning. The only people I came across were a couple of dog-walkers, a few cyclists, one other runner and dribs and drabs of motorists making that gentle, swishing sound on the damp tarmac as they passed me. The birds were just starting to chatter in the surprisingly mild, misty gloom. But most of all, there was peace. Just me, my steady plodding and the autumn air.

He was right to insist. I cannot think of an occasion where going for a run before work has not made me feel better in some way. Of course, not when I first set out, when the breathing's not right and the legs are complaining. And, if I'm being honest, not really en route either. But once I've finished, stretched, got my breath back and sat down with my bowl of muesli and my cup of tea, I always know that it was the right thing to do. I would do it more often, if only that transition from horizontal to vertical wasn't so bloody hard.

As I settled down at the laptop with a cuppa for my morning dose of blogdom, Big left for work, but not before turning to me and smiling:

"Don't forget to go to work, love..."