The tube that last two, three or four hours

Sea: often flat. Trail up side of the hill: always there

As far as 'one-with-nature' experiences go, there is very little that beats riding a tube on a surfboard. You're sucked into a vortex which is spiralling chaotically but is at the same time a very peaceful place to be.

And if everything goes right, after the period where you are poised in the middle of the vortex, where time stands still – which is in reality a matter of a few seconds in all but the best spots – then you emerge a changed person.

But tube-riding is a rarity for most surfers, which in turn makes it even more elusive for those who are not lucky enough to experience riding waves.

It's a good thing that surfing can fun even when there are no tubes - when the wind is onshore, the rain is pelting down and the waves are barely waist-high, a session can still be rewarding. Like the old cliché goes, a bad day on the waves is better than a good day in the office.

Sometimes, the riding of a wave can be the icing on the cake, after fighting mountains of whitewater and chop. I remember even if there were no tubes and I dug a rail on every wave - the ones that didn't close out - there was often a sense of satisfaction when walking back up the beach towards home.

Battling through the shorebreak taking one paddle forwards then five paddles back, only to sit outside waiting for a wave that never comes, staring at the horizon for a lump – these are all aspects of wave-riding that surfers love. Or at least reminisce fondly about, especially when they are living hundreds of miles from a decent beach.

Having growing up three minutes walk from the beach, I now live a long way from the sea. But I am happy to say I can still get that same satisfaction I used to get from being pounded by whitewater or managing a decent carve on a wave. I get it by running on trails for a couple of hours or more. Not training – that comes under the category of tiresome preparation – but just running.

And by definition, the sense of well-being is easier to get from running than it is from surfing. Heck, all you need to do is put on a pair of shoes and head to somewhere there aren't any people. Unless you are incredibly lucky or rich, it is next-to impossible to duck out down to the beach and score perfect uncrowded waves on a daily basis.

I have never met anybody who equates running with surfing – after all, when I was a kid, surfers were work-shy bongheads, while runners (or joggers, as they were then) were career people who huffed and puffed in their garish shoes and sport-specific tank-tops training for various races.

But just as I never entered a surfing competition, I don't have much desire to enter many races. I have done a few – I first got into running because I signed up for the London Marathon – but the idea of joining thousands of people in the hunt for a personal best is the furthest thing from my mind when I head out for a run.

I just like getting out on my own, in my own head. The deserted trails and hills are my tubes. And if I want, I can ride them every day.

Listen up: Why I Run

Here's a picture of what I see most of the time when I run - a trail. It doesn't matter where it is, or how you get to it, but what is important is that there isn't much there, except trees, a few birds and the occasional deer.

I presume that fishermen who speak either English or Polish also travel along this trail towards the pond out of shot to the right, judging by the signs telling them to eff off, but I have never seen any, day or night.

It is this lack of civilization that makes this trail so good. Because it gives me a chance to talk to myself. And answer myself, with very few interruptions.

There are a lot of cod psychoanalytical answers to why we run (it is my thinking time, it clears my mind, it defrags my brain...) but the best one I have heard yet was from Anton Krupicka, the semi-naked Colorado-based ultrarunner.

In his blog for Running Times, he hit the nail on the head (for me) and transcended the run-of-the-mill navel-gazing that runners can drift into when he said he listens to himself when he runs. Or, as he puts it lets "anything and everything and nothing bop in and out of my mind without intent". The full post is here.

Krupicka, to those who have never read his well-written blogs, has built himself a reputation as a nomadic, philosophising mountain man who happens to run long distances and, on the odd occasion, drink beer.

What's not to like?

But apart from my admiration for a drinker-runner who likes the outdoors (and who hawks a decent line in shoes), the listening bit struck a chord with me. Because there is hardly a run goes by that an idea, revelation or random thought pops into my head - and more often than not, I am able to debate it, mould it and turn it into something I can use in another part of my life. Of course there is a lot of mindless chatter, but in the slurry of brain-dumping, there is always a nugget of something useful.

And in listening to my own intra-brain babble (it gets less babbly the longer I run) I have learned to be patient with others' scattergun ideas, when in normal social (or social media) circles.

In the sort of world where people demand a platform and a captive audience - let alone one that agrees with them - in the space of a few seconds, it helps to be able to recognise and listen to the important bits.

And, getting back to that picture of the trail, if you are able to filter out the static (either literally, by surrounding yourself with a serene scene as above or psychologically, by screening out the crap) then life is a lot more calm. No matter where you go.