It was still dark when we left the marina. Not the romantic dark of a clear night — the particular dark of a January morning on the Costa del Sol, the kind where the streetlights are still on and the boats are still sleeping and the only sign of life is the Spanish flag on a stern, barely moving. The run started at 7:45. The sun had other plans.
Benalmádena marina before sunrise. The water perfectly still. A Spanish flag at the stern of something expensive.
The Paseo Marítimo at this hour is a different road entirely. During the day it belongs to tourists and cyclists and the gentle friction of a resort doing its thing. At quarter to eight in January, it belongs to nobody. The orange strip of sunrise along the horizon, the palm trees in silhouette, the Mediterranean doing what it always does regardless of whether anyone is watching — it was one of those openings that makes you feel like you’ve earned something just by being there.
The Paseo Marítimo at first light. The whole sky orange. The town still asleep.
Up and away
The plan, roughly, was to follow the coast road as far as Torremolinos and loop back inland. What that meant in practice was that at some point the flat running had to end and the hills had to begin, and they began without any particular warning. Gravel tracks through scrubby terrain. Chain-link fencing. The kind of path that Strava knows about and nobody else does. It felt, briefly, like the run had gone off-piste.
It had. That was fine.
The inland track somewhere between Arroyo de la Miel and the ridge. Gravel, scrub, full trust in GPS.
There were pine forests up there that nobody seems to know about — or if they do, they’re keeping quiet about it. The light was coming through the trunks at a low angle, the ground a carpet of rust-coloured needles, the whole thing perfectly quiet. Then a sign for a crocodile park. Then a Moorish-looking building that appeared to have been dropped into the hillside by someone with strong architectural opinions. The Costa del Sol has a way of doing this — of mixing the genuinely beautiful with the magnificently baffling, and leaving you to sort out which is which.
Pine forest above Arroyo de la Miel. The light doing something the photos almost caught.
Parque de Cocodrilos junction. Pine trees, a Moorish building, and an unexpected sign pointing towards crocodiles. Only on the Costa del Sol.
Bienvenidos
The stairs into Torremolinos were not optional. The Strava route had decided, and the Strava route was correct — the quickest way up from the Paseo to the ridge was a long, narrow staircase squeezed between two white walls, the kind that goes on for longer than you’d like when you’re already ten kilometres into a run. At the top there was a tiled welcome sign and a view across the rooftops to the sea. Worth every step.
The stairs up from the Paseo into Torremolinos. Longer than they look.
Torremolinos Bienvenidos. Tiles, a coat of arms, and the sense of having genuinely arrived somewhere.
From the high ground you could see the whole arc of the coast — the antenna farms on the ridge, the terracotta rooftops below, and the Mediterranean out beyond everything, catching the early light. The sunrise had moved through four different colours by now. The rooftop shot came from up here: a street called Calle Sierra de Estepa, the sun touching the horizon, two TV aerials framing the whole thing. Stopped running for this one.
Torremolinos rooftops, Calle Sierra de Estepa. The sea, the antennas, the sun just there.
The park
Parque de la Paloma appeared on the return leg, just when the legs were starting to have opinions about distance. A proper municipal park — lake, ducks, boardwalk, eucalyptus, mountains visible behind everything. Two other people there at that hour: one walking, one doing something vaguely yogic near the water. The lake was perfect in the early light. We came back the next day with Sarah to walk it properly.
Parque de la Paloma. The lake, the boardwalk, the Sierra de Mijas behind. You’d run here every morning if you could.
The same lake, later in the morning. The ducks unimpressed by any of it.
Back to the water
The return along the coast brought the marina back into view, but from the other side — and the light had shifted completely. The marina that had been silver and dark at 7:45 was now all blue sky and long shadows and the ferris wheel on the seafront catching the morning sun. The Benalmádena mural on the seafront wall was lit up properly now too. Illustrated landmarks, illustrated coastline, the town spelling its own name in paint.
There was a personal record on the Paseo Marítimo reverse segment. Didn’t notice at the time.
Benalmádena marina at dawn. Ferris wheel framed between masts. This one stopped us.
The Benalmádena seafront mural. The town, illustrated.
The bullring on the way back was the last unexpected thing. An enormous yellow circle at the foot of a burnt-orange mountain, empty car park, no one around, the whole structure glowing in the kind of light that only exists for twenty minutes in January. Didn’t plan to run past it. Glad we did.
Ten miles. A personal record. January in Spain.
We could get used to this.
Plaza de Toros, Benalmádena. Empty car park, golden mountain, 9am light.