A few minutes in, along the water, and I’m no longer just on the Côte d’Azur. The air – that mix of salt, sun, and something faintly urban – lands almost exactly like Venice Beach. Not identical, but close enough. Close enough that the body recognizes it before the brain does.

Palm trees spaced just right. Light bouncing off the water and the buildings across the coastal road in an all-too-familiar way. Temperature sitting in that perfect sweet spot. I just run.

Right now, Cannes is quieter, more composed. Less show. But the signals are there. And suddenly I’m running two coastlines at once – south of France and southern California, stitched together by pace, breath, and memory.