Yesterday's run, again out the Cromarty road, was one that I approached with trepidation. I was worried about the impact that a long run would have on tendons and muscles that already were feeling not quite right although, psychologically, I was looking forward to it. But I Sticked my legs before I left the house, gave myself plenty of time to warm up before starting the run, took some raisins to nibble if I got hungry, and agreed with myself that I would follow a planned run/walk pattern for at least the first seven miles. All sorted.
However, I have a bit more control over my body than I do over technology, and I have absolutely no control over how my mind understands anything to do with numbers. Although the stop watch started immediately, the GPS in my phone didn't pick up a signal until somewhere towards the end of the first mile, and then flitted in and out until I was well past Jemimaville and out along the water. I thought that I knew what I was doing; once it kicked in, I was going to run until the GPS said five miles, turn around, and run until it said 10 miles. I knew that this would end up about a mile and a half from home, giving me a longer cool-down.
What I didn't take into account in this grand plan, and what didn't finally hit me until last night, was that I already had been running for close to a mile before the GPS started up, meaning that I actually ended up running nearer to eleven miles. And, considering how difficult the running this week has been, I felt really good. A bit of stiffness here and there, but no pain, and I even ran the last five miles five minutes faster than I ran the first five miles.
Last night's post-run soreness in my achilles tendon and the pain in whatever muscle it is that sits at the top of and a bit behind my hip bone (which seizes up if I sit down for too long) have pretty much disappeared today. Today and Sunday are rest days, and next week is a planned reduced mileage week. I'm almost disappointed that the long run will only be seven miles.