Today's long run was 9 miles. I felt a bit nervous about it, not only because it sounds like such a long distance, but because I had decided to run on the road to Cromarty. I don't really believe that the road is cursed but when nothing happened as I passed the tree where, five years ago, I felt the pop as the fibres of my calf muscle tore , I breathed a sigh of relief.
I had a great run. Although the temperature was -1, the sky was blue and there was no wind. Seeing the views across the Cromarty Firth to snow-covered Ben Wyvis and the surrounding hills, the buzzard that flew above me for a while, the swans and ducks and herons on the water, and the sheep and horses in the fields reaffirmed yet again my belief that I am so lucky to live here.
I did a run-walk combination for the first three miles, by which time I felt quite warmed up and energetic, and then pretty much ran the rest of the way home (aside from a few walking breaks when I had to walk on the verge to let cars pass). I felt a bit tired at 8 miles, but some of this was psychological as I was thinking ahead to the uphill bits waiting for me at 9 miles. But even those weren't as hard as I had anticipated they might be.
In fact, the only jarring note during the whole run was the clash between the red of my bottle belt and the fuschia of my jacket. Not nice. Even the sheep looked appalled.
Fashion errors aside, though, it was a good day and I was left feeling a bit more confident that maybe, just maybe, I can do this.