A tough run

It was flat but it was long.  8 miles.  The farthest I've run for quite some time.  I meant to do 6 miles but accidentally extended it.

At first I was in the orchards in the dark.  Then I was on the roads accompanied only by the bin men for a while.

I finally left them behind when I turned on to a bridlepath and enjoyed the company of sheep and the Sheppey bridge beyond, my destination for later in the day.

The bridlepath took me around the edge of a marina where rigging whipped in the wind and a number of barges gave the impression they had been embedded in the mud for some time.

It started to rain shortly after and I pulled my coat back on.  I found myself on the map but rather than dreading the last 2 miles along a congested main road, I realised I could take the back road all the way to the driveway of my hotel.  It was bliss.  Pure, painful bliss.

I went to my site visit which was all very successful.  I bought lunch then drove the car onto a nature reserve where I sat and watched curlews and pewits going about their business of eating, next sitting and spiralling around in the sky.  I watched the traffic moving over the bridge so close to where I was sitting and yet so far away.