Mist and pheasants

On Saturday morning I ran for seven miles out across the fields, nearly as far as Halsingfield. Though I left Cambridge in bright sunshine, within half a mile I was in thick mist, disorientating and creating strange acoustic effects, so that a man calling his dog on the edge of a field far away sounded as if he was by my side. I remember little of my school geography lessons under Malcolm "Max" McFarlane, in which we were taught that Cambridge sits on a variety of soils. There's chalk, I think, gravel and clay, and possibly more. This run took me over wet clay, excellent exercise for the leg muscles.
Pheasants fed in the fields, safe in the knowledge that they cannot be shot until next weekend.
Time: 1:07:27
Distance: 7.09
Pace: 9.31 (best 7.12)
Average heart rate: 181 (some mistake possibly)
Since Saturday, training has been disrupted by the death of my mother. I shall be running when I can.

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