Is my final time for the 10 kilometer run in Utrecht today. Since my goal was 55 minutes, I was 42 seconds too slow. Which doesn't mean I'm entirely unhappy, since I ran today in spite of my doctor advising me not to due to a rather persistent knee injury. (Screw him.) Also, because I've been ill most of February, I wasn't able to put in the amount of training time I would have liked.
My running partner (Martijn) beat me by 53 seconds (his final time was 54" 49'). Congrats! Oh, and never mind that he (a) was too much of a coward to set himself a challenging goal, telling me for months he would be happy to finish within 65 (!) minutes, (b) is too much of a coward to do the 16,1 km run in Amsterdam in September.
Understandably, since he would lose. Martijn only weighs about 60 kgs and is rather thin. I am still hauling around 18 kgs of excess lard, which will be gone for the most part by then. (My weight has dropped from 101,2 kgs earlier this year to about 95-96 kgs, a decrease which would have been larger if not for the disease-ridden month of February. My GP kinda objected against the idea of slimming whilst I was on the verge of contracting pneumonia.) When I run now, it feels like 'rucking', the military practice of carrying a 20 kg backpack whilst walking to places that you could drive to.
Well, Martijn generally votes Labour or Green Party, so I should probably adjust my expectations accordingly.