4'38"

I was in serious doubt because an awful pain in my left ankle, but finally, I ran the race from Candás to Luanco as expected. I don't enjoy too much running among lots of people (362 runners this time), and one of the reasons is that it's much more difficult to concentrate on oneself's race and possibilities; you get easily distracted by wrong references. You can end up exhausted after a couple of minutes without even noticing it.

So I decided that I would take a constant pace, no matter how many hateful runners overtake me, no matter whether the road went upwards or downwards. And so I did.

Finally, I made 31'20" for 6750 m, and that represents about 4'38" per km. Not too bad for me under those conditions. Actually, almost a minute per km faster than expected. (My expectations were rather low, of course).

My friend made 25'50", or some tenths below 3'50". He's my friend, but I hate him. Another friend of mine, quite a speedy girl, beat me and was third in her category. I also hate her. After the race we had lunch together, and I put poison in their food. They'll start to notice by this evening. I'll finish them off by kicking their stomach, and then, of course, I'll jump over their corpses.

The winner made -according to the newspaper- 20'57". That gives about 3'6" per km. That cannot be true, so I simply don't believe it. Period. He just does not exist.

"Do you usually have violence-related thoughts or mentally try to escape from reality?", my psychiatrist asked me. "Of course, sir. I play jogging".