(diaryland) September 01, 2008 - 1:29 p.m.

An insane guy yelled something like, "FUCK YOU (something)!!!!!!!!" really loudly and aggressively at me this morning, just as I was crossing the road in the middle of the city. I said, "Woah, you scared me." At least it was an interesting event. The rest of the day has sort of been downhill from that point on.

My legs are killing me. I did a gruelling walk on Saturday, I did another gruelling walk on Sunday morning, and in the afternoon, Diane and I found an athletics track with which to do our 100 metres sprint time trial. This was inspired by the Olympics.

I probably wasn't at my physical peak by that time because most of the weekend was spent hiking so hard I thought I was going to vomit, but I was pretty sure I could run 100 metres faster than 23.66 seconds. OK, I was hysterical with laughing to the point of pissing my pants the whole time, but, still. I was under the impression I would be able to get under 15 seconds with very little trouble.

Diane is a little pocket rocket. She did her sprint in 24.54 seconds, and she was like an actual sprint champion (under 9s) for the first 70 metres until the fact that she was unfit began to come into play and she had to pretty much jog the rest of the way.

The fact is, we're pretty slow. I told my piano teacher and her partner that night, and her partner said that his Dad was a 100 metres sprint champion in Britain, international level. I said, aha, that's my problem. My Dad was a WALKING champion. In NEW ZEALAND.

I have calculated that we were both running at about 15 km per hour, or at 8.2157 knots.