Don’t you hate when you set a goal, and the competition just beats you? I don’t mean that they beat you by a mile, but just by inches. Such is the case of my last competitive 5K walk.

My wife likes to run 10K’s. My knees, representing the jelly family in the food pyramid, can walk forever but run 10 feet (provided those feet belong to someone very small).

So some years ago, when she said she was running a 10K in Lunada Bay (Spanish for “local surfers only”) and asked me to walk, I said, “of course not.” Right — I had to say “of course.”

I trained very hard for this run, eating Cheetos and drinking beer whenever possible, on the long walk from my living room to the kitchen.

Anyway, on the day of the race, we go up the hill to Palos Verdes, and it’s a glorious morning. The locals wanted to look like the rich folks that live in an overpriced neighborhood in a beautiful and exclusive area. Largely, they succeeded. What gets me is that there are about 500 or so beautiful people all dressed in exercise-oriented clothing for this walk — jogging shoes, sweats, headbands, knee braces and so forth. Of course, the folks that live in PV don’t actually walk; these people are either hired servants or CGI-generated images.

I wanted to look like a ‘rich local,’ but instead looked like an actuary in sandals (with tube socks), shorts, and a baggy t-shirt — the clothing of ex-champions everywhere. You can see how the race would be lopsided.

The 10K-ers took off. I hung out drinking coffee. The 5K-ers lined up. I hung out drinking coffee. The start gun went off. I hung out drinking coffee.

It probably helps if I explain something about myself. When I’m on a field trip, this is what tends to happen:

“Does everyone have a buddy?”

“Tim, you get him this time.”

“No, Tim, Jason was his buddy last time.”

“No, Tim, you do not have to call him a ‘buddy.’”

“What, Tim, he went where?”

“Hey! You get down from there RIGHT NOW.”

That is actually what my wife has to say to my ‘friends’ when we go out in public. As a child, I was actually quite shy and well behaved.

So off we go. I set a blistering pace because sandals really aren’t the appropriate footwear for this purpose. The truth is Palos Verdes is beautiful, so why hurry? Somewhere along the way, I went off-course to see my friends (they weren’t home), look at the view (it was stunning), and generally enjoy myself on a Saturday morning. I have no idea what the other ‘racers’ were thinking.

And this can be best explained at the last water stand of the race. I approached the stand, littered by empty, crushed water cups. There is a little girl, somewhere around eight I imagine, standing behind a table full of water cups waiting to be used. She looks lonely, probably because all the prior racers walked by briskly, took their cups from the table without even a hello, drank the contents, and threw it on the ground for her to clean up.

I thought to myself, this isn’t right. So I stopped and talked to the girl. She didn’t want to waste anything, so cup after cup I drank, until Lunada Bay was looking pretty tempting. I waddled the last “K” (which is French for — something less than a mile and more difficult to pronounce).

When I finally reached the park, I realized that I was about to attain my goal: one hour. I had something like two minutes to make this goal real and two women with walkers in front of me at the finish line. Don’t kid yourselves about these women — they were ferocious, they were dressed for sport, and they were slow.

But they were not slow enough. They passed the line in 59 minutes. I sat there looking forlornly at the finish line and the clock. Do you know how a clock seems to slow down as you stare at it? I can attest to this personally, as the race organizers (who probably had better things to do) coaxed me across the line.

Last in a well-walked race. But just short of the goal: 59 minutes and 45 seconds. I know I could’ve broken an hour. I just know it.