Woody’s 10K: Did he meet that goal he set?

Ido my best thinking when I'm running.

Let me rephrase that. What little thinking I do, I seem to do when I'm running.

Here's what I was thinking yesterday while running the Ukrop's Monument Avenue 10K -- "What were you thinking?"

I entered this race with a simple goal -- run my age, 55. Failing that, my idea was to run at least as fast as the age at which I will first be eligible for social security.

Both goals seemed illusory and elusive around mile two, when the humidity was stifling and the turnaround point was nowhere in sight.

Did I meet either goal? Let's read on and see. I'm as anxious as you to see how this ends.

The first thing I noticed when I reached my starting corral, "MA", was that many of the runners skewed young.

I thought "MA" stood for mature athlete. I thought in that kind of crowd I would stand out as one of the more youthful figures. I didn't like the way this was shaping up.

I also have a complaint for the Richmond Sports Backers, who organize this race.

Normally in big races, when your group finally gets to the starting line, you still can't run. There are too many people and no open spaces. You end up walking the first quarter mile.

You can tell friends, "I would have been faster, but at the start, there was no room to really get going."

Yesterday, as soon as our computerized shoe tags crossed the starting line, there was ample room to run.

When the start goes this smoothly, what am I supposed to use as an excuse for my performance?

My time is a result of my training and how much I'm willing to push myself during the race. It's all on me.

That's not fair.

People will tell you this is a great race. And I'm here to tell you, it's a pretty darn sweet time, even if it involves running 6.2 miles.

The folks cheering for the runners are great. The people handing out water just want to help and see you do well. The bands on the course are great to keep strumming away.

And those who line the course, cowbells in hand, are great. Whenever I heard a cowbell yesterday, I thought of the Saturday Night Live skit where Christopher Walken says to Will Ferrell, "I gotta have more cowbell, baby."

When you're laboring through mile five, you just can't have enough cowbell.

As you near the finish line, something very nice happens. The race announcer asks for a big cheer for the runners. And the spectators provide it.

I've been at a lot of finish lines as a spectator and listened to announcers say that over and over. You want to tell the annoyingly upbeat guy to put a sock in it.

But when you're a runner pushing through those last 50 yards and the guy says, "Let's give these runners a big cheer," and everyone does, your spirits lift, your pace quickens and you think, "Why did I ever think that guy was annoying?"

My time? Do we really need to go into that? Oh yeah, that's sort of the point of this, isn't it.

58:24.

Next year, I plan to do better. But I have two requests.

First, to the Sport Backers -- See if you can't jam things up at the starting line. I really need an excuse for running slower than my predicted time.

And second -- I gotta have more cowbell, baby.