I'm not sure there is a better way to capture the essence of the Fourth of July holiday than by running the Peachtree Road Race 10K. Honestly, Atlanta's grandeur and patriotism is at its best on this morning as it hosts the world's largest 10K salute to America as 60,000 crazies run and party their way down it's most famed street. And that's what it is....a party....a sweaty, stinking, sticky, slow, and hot party...no matter where you might find yourself in the starting corrals (well, unless you're an elite or are sub-seeded...I will never know!).
I can attest to this as last year, my first, I found myself in corral Y (newsflash: There is no Z!) along with four of my best running friends from Indiana who hadn't run qualifiers. Being a good friend, I snubbed corral N (which I only nabbed as a member of the ATC, not because I ran a qualifer) and started with them at the ungraciously and already hot hour of 8:30 AM! Now, I've run in A LOT of very large races, including the world's largest half and full-marathons, but I have never experienced anything like starting at the end of a race in which 60,000 people are sardined into just six short miles of roadway. Factor into that mess the fact that pretty much ALL of the people in front of me were walking by the time I started the race, and that leaves your with six miles of dodging and weaving and bobbing and frustration. Of course I went into the race aware that this would be the case, however the realization of it was something I could never actually embrace while in the midst of all the "excuse me's" and "on your left's" that I had to use along the way. Log jam! Road block! Running fail but friendship win. |
| The best running buds...ever! |
When we lived in the City, Peachtree Road was the main-drag for all of my Saturday long runs. I. Know. This. Road. This level of familiarity gave me a lot of confidence, yet as the race began, I quickly realized that my nagging, sore, right hamstring was going to have its say as far as my finishing time was concerned. By mile 2, I was already counting down the miles to the finish....and dreading the thought of the 3-miles or so of uphills that were looming. It was humid, too, and considering my pre-race fuel of a glass of wine and a cupcake the previous night, my body was not one bit happy about the situation.
As I approached mile 3 and the end of the blissful downhill to Peachtree Battle, I grabbed a frozen pop offered by a handsome 20-something in a red Speedo. At this point I was in no frame-of-mind to come up with a proper retort when he yelled after me, "The green ones make you horny!" I simply shook my head and headed up the first of the hills that awaited me.
The climb back up from the depths of Peachtree Battle took a toll on my hamstring, and, for a race that I was actually attempting to enjoy with no real hopes of a PR, I decided I was simply NOT going to hurt the entire way. As I approached Cardiac Hill and saw all of the amazing patients lining the street in front of the Shepard Center, I began to think about Kirsten Walker, a fellow athlete who was severely injured during the Iron Girl Atlanta back in May. She is recovering from a traumatic brain injury there, and when I saw each and every brave person, wheelchairs and all, cheering for all of the runners with whom they'd give anything to switch places, I simply migrated to the right, stopped running, and slapped hands with each of them as I, yes, WALKED up Cardiac Hill. But you know what, the four minutes it took me to get up that hill and the tears in my eyes and the inspiration those simple high-fives gave me were precisely what this girl and her sore hamstring needed. As I began to run again for those last few miles, I audibly uttered my thanks to God for allowing me to have a body which can, no matter its minor if not frequent aches and pains, carry me over miles and miles of trail and road and water when so many's cannot. My body may be imperfect, and I may not be fast, but I can run and bike and swim and, really, I should never take that for granted.
As I crossed into the shadows of the skyscrapers of Midtown, I was on autopilot, having navigated this stretch so many times I could do it with my eyes closed. I tried to take it all in, the raucous crowds, the festive runners, the man running in a full-length red-white-and-blue cape right beside me. However, when I saw 10th Street...the sign that marked the only turn on the course, I was elated to know that the end was just over a half-mile away. I willed my hamstring to shut-the-heck-up, tried to get a nice long whiff of the bacon wafting out of the open windows of The Flying Biscuit, and settled in for my final push to the finish. I even managed to get my Two Thumbs-Up for the camera as I crossed the finish in 57:44. Not great. Certainly no PR, but on this day, a time I'll shut my pie-hole and be proud of nonetheless!
As I sat in Piedmont Park (after nabbing my free cheesy grits from Waffle House at the Track Club tent of course!) anxiously waiting for the arrival of the GERMinator who started a few corrals behind me, I simply enjoyed the throng of people rolling across the finish line, basked in so many happy faces, relished the music, and was simply elated to be an able-bodied American who now could...for the rest of the day....sit on her rump (after fighting sweaty, icky, smelly bastions of people on MARTA to get home...of course). This marks my second year as an Atlanta-living lady, and it also marks my second Peacthree. The GERMinator and I plan to make this a yearly event, and I can't wait to see what next year's race brings because it's sure to be another story worth telling!
Look at all these people.....it's like playing WHERE'S WALDO? (see video...it'll make sense!)
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| She did it all...for an ugly shirt :) |
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| The GERMinator and I post-race! |
See you on the run!
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