July 4th finds me awake at 5:30am to navigate the logistics to get to my corral (wave D) for a gun time of 7:15. I plan to take a warmup run from my daughter's condo to the nearest subway station, then take the train to the start area in ample time to guzzle some water, hit the port-a-john, and jump into the crowd. Here we go.
I leave the condo at about six o clock; the first thing I notice when I step out the door is the heat and humidity. It is a solid 75° out, and the humidity is thick, even at this early hour. I walk along, loosing up on my way. Stepping out of the complex and taking a right on Ralph McGill Boulevard, I start my warm-up run. I am somewhat surprised that there is virtually no traffic, and aside from a man walking up the street the other way, there are no other pedestrians either. Passing the Civic Center and the Mayor's Park, I take a right onto West Peachtree Street and reach the Civic Center MARTA station.
Seeing other runners puts me slightly more at ease; in fact, no one other than runners seems to be waiting for the train. Most of the small talk seems to center around the fact that the last couple of railroad cars were chuck-full, and they still had five more stops before the start station. When the next train arrives, it is obvious they are right. A packed train, like the ones you see in documentaries about commuting in Tokyo, pulls in and opens its doors. I squeeze in, stand in the middle of an aisle, and hope for the best. Everyone is in their running outfits, a lot of patriotic shirts and shorts, tutus, and apparatus to hold water bottles.
The train ride lasts about twenty minutes, then we pull into the Lenox Station for the mass exodus.
Standing in the corral was a strange experience; here, I was with a whole lot of other folks who I clearly have something in common with, and yet I felt all alone. I am not really thinking about the race either, as strange as that might sound. I was not worried about my time since warnings were issued about the heat; it was sort of irrelevant. I was not concerned about finishing since I knew that I would have a slow pace I figured that the only thing that would stop me was an injury.
Anyway, my wave was called to the starting line, and all the injury thoughts vanished. There was a music pumping, a DJ enthusiastically asking if we were ready, a flyover, and at last, a starting gun.
The race itself is something of a blur. I was not really paying any attention to my pacing, but really just enjoying the atmosphere that I was in the middle. It turned out that hydration was not going to be a problem because there were multiple unofficial beverage stations along the route set up by the various restaurants, businesses, and churches along the way. Water, Gatorade, soda, popsicles, juice, beer, and yes, even one hard liquor stop dotted the course. American flags were in frequent display. There was a band playing different themed music at every mile mark. Atlanta United's cheerleaders were cheering us on at Mile four. I did have to take two walks up Cardiac Hill, a mile-long hill that starts a little after mile 3, but I was not the only one taking a breather. Once I got by Cardiac Hill, I heard someone yell, "it's all downhill from here." Metaphorically speaking, he was right on; however this Atlanta, and the hills never seem to end.
At about 5.5 miles and the one hour mark, I take a left onto 10th Avenue, heading for the finish line at Piedmont Park. It turns out that indeed, this was, for the most part, downhill. I start to speed it up, only to find that this street is considerably more narrow, making a clean sprint impossible. Again, no worries. My wife films me towards the finish line, then I turn and finally see it. A quick finish sees my time at 1:09, pretty slow, but you would never know it considering the incredible amount of congratulations I received from the numerous volunteers.
The Peachtree is one of the few races where you only get a t-shirt if you finish, thus making it highly coveted and collectible. The finishers head left into Piedmont Park to see four huge displays, each with the sizes of the shirts. I head to the XL line, pick up my shirt, and feel like I have just won the Stanley Cup.
My wife and I walk around the park for about an hour, taking a few pictures and just generally soaking in the atmosphere. We collect all kinds of swag and freebies, and even double back on the free Coca-Cola being passed out.
A long morning ends with a hot walk back to my daughter's condo. Checking the results, I am pleasantly surprised that my time put me the top third of total finishers. But no matter, today was all about the experience. Assuming I hit the lottery again, I can not wait until next year.
