To celebrate our country’s birthday last week, I joined 60,000 runners and 150,000 spectators for the 43^rd running of the AJC Peachtree Road Race. For those of you who aren’t familiar with this Atlanta institution, it is a world-class 10K event hosted by the Atlanta Track Club that attracts runners and walkers from across the globe. It is truly a must-do race.

I actually grew up with this race being a huge part of my life. Every year my family would take a road trip from Florida to Atlanta to spend the Fourth of July with our good friends who live in the city. It was one of the highlights of every trip. I was a spectator for years until I turned 13 and was eligible to run. There were no timing chips and I didn’t track race times like a neurotic maniac back then, so I have no idea how many Peachtrees I ran or how fast I ran them, but they were a tradition nonetheless.

We stopped running the race about a decade ago when our Fourth of July trip turned into a gathering at a lake about an hour and a half from Atlanta.

But this year was different. It was special.

I felt compelled to enter the race lottery because of my mom. She started running last year. At first, she couldn’t run more than 60 seconds without stopping to catch her breath. That is, until she ran her first half marathon in February. She trained for months and set her sights on a goal to run the entire race without stopping. And that’s exactly what she did. I was there to cross the finish line with her. It was a special moment.

To honor her transformation as a runner, what better way to celebrate her extraordinary new accomplishments than returning to the Peachtree and running together?

The day before the race we hit the expo, which was great.

That night, we went to a pre-race Braves game.

The good news is that the Braves won and there was a fantastic fireworks show. The bad news was that the game was incredibly long and we didn’t get to bed until 12:30 a.m. Our wake-up call was at 4:45 a.m.

Strike one already.

Good thing I laid out my race gear the night before so I would be ready to rock.

We managed to wake up after 4 hours of sleep. Barely. We had some coffee and our pre-race meal and headed to the race.

When the best part of a race is your outfit, you know how the race report is going to go. (We’ll get there shortly.) I loved my festive get-up. It was the first time I’d ever worn what I consider to be a quasi-costume. And let me tell you, people are automatically friendlier to runners in festive attire. Who knew? It made for lots of fun conversation and really helped get me in a positive frame of mind before the race.

It also helps when you’ve gone to the porta potty twice – yep that kind of “gone to the porta potty” – and can rest assured that your pre-race meal won’t cause any stomach problems. (Did you get the unladylike memo?)

It also helps when you bump into running friends in your corral.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My corral started at 7:30 a.m. The weekend before the race was Atlanta’s hottest in history, with 4 consecutive days over 100 degrees. The dip to 82 degrees for the race start was like a cold front. Except it wasn’t. I didn’t really know what to expect out of myself, as I’m currently training for longer distance races and have just recently started incorporating speed work back into my schedule. So the pace I wanted to run and the paces I’ve been training at were in a bit of a conflict.

I crossed the start line.

Thoughts in my head during miles 1-3:

• My breathing feels a little heavy.
• *Glance at Garmin* Wow, I’m running faster than I feel.
• I love the flat road and slight downhill sections.
• Wow, I’m getting progressively faster. Maybe I will have a PR today.

Mile 1: 7:53, Mile 2: 7:44, Mile 3: 7:40

Mile 4

This was the best and worst mile. It was pretty much an entire incline, known as cardiac hill. I had told my mom before the race that the hills weren’t bad at all. Clearly, I lied. I was struggling. My pace was slowing and I was having a hard time keeping my legs going. I was thinking in my head that I couldn’t believe I was feeling like I wanted to walk.

And then I ran past the Shepherd Center.

The Shepherd Center is a private, nonprofit hospital in Atlanta that specializes in medical treatment, research and rehabilitation for people with spinal cord injury and brain injury. I actually know someone who was treated there after becoming paralyzed from the waist down. Patients from the center were lining the street for about 150 yards. They were cheering and encouraging all of us runners. It almost brings tears to my eyes to recall the moment. Here I was, bitching to myself in my head about how tough the hill was, how hot I felt and how much I already wished I could stop and walk. And then I run past these incredible individuals who can’t run. Can’t walk. I told myself that I could never stop, no matter what because we all had to run for them. To honor the personal struggles they’ve overcome. They would give anything to be in our shoes. To have the simple pleasure of being able to take a few steps. That was motivation to keep me going.

Mile 4: 8:06

Miles 5-6.2

No matter how hard I wanted to find some extra mojo and gas in the tank after passing the Shepherd Center spectators, I just kept getting slower. Thoughts in my head:

• Who decided the last part of the race should be hilly?
• Am I almost there?
• How do I run marathons?
• How do the moms who jog with strollers push them in this heat?
• How in the hell is that guy running in that costume?
• Why do these 6 miles feel like 16?
• So much for a negative split. There is definitely no PR happening for this gal.

My fifth mile was an 8:45, a whole minute slower than my starting pace. My Garmin went crazy after that so I don’t have my final splits, but I finished with a time of 51:17, an average of 8:12 per mile.

The best part of the race actually had nothing to do with my race. It was going back to around mile 5.4 to find my mom after I’d finished and run the last part again with her.

It reminded me what’s really important about running any race: That we’re out there in the first place. That I can run. That running with people we care about is awesome. That we learn something from every race experience that will make us better runners for the next race. That celebrating runners of all kinds brings joy. And that it’s ok if your 10K race turns into a botched tempo run.

Good day or bad, it was still a run. And most importantly, I had fun.

Have you ever run a race on the Fourth of July? Have you ever worn a costume or festive attire? How do you handle a disappointing race?