All runners have their favorite race. That one they register for the day registration opens. The one they cannot wait to run again the moment they cross the finish line. For me, that race is the Peachtree Road Race.
Every July 4th, more than 45,000 runners gather in Buckhead ready to take on the heat, humidity, and hills of Peachtree Street on their way to Piedmont Park. It somehow packs all the excitement and energy of a marathon major into just 6.2 miles. I've been fortunate enough to run races all over the Southeast, but there is something about Peachtree that keeps bringing me back. Maybe it's the tradition. Maybe it's the crowds. Maybe it's because every year it feels like a celebration of running rather than simply another race.
Five weeks ago, I wasn't even sure I would make it to the starting line. Pneumonia had a tighter grip on me than I expected, and recovery proved much more difficult than I imagined. By race week, I knew I wasn't going to be as fast as I wanted to be, and I knew I couldn't push the way I normally would. Oddly enough, that turned out to be a good thing. Instead of focusing on splits and finishing time, I found myself appreciating everything that makes Peachtree my favorite race in the first place.
The race begins at 6:45 a.m., so the day starts well before sunrise. The anticipation starts even earlier as MARTA trains fill with runners making their way toward Lenox Square. Everyone is carrying the same nervous excitement, even if their goals for the morning are completely different. Some are chasing a PR, some are hoping to finish their first 10K, and others are simply there to be part of one of running's great traditions.
My trip to the start went about as smoothly as I could have hoped. Needing eight miles for the day, I knocked out a two-mile warm-up through the parking decks while it was still dark before making my way toward the corrals. Along the way, I ran into my friend Tony Gatter. We caught up for a few minutes before he headed toward the front corral while I settled into mine.
Standing shoulder to shoulder with thousands of runners is one of my favorite moments of the morning. Most were decked out in red, white, and blue, while others leaned fully into the holiday with hot dog costumes and Statue of Liberty outfits. Normally this is the point where my mind starts drifting toward pace goals and race strategy. This year, I spent more time looking around. Soaking it all in.
Peachtree is known for its hills, but the opening miles have a way of fooling you. The downhill makes the effort feel easier than it actually is, and runners who get carried away early usually pay for it later. I settled into my rhythm fairly quickly, although I watched plenty of runners move past me. For a moment I questioned whether I should go with them, but I quickly reminded myself where I was. This wasn't the version of me from May. This was the version that was still recovering from pneumonia, and that was okay.
The energy along the course hits you almost immediately. Bands line the streets, spectators pack the sidewalks, and every official water station seems to have an unofficial one sitting right beside it. Bananas, watermelon, donuts, beer, Jello shots. If you could think of it, someone was probably handing it out. Looking back, my biggest regret from the entire morning might be passing up the donuts.
The hills are one of the reasons I love the Peachtree Road Race. I don't really know why I enjoy the punishment, but I do. The course features three distinct climbs: Fake Cardiac Hill, Cardiac Hill, and Midtown Hill. Every runner tackles them a little differently. Some lower their head and attack, while others shorten their stride or choose to walk, knowing they'll make up the time later.
This year, I fell into that second group. Knowing my fitness wasn't where I wanted it to be, I walked portions of the climbs so I could enjoy the race instead of simply surviving it. More importantly, I wanted to make sure I had something left when I reached Katie and the boys. After they made the trip to Atlanta with me, there was no way I wanted to walk past them.
Cardiac Hill has earned its reputation over the years, but the climb itself isn't what makes it memorable. Along the hill sits the Shepherd Center, where patients line the course cheering on complete strangers making their way uphill. Whether you're running every step or walking part of it, it's hard not to draw a little extra motivation from them. Every year it serves as a reminder that running is a privilege and not something to take for granted.
After surviving the hills, the final mile and a quarter trends downhill toward Piedmont Park. By that point, I was running on fumes, and I'm fairly certain I emptied whatever was left in the tank trying to look strong as I ran past Katie and the boys. Fortunately, the crowds did the rest. The closer you get to the finish, the louder everything becomes. More bands. More DJs. More spectators. By the time you make the turn onto 10th Street, it feels more like you're entering a stadium than finishing a road race.
I crossed the finish line in just under 53 minutes. It wasn't my fastest Peachtree and under different circumstances I probably would have been disappointed. Instead, I found myself smiling. One of my favorite traditions is waiting to see that year's finisher shirt, since the design is kept secret until you cross the line. Four years in, those shirts have become more meaningful to me than most medals I have earned.
When I think back on this year's Peachtree, I don't think my finishing time will be what I remember. I'll remember standing in the corral after wondering for weeks if I'd even make it there. I'll remember choosing to slow down instead of forcing a pace my body wasn't ready for. I'll remember seeing Katie and the boys near the finish, hearing the crowd on 10th Street, and crossing the line healthy enough to earn another Peachtree shirt.
Recovery from pneumonia took longer than I expected. It tested my patience, chipped away at my confidence, and forced me to adjust my expectations for one of my favorite races. In the end, though, it also reminded me why the Peachtree Road Race means so much to me. It has never really been about chasing a personal best. It's about everything that surrounds those 6.2 miles. The tradition, the people, the atmosphere, and the reminder each Fourth of July that there are few better places to celebrate running.