The Grande Olde Dame

This will be my 31st Peachtree. I think. I’m starting to lose count. I’ve volunteered in two more. Every Peachtree is different. Some years go well, other’s not so much. But I have a lifetime of memories – below, in random order.

…The first is special.

…Some (most) years are hot.

…Every now and then it rains.

…One year the park was muddy.

…One year I was sick and weak.

…The year I was coming off surgery.

…The year I had blood clots, and the doctor made me walk.

…The times I earned a spot near the front, in time group one.

…The year I was late.

…The year we saw the wheelchair finish, before taking MARTA back to the start.

…The year the MARTA train was delayed.

…The year I had to buy a number.

…The old route down 14th into and around the park.

…The change to the 10th Street finish.

…The year the race finished at the Civic Center.

…the early days when the top finishers would tear the tab off their bib, and a string would be pulled through the hole to determine order of finish.

…the shoots / lanes at the finish line.

…wearing a computer chip on my shoe, then at the finish taking it off and putting it in the bucket.  

…Shaking Senator Mex Cleland’s hand.

…Seeing friends along the way.

…Seeing local celebrities run, like WSB’s Don McClellan.

…I’ve never seen Clark Howard, but he was always in the back.

…the year one of the red, white, and blue ladies at Peachtree Methodist was y’s  

…The year I got a silver number, putting me in the running for a trip to Ireland (I didn’t win).

…The year I ran with a buddy who wanted to weave past slower runners the whole way.

…The year my buddies encouraged me to achieve a better time than I could’ve run alone.

…The year I made a friend along the way.

…One year my wife ran with me.

…The years I ran with my son (now he runs too fast for me).

…This year is my daughter’s first Peachtree.

…wearing my Olympic torchbearer uniform in the 1996 Peachtree.

…The increased security – and patriotism - in 2002 after September 11th.

…The year we went straight from the race to the Braves game, wearing our Peachtree shirts.

…The year I ran the race, then made it to the 9:30 church service.

…Another year after the race I made it to the 11 AM service in Alpharetta.

…In 1985 my volunteer assignment was to orderly direct people through “line” at the beer truck (I failed).

…The year my assignment was to direct the press truck, and a young Jeff Hullinger hopped out – wearing white pants, I might add).  

…One year I had to stop at the McDonalds in Buckhead. I felt better after my stop.
...having to weave around oblivious walkers blocking the road (like Mayor Kasim Reed and his flunkies last year taking up three lanes).

…Grabbing prizes along the way: Mellow Mushroom pizza bracelets, Busch beer sweatbands, Moe’s t-shirts, and more - but never a Publix doughnut.  

…I’ve run with Will, Ceil, Tim, Glenn, Steve, Jeff, Scot, Myron, Mike, and others. Over a million others.     

Like me, the Peachtree Road Race has become a bloated caricature of its former self. To be sure she is a grande olde dame, though far removed from the glory days when packs of running enthusiasts packed mailboxes with applications. Many runners failed to secure a coveted race number, and the vast majority who did raced down Peachtree to beat the 55 minute requirement to EARN the prized t-shirt.

These days there seem to be more walkers than runners, their heads buried in smartphones posting updates of every step on social media. Look at me! Look at my outrageous outfit! Walkers too wrapped up in themselves to realize they’re supposed to stick to the right. Has the exorbitant entrance fee, combined with the pricy $15.00 mailing fee, mades this not a race for the people but a race for the rich? Less than 55,000 took the trouble this year. Those choosing to journey downtown to the World Congress Center to pick up their number must ride MARTA or pay for parking – not on a weekend but from 10-6 on a weekday. Woe the working man.

Running the Peachtree is just something I do. Quite the experience. People-watching at its best. Just getting to the starting line is a journey in itself, taking well over an hour and a mile on foot. Same getting home after the race. These days the Peachtree is the main motivator to get me out the door to train, though I’ve done my usual poor job of that again this year. My heel hurts. I weigh more than ever. But if my heel lets me, I guess I’ll be out there.