September 2, 2019: The Big Peach Sizzler 10K

After outrunning Brian Minor in the Decatur-DeKalb 4-miler in early August, he asked for a rematch!  We agreed to race again at the Big Peach Sizzler 10K, with 30 days to prepare.  On a whim, I created a poster in the style of a boxing or monster truck ad:
Brian responded with a text: "I'm taking our rematch competitively serious and will not underestimate you.  You have unleashed the beast.  lol"  along with photos of his running gear and training plan. 

With Carl Line after we both placed
at the Kirkwood Spring Fling 5K
(Bonnie wasn't there, otherwise we
would have a better photo!)

In the midst of a month of friendly trash-talking, I ran the ATL 20K.  To the surprise of us both, I passed Carl Line in the final quarter-mile of the race, and we ended up second- and third-place in our age group.  At bib pickup on Thursday evening, Carl promised that he would try to beat me - and now I had a second competitor hot on my heels for today's race.  

Although both Brian and Carl have generally outrun me in most races, my recent training had gone well.  If either of them ran a personal best, I wouldn't have a chance to win, knowing that I had only broken the 50-minute barrier once.  I set my 10K PR at 49:28 in this very race two years ago, on an unusually cool morning: 58 degrees F at the start.  At least I knew the course very well, having run this race every year since September 2014.  And once again, Big Peach Running Company had a 50-minute pace group, which I counted on for motivation and proper pacing.  

After chatting with a large number of friends who were also running this race, and getting a few pre-race photos of the competitors, it was time to warmup and head to the starting area.  I suggested that we start together, close to but behind the 50-minute pacers.  As I jogged to the starting area, I tried to run a few strides.  My legs felt OK, but I just didn't feel fast.  I tried not to let that get into my head, probably just a little pre-race nervousness.  I was pretty sure that once we started the race, I would have no difficulty reaching my goal pace at the beginning, around 8:00 min / mile.  I just hoped that I could maintain that pace for the entire race.  
Frank won the pre-race wrassling.  Just like his cat Waffles.  
Carl, Brian, and Frank before the race
The weather was beautiful.  I was very comfortable just standing around, around 70 deg F.  I didn't notice any humidity, although my Garmin stats recorded 83% humidity at the start.  Carl joined me shortly after I got in position behind the first of the 50 minute pacers.  As the corral began to fill, I looked around for Brian, but didn't see him.  I said hello to several other runners around us, including Bryan Greenberg, Kristi Swartz, and Bob Wells - all three can run a bit faster than me.  And then I saw Robin Mitchell and Jeff Norris a few rows behind me - they both run much faster (and both did so today).  

Where was Brian Minor??  

I kept looking from side-to-side, wondering what had delayed him, after all he had instigated the original idea of a race.  After all that talk, Brian wasn't at the start with me?!  I told Carl, "I bet Brian is starting behind us, so he can keep an eye on me."  Then it was time to begin.  
Bonnie photographed me at the start: "Where's Frank?"
Why is Frank looking to the side, when all of the other runners are looking ahead?
"Where's Brian?!" 
The starting line for the course was in a slightly different location from previous years.  That may be due to the new buildings and ongoing construction in the area, which has built up quite a bit in the few years that I've run this race.  As a result, we had a downhill start.  In the past, the course has been net level: this year it was net downhill by about 20 feet, so ideal for setting a new record!  I had no trouble at all getting up to speed, and kept close to the 50 minute pacers.  Carl even got out in front of them at the start, after making our first turn onto Malone Street.  Quickly reaching Peachtree Industrial Boulevard, we made a left turn, but the mass of runners had to squeeze between two police cars parked a little too closely together, probably only about one lane wide.  Nonetheless we made it through without any mishap that I could see.  

The race route was a series of rolling hills, nothing too substantial, just enough to make the elevation changes interesting in a good way, using different muscles for running downhill, uphill, and on level ground.  I thought there were more runners this year than in past years, but everything went smoothly in the beginning.  We very quickly reached the sign for mile 1: 8:16 elapsed, within a couple of seconds of my first mile in 2017 when I set my personal record.  Now it was time to speed up a bit. 

Now it was time to speed up a bit.  

And for some reason, I just couldn't make my legs turn over much faster.  

One very nice change this year were the additional water stations.  If I recall correctly, there were five in total, near each mile marker.  On a warm day, the water stations are literally life savers.  Although I carried a bottle of Nuun on my water belt, I took a cup of water from a volunteer at each of the first three stops, but hardly slowed down at all.  I passed Carl in this section.  I knew that was risky from the perspective of racing, but I wanted to keep the 50 minute pacers in sight.  They were about 100 feet in front of me at that point.  Carl was running little slower, but was running easily.  Mile 2 ticked by in 8:09, 16:25 elapsed.  And once again I aimed to speed up a bit more, wanting to close some of the distance on the pacers.  

No acceleration.   

Midway through mile 3, I saw the pace group pass through an intersection.  I began counting seconds: I needed 45 seconds to reach the same spot.  Hmm, I won't break 50 minutes at this rate.  Then I realized: not only had Carl gone out too quickly, but 

I had started as if the temperature was 58 degrees.   

It was not.  It was 70 degrees. 

And where was Brian?!  Nowhere in sight.  

Mile 3, 8:22, 24:47 elapsed.  That wasn't bad for approaching the midpoint of a 10K race, but nothing close to my personal record pace, on this course.  Where was Brian?  I tried to glance quickly from side to side, but didn't catch sight of him.  My mother's words from my childhood running days rang in my head: "Don't turn around and look back, it just slows you down!"  And so I didn't look again.  I knew that Carl wasn't far behind: I could hear him thanking the police for working the intersections.  When people complimented him on his American flag shorts, he verbally acknowledged them as well.  He didn't sound like he was breathing hard at all.  I, on the other hand, couldn't afford to expend any breath at all on anything other than running.  I thought, this isn't going to go well for me vs. Carl at the end of the race.  And then Carl passed me.  He said "I was hoping to stay behind you for longer."  But the fact of the matter was, I wasn't strategically slowing down the pace, I just could not run any faster today.  

And where was Brian?! 

Mile 4, 8:40, 33:27 elapsed.  That was 20 seconds slower than what I ran in the 4-miler a month ago, on a warmer day, on a much hillier course.  Carl had opened up a 100 foot gap on me.  I didn't know where I was going to find the strength to catch up with him today.  Then we would get on a downhill section, and I ran a little faster, but couldn't close the gap.  And then to my horror, I saw ahead a large truck edging out of a driveway or small street.  The runners ahead of me slowed, the driver pulled out all the way into the road, completely blocking our route.  Finally he turned left onto the open lanes of Peachtree Road.  This didn't affect my own running speed very much, although it certainly caused some people ahead of me to stop altogether. 

This is more-or-less what the truck looked like.
Images courtesy of the website   https://royaltruck.com
Company mottos: "Service Beyond Compare" and
"Safety Takes Top Priority"
In the moment, I tried not to let that get into my head.  I didn't want any excuses for a slower-than-expected pace.  Shortly afterward, having just crossed the Fulton County line into City of Atlanta, we approached the intersection with Peachtree Dunwoody Road.  And even though there were a bunch of runners ahead of me moving quite quickly, the police were waving automobile traffic through the intersection!  Fortunately the drivers chose to stop as runners streamed in front of the cars, but the cars were stopped in the middle of our designated lane.  I was too tired to say anything more than "Please!" to the policeman responsible for the intersection.  He responded "People have to go places."  I didn't respond, just kept running.  But isn't that what the race permit is for, to protect certain lanes for the runners?  Isn't that why the race is run early in the morning, on a holiday?  And now for two weeks in a row, I've had issues with automobiles, on the race course.  

Carl finished first.
Mile 5, 9:07, 42:34 elapsed.  It would be convenient to blame my problems on the traffic, but really, I just wasn't running the race that I had planned.  Nowhere in my race plan was "Run a 9 minute mile."  My legs had been sore and tired since at least the mile 3 marker.  And plenty of other runners were passing me, left and right.  Any moment now, I expected to see Brian pass me.  I certainly didn't see Carl ahead of me any longer.  Running past Phipps Plaza and then Lenox Mall, my next landmark was the intersection with Piedmont Road, on which we would turn right.  In my personal record run two years ago, I had reached the intersection at 46 minutes flat.  This year: 49:30.

"Enough", I thought, "you're beating yourself", with less than 4 minutes to go.  And as we turned north onto Piedmont Road, and began running a long gentle downhill, I finally found the pickup in speed that I had sought since passing the mile 1 marker more than 40 minutes earlier.  I had to navigate past a runner with a stroller - the stroller was on his right side so he and the stroller took up a good part of the lane, and I was boxed in on the right by another runner that may have been running with him.  Finally I got their attention and pointed ahead and they let me get by.  That required a nice little burst of speed, but somehow I managed it.  Somewhere in this section I passed the 6-mile mark, although I neither saw the sign nor heard an alert (8:52, 51:26 elapsed), but just kept running.  Shortly before making the turn onto Lenox Road, David Bloomquist passed me, encouraging me to run faster myself.  

And then, suddenly, as if the starship Enterprise had beamed him onto the course in front of me, there was my principal competitor, my friend, my foe. 

Brian Minor.  

He began to pull away from me, and I thought, "not again!"

I found a previously unknown reservoir of strength.

I jetted past him on his left.  

That was a surprise for me, and maybe also for Brian.  

But Brian had one more surge left within him.

He passed me again, on my right.  

I was done, spent, busted.  

Brian's finish
I made the final turn toward the finish line, sweat running into my eyes, passing under the finish line banner and over both timing mats, eyes closed with pain, not even noticing the clock.
Finishing the race; the grimace 
And awkwardly crashed into another man who had, appropriately, stopped shortly after crossing the timing mats, having completed the race.  Fortunately neither of us fell.  

The thrill of victory, and
the agony of defeat.

I bent over, trying to catch my breath.  Bonnie had recorded my finish, but she was photographing other runners behind me.  Carl was stretching against a lamppost.  Lindy Liu, who had run the 5K race earlier that morning, saw that I was in distress and ran over with a cold bottle of water, and a moment later, returned with an ice-cold towel.  Thank you Lindy, that really helped.  And after I had recovered, I found the man that I had clumsily run over at the finish, and I apologized profusely - and he was very gracious. 
"Who am I?"  "What am I doing here?"
Official results (gun time only, chip time was not recorded): 
         Carl Line, 52:34, 282nd place overall (out of 1387 total finishers)
         Brian Minor, 53:12, 296th place overall
         Frank McDonald, 53:23, 303rd place overall.  

Despite my initial disappointment, once I checked my finish times from previous years, it turns out that this was my second-best time on the course!   

Over lunch at the Flying Biscuit CafĂ©, I learned Carl and Brian's perspectives on the race:  
  • Before the race began, Brian was just a few feet behind us, crouching low so that we couldn't see him.  On the other hand, I was standing on my toes, looking over the crowd for him, and almost every direction except directly behind me.  
  • After I passed Carl, Brian passed him, also early in the race.  Mid-race, Carl passed Brian on his way to catch up to me.  He didn't want to pass me that early in the race, but I had really slowed down.  
  • Brian's thought at that moment: "I don't have a beef with Carl, he can go on ahead.  I need to keep an eye on Frank if I want to win our race."  
  • When I surged upon turning onto Piedmont Road near the finish, that surprised Brian.  He had to work hard to catch up.  And when he first passed me on Lenox Road, about a block from the finish, he was impressed that I matched his first surge.  He had to leave it all on the course to finish strongly, in case I had found another surge.  


Carl certainly earned the victory today.  He ran smoothly and consistently from start to finish.  
Bronze, Gold, and Silver
Carl and I have run dozens of Thursday evening group runs from the Big Peach Running store in Decatur, and Carl always stays with the slowest runner in the group.  On many occasions the slow runner has been me.  I've particularly appreciated it that he has slowed down when I've struggled in the heat, or when I've nervously made my way on a leaf-strewn broken sidewalk, and stopping to help when I slipped and fell in a muddy sidewalk-repair zone earlier this summer.  

The Big Peach Sizzler is a special race for Carl: each year, he raises funds for the Miles for Cystic Fibrosis foundation.  I've posted a link to Carl's fundraising page, and I encourage you to donate to this cause.  



P.S. In our pre-race trash-talking, one of the jokes was that the loser would win a case of toilet paper.   
"Frank will need it after I dust him off.  lol"

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