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I ran the Publix Atlanta Marathon on Sunday for 11th straight time since 2014. It’s a surprisingly gnarly race, with more than 1,000 feet of elevation change, which often surprises folks from other places. Atlanta isn’t known as a hilly city, but it definitely is, and this course usually backloads some of the toughest hills for the last eight miles, making it particularly brutal.

So why run this stupid thing every year? Probably masochism more than anything else, but there are a few things that keep me coming back:

1. The Ultimate Peach. Some evil marketing genius at the Atlanta Track Club created the Triple Peach some years back, where runners get a special shirt, hat or scarf if they run the Peachtree Road Race, the Atlanta 10 Miler in October and the Atlanta Thanksgiving Half-Marathon. To make matters worse, they subsequently created the Ultimate Peach, which is a designation you get as a Triple Peach runner if you add on the Publix Atlanta Marathon in the following winter. This usually comes with awards that range from the expected (a medal hanger) to the funky (a wooden watch) to, this year, the truly deranged: a two-pound peach-shaped brass bell. I’ve run Triple and Ultimate Peach every year they’ve offered it, and there’s something about it I just can’t refuse.
2. The tour of the city. Atlanta has some of the most beautiful neighborhoods of any city I’ve ever seen, and even the rougher parts of the landscape have a battered charm. This year’s marathon route took runners through both Piedmont and Grant Parks, through Georgia Tech and Spelman, past the former Turner Field, which is now a football stadium for Georgia State, and a dozen-plus different neighborhoods. There are the requisite overpasses and blighted blocks, but there’s plenty to see, from the Capitol building’s gold dome to Little Five Points.
3. The weather. The Publix marathon is almost always the last weekend of February, and it has a knack for being one of the first pleasant outdoor days after the Georgia winter (which, admittedly, isn’t particularly deep). This year’s event was absolutely perfect — a chilly, low-humidity start that led to a pleasant, cool, sunny day. Can’t ask for more.
4. The challenge. The Publix is hard. I’ve run it 11 times now, with times ranging from 3:32:48 in 2019 to 4:09:37 in 2014. This year was on the lower side at 3:57:11, but I feel good about it. I worked hard, didn’t get injured and felt good after. The course is usually slightly different every year, but it’s always rolling hills on street surfaces that aren’t particularly smooth or forgiving. As I said earlier, elevation change is often in the 1,100 to 1,200-feet range, and there’s a particularly punishing stretch up Hank Aaron Blvd. approaching Atlanta Avenue that I dread every year. That said, finishing the race really delivers a sense of accomplishment because it throws everything at you, including a mid-race finish line fly-by where the half marathoners all get to peel off and go relax while the full marathoners get to do another 13.1.
5. The finish. The finish party is always well-stocked with lots of great eats, including chocolate milk, Sweetwater beer, Publix sandwiches, GoGurt, all the stuff you want when you’re feeling cashed.
6. Focused time. Long runs like this give me a chance to think, to reset my brain a bit, to listen to some thoughtful podcasts, to argue with myself and to ultimately feel gratitude.
7. The people. I don’t always get to see all of my old running crew as often as I used to, but these big races are a great time to check in on people, whether serendipitously during the race, at the expo or finish line or even just on Strava afterward. I enjoy the moments of falling in step with someone for a while and having a quick chat, whether it’s the guy I passed at mile 20 running full-Flintstone barefoot or the shirtless guy screaming obscenities at himself to crest the last hill before the finish. At least I think that last guy was in the race — sometimes it’s hard to tell. Anyway, the connection to the people helps me feel like part of a bigger community, which is important to me, even when I pretend it’s not.
8. My wife. She always comes and cheers for me, brings me dry hats and bottles of Powerade, with Band-Aids at the ready. She always tells me I looked cool because that’s what I really want to hear.

Mainly, I do it because I can. I know there will be a day when I won’t be able to get out and run for hours, and I don’t want to have any regrets when that time comes. I’ve slowed down a bit over the past few years, but it feels so good to get out and put in the work.