Two stories: my first year running in high school was my sophomore year (1975). Conference was like our state meet, so we tapered and everything. I was fifth man all year and we were undefeated in 12 dual meets and half a dozen invites (yup, we were fast). Thirteen schools in our conference all sent their top 7, so 91 in the race. First mile, I settle into about 15th place, while our top three move to the front and soon gap the rest of the field. Middle mile, weirdly, the pace feels slow so I pass a few people to move into about 8th. Three turns left (about a half) I catch up to our fourth man and I say let's go get these guys. He immediately starts wheezing, so I pass him and pick off a few more. Our top three are way ahead, I catch up to the guy in fourth on the last turn, 400 to go. I DROP THE HAMMER and sprint like it's for my life (you were considered a total pu55y if you looked back, so I just hammered as hard as I could). We ended up going 1-2-3-4-11 to win conference with 21 points - probably the best race of my life.
Then about 30 years later, I'm running a 10-mile road race. It has some hills here and there, but the last mile is a gradual down to the finish. I am aiming for about 7:10 pace, and have pretty even pacing. At about mile 9 I catch up to some guy who has this buddy riding a bike next to him, cheering him on. The buddy is literally screaming at the top of his lungs: "You can kill these guys, no one is passing you, you can destroy that guy..." It actually hurts my ears. So at about 9.5 miles this guy catches up to me and tries to pass, all the while his bike buddy is screaming about how he is so taking me down. Not today. I DROP THE HAMMER and smoke this guy to the line, mostly so his buddy will shut the flip up. I ran a 6:32 last mile, which was pretty good for an old guy after 9 miles.