American Cheerleader

Every first Sunday in November, the ING New York City Marathon runs right through my Brooklyn neighborhood. Although I’ve never run it, I love watching this race. The sidewalks are packed with thousands of spectators, and the crowd cheers nonstop for the nearly 37,000 runners for hours. Almost every year that I’ve lived in NYC, I’ve had at least one friend running the 26.2-mile race. And I’ve stood along the route, coffee in hand, to cheer on my friends and the other runners, inevitably getting swept up in the excitement and general spirit of goodwill. It’s downright inspiring.

This year, however, I got to experience another side of the marathon. On Saturday night, we set our clocks back an hour, marking the end of Daylight Savings Time. While most people take advantage of an extra hour to sleep, apparently my body didn’t get the memo, and I was up, wide awake, an hour earlier than normal on Sunday morning. Trying not to wake my husband, I tiptoed out of our apartment and headed down the street to my church to catch the early service. The streets were barricaded for the marathon, and tables of water were already set up for the race. Yet there were no spectators, only people like me going about their daily business. When I left the church, the streets were still empty except for a few race volunteers and a handful of scattered spectators. I started to make my way home, but stopped when I suddenly heard a few people clapping.

Racing down the street was a man in a handcycle wheelchair, and he was flying! You see, about an hour or so before the bulk of the racers begin, the wheelchair division starts. And I was watching the front-runners in the men’s wheelchair division make their way through my neighborhood (which is around the 12-mile mark). These athletes are amazing and totally hardcore! I was riveted to the spot. But where were the rest of the spectators? And what was with the wimpy clapping the rest of my neighbors were giving? These athletes needed real encouragement–I mean, they still had 14 miles to go, and they didn’t have the support of thousands that the rest of the racers get.

I was so moved by these athletes. Can’t use their legs? Heck, they’ll just use their arms… for 26.2 miles. Can you even imagine? Think how easy it is to walk around the block. Now can you imagine doing walking handstands for that same distance? Like I said, these athletes are hardcore, and some of them are professionals. And I felt lucky to be watching them.

Before I knew it, I’d I clicked into total cheerleader mode. I started to shout: “Come on, guys!” “You can do it!” “Keep it up!” And if someone had his name on his shirt, I’d add it in: “Yeah, Jake, you’re doing great!” Soon the people on the sidewalk around me were joining in. It was awesome, and the spirit was catching. I kept cheering and cheering, and at one point, one of the wheelers yelled out “Thank you!”

When I heard this, I got tears in my eyes. Admittedly, I am a huge sap, but it really touched me to hear that. In all the years I cheered for football, basketball and even soccer, I can count on one hand them amount of times one of these athletes said “thank you”–and none of them ever said it in the middle of a game!  (Of course, their coaches would’ve killed them if they had, but you get my point.)

The marathon was a huge reminder to me to always take the opportunity to cheer people on, even long after I retired my poms.

Let me know what some of your most inspiring cheer moments have been. I love a feel-good story! You can find me at marisa@americancheerleader.com.