by Emilie L. David, April 18, 2013
On Monday, almost simultaneously, I received a text message and Facebook notification from two different friends posing the same question: Are you in Boston?!
I admit, I was initially irritated - I am not fast enough to go to Boston! Thanks for rubbing it in! Plus, the niggling injury that has had me sidelined from racing since December has me wistful for running. But then I noticed the urgency of the exclamation points and finally figured out that something was wrong. I got online and immediately irritation was replaced with dread. I got on the phone, on email, and scoured Facebook pages until everyone I knew who was racing the marathon was accounted for. All were blessedly safe. And then the pictures started streaming over the internet showing the location of the damage, and I got on email again. I needed to track down the cheerleaders.
A lot has been said of the runners. How hard they work for that day. And I do grieve for them. I grieve for the ones that couldn’t cross that glorious finish line. I grieve for the ones who did and cannot appropriately celebrate what is a most coveted achievement, and who cannot feel pride for it that is not tinged with sadness. But more than that I grieve for the cheerleaders, the supporters, who endured that race and who knows how many leading up to it for no other reward than to witness a loved one achieve some self satisfaction.
They are the ones who wake up at the crack of dawn to stand around in the freezing cold or the blazing sun for who knows how long just to scream your name for the 2 seconds it takes you to cruise by them.
They are the ones who load your baby nephew up and get on a plane and tote that baby through ungodly pedestrian traffic and roadblocks only to miss you because you misestimated the time you would hit mile 18.
 |
| A race without fans is just a time trial |
The ones who tolerate your pre-race nervous silence and your post-run frustrations, sniping, and inability to utter a coherent word or make simple decisions.
The ones who might not even know you, but who nonetheless give an encouraging yell or More Cowbell when they see you struggling.
The ones who take in your bloody, blistered, toe-nail challenged feet and declare you sexy anyway.
The ones who give up their time for you, and give up time with you.
They have dedicated themselves to your race, with no expectation of medal or T-shirt.
Other spectator sports have fan appreciation days. Even horse racing, a sport with individual contestants, rewards its fans at least once a season. Running needs a Fan Appreciation Day, now more than ever. A way for runners to collectively show our gratitude and to remind ourselves and our cheerleaders that they are our best reward after every mile, every distance, every finish line.
You were my Sherpa in Boston 2011 that greeted my tears of frustration after what was on that day a very hard marathon run. I thought of you and that moment in 2011 as I sobbed in victory beyond the finish line on Monday and wished you were there to share in what was at last my best Boston ever. Until I was more glad you were far from harms way. Sherpas make running possible. Thank you for this write up and for being my sherpa on that day in 2011 as those have been and will continue to be for you (me included!)
ReplyDelete