Rock & Roll, Philly!

Of all the components of a great half marathon - the crowds, signs, cowbells, water stations, markers, crisp way the fall air hits your lungs - who would think that above all of that, a group of high school cheerleaders would give me the chills over and over again.  But that's what happened during the Philadelphia Rock and Roll Half Marathon as I entered the stretches of the course where crowds don't form and tables are not set up, where there is only grass with geese and the occasional rabbit.  And then, out of the unaffected distance, the cheerleaders, in unison, screaming for the collective (capital "R") Runner, carried me to a 1:47 race with a reminder of how powerful the spirit can be.

They stuck out of the silence and the crowds because they were not for the one person panting around the next turn; they were there for the sport and the movement of the race.  There was no single runner that the various groups of cheerleaders were there to support.   Rather, it was the greater Runner in all of us receiving the support.  Their signs, pointed, loud and general; their cheers, for running and the Runner, lingering and sharp against the landscape; and their spirits high even in the twelfth mile.

Because you feel every step of Running's singularity in those last few miles of a long race, focusing on anything but the distance between you and the finish line is a blessing.  After 6 miles at an 8:07 pace, through Philadelphia's neighborhoods, fighting for position, bands blaring and crowds so tight at times I could reach out on either side and touch them, suddenly it all fell silently away.  There was space and silence and the only people visible were those wearing a bib just like yours.

At mile 8, while I was busy counting used gel packets and wondering when we would make the fabulous turn that would lead us down the path with people - the one where the party was - and the bands played and families were out walking with their double strollers and tiny terriers, I heard them: "Come on Runners, Let's Go!" screamed 45 teenagers, all at once, so loud  it gave me chills.  They kept it up as we approached, passed them and long after we were out of sight - unwavering support for the Runner.

As the pain crept in around mile 10, just after the bagpipes and before the next water station, another group of cheerleaders side by side along west river drive, hands clapping, pompoms shaking energized our tired legs and gave us the kick in the ass we needed to climb the last incline, take note of our 10 mile split, smile at the personal best it represented and propel ourselves toward the finish line with echoes of cheers in our ears for hours to come.

This was a fast and flat course, heavy with crowds on either end and something special in the middle:  the art of cheering for the Runner.