A lot of numbers are pretty infamous in the running world. 26.2, 13.1, 5k (3.1), 10k, 10 mile, etc. However, on Saturday morning I found myself parked at 25.9, the last 0.3 mile of the marathon. I had decided on Friday not to run the half which was the smartest decision I could have made. I went to the Runner's Expo to see if there was any cool free stuff (there wasn't much) and let the people know I wouldn't be running. As I went through the line and picked up my packet only to turn the champion chip back in, I asked them on a whim whether they needed any more course volunteers. And it turns out they needed someone to help direct traffic near the end of the course. And I was told I probably wouldn't have to do much anyway because there would be another volunteer and a cop right up the street from us so I could spend most of my time cheering on the runners.
So, at 8 a.m. Saturday morning I parked myself right near mile 26 in Uptown Charlotte to cheer on the 5k runners and the marathoners. It was a brisk 20 degrees out and I was glad MN taught me how to dress for this type of occasion. And I spent the next 6 hours cheering on runners of all shapes, sizes, ages, and backgrounds. There's nothing quite like this. I've been there, I've been on that last stretch where you think the 26 mile marker will never appear and your legs and/or your lungs are about to give out. I took great joy in telling the runners that this was the last quarter of a mile and the finish could be seen from the top of the hill (and let me say, I don't know who designed the course but having an uphill finish is just mean!). I cheered on everyone I could. My hands were dry and cracked from the cold and clapping continuously. I was slightly worried about my voice and the fact that I'd have to sing in church the next day. But how could I not cheer, hoot, holler, and applaud these people that had put in so much effort, time, dedication, time, and blood, sweat, and tears for one run on a Saturday morning.
Some thanked me. Others grunted. Some didn't even look on and just gritted their teeth in determination. Others smiled. It didn't matter. I just kept on cheering, encouraging people by their race number (Good job 1024!), and doing what I could to let them know that someone understood and admired what it was that they were doing.
After a full day of watching ordinary do something incredible, how could you not be on some sort of high? Finishing an marathon is an incredible testament to the human will, strength, and courage. And being able to watch 1000 or so people finish one, perhaps their first, perhaps their last, well, it's hard not to be inspired.
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