More than "Just Spectators"

This is it, folks— only 2 more training miles stand between me and the starting line at 8am Sunday morning! I am so overwhelmed by the support I've received throughout the process; your prayers, donations, words of encouragement, and presence have made it possible to complete the almost 500 training miles leading up to this point. I And I'm thrilled to report that I've received a total of $1,926.20 in donations so far!! I'm still hoping to raise another $73.80 for a total of $2,000 so if you were considering a donation it's not too late! (see the donation information on the right hand column of this blog).

Sometimes the best signs are the ones that make you
 laugh, even if they aren't exactly "encouraging" :)

I recently read a brief article in Runner's World about the role of spectators at a marathon, and the truth of it nearly made me tear up. I've shortened it a little here, but I thought it was worth sharing. For those of you who will be here in person, know that it means the world to me, and for those of you that will be there in spirit, know that I'll be thinking of you when I see the thousands of spectators cheering on me and my fellow runners. Thank you so much to all the "spectators" in my life!

An excerpt from "Standing Ovation" by Mark Remy:

In fact, the word spectator–from the Latin spectare, "to observe"–seems inadequate. It suggests passivity, and crowds who turn out for marathons are anything but passive. Marathon spectators shout. They clap. They play bagpipes and kettle drums. They rattle cowbells and scream your name, if they know it. If they don't, they latch onto any identifier–"Go, Team in Training!" "Go, Sparkly Skirt!" "Go, Runner's World!"They hold handmade signs that make you laugh. ("You Should Have Taken a Dump When You Had the Chance.")

I've been buoyed by people cheering by name for the guy next to me, and by "Go Mommy" and "Go Daddy" signs held up by someone else's kids. I call this "secondhand inspiration."

It's a cultural universal: Every year, untold millions of spectators materialize to urge runners on at marathons around the world.... I don't know when or where, exactly, turning out to watch other people run became a "thing."... But I'm glad it is. I can't imagine ever running 26.2 miles without the crowds. And yet it's easy to take them a little bit for granted.

...maybe it's because our own private "support crews" are so good at what they do. During months of training, they put up with our aches and pains; they watch us vanish for hours at a time to do our workouts and long runs; they listen to us blather on about mileage and nutrition and ice baths. They indulge us.

On race weekend, of course, they're the ones who kick into high gear just as we're downshifting to prepare for race day. They travel along with us, carrying our stuff and eating when, and where, we want. They soothe our nerves. They study course maps to plot out where they'll have the best chances of seeing us. They wonder whether, logistically, they can catch us at mile three and again at mile 11, and still make it to the finish in time, if they hustle. They stand, often in poor weather and often for an hour or more, staring at a sea of grimacing runners as they wait for their grimacing runner to appear. 

And when we do, they go nuts.

They do all of this for us.

Not only that, but they do it with humility. How many times have you heard a runner's spouse or partner at a race say that he or she is "just here to watch"?  

Just!  

The tragedy in Boston spawned several social-media memes. One was the notion that, in the face of this horror, "We are all runners." It's a fine sentiment, but I'd tweak it just slightly. On April 15, in the space of 13 awful seconds, we all became spectators. (Even those of us who are, in fact, runners.) As events unfolded, we sat and watched. But we rallied, quickly and loudly. We came together to voice support, to assure the victims–and each other–that we're strong and we'll get through this. 

If that doesn't say "spectator," I don't know what does.