This weekend my brother, Tim, ran in the Chicago marathon. In the roughly thirty degree weather, partly rainy and overcast skies, my family joined an estimated 1 million people to cheer on the 45,000 or so runners as they wound their way around downtown, near north, through Chinatown’s columns, and to the finish line by Grant Park. It was cold, pretty long, and so exhilarating!
As our family made our way through the maze of support workers, tables full of Gatorade and bananas, and musical groups performing, we found different spots along the route to pause and cheer along strangers while we waited to catch a two-second glimpse of Tim and his running buddy, Aaron (Zirk). We held our homemade signs and rang a green cowbell for people we didn’t know, but we felt connected to, supportive of, somehow. On the sidelines, you learned quickly how important praise and encouragement was to many runners. Some people pumped their arms to elicit cheers and whoops from the onlookers. Some runners carried signs for other people, running slightly in front of friends or partners, asking for cheers for those in need of more help then themselves. One guy was annoyed with a pretty pallid response from the crowd near the beginning of the route – as he ran, he yelled, “These people need more energy – come on, CHEER!†Many runners had their names on their jerseys, crazily written in black marker or neatly blocked out with masking tape. We yelled for them by name; “Go Mia, Keep it up Doug, Looking good Chris, Great job Sue.†One man turned toward me when I yelled an encouragement with his name specifically; he smiled broadly and said, “Thank you,†and then kept running. Many runners kept their focus straight ahead; some looked determined, some were deaf to the crowds and instead relied on their ipod headphones, some were struggling just to breathe and keep putting one foot in front of the other. We saw just about everything – a wrinkled man with a ponytail running barefoot, a woman no taller than four feet-three inches holding her own in the front pack, a man running with a full size American flag on a pole, people with (at most) two percent body fat who looked like only a collection of muscle and sinew as they seemingly sprinted the entire race, and a guy dressed up in a globetrotter’s outfit, complete with a wig. One of my favorite moments was watching a young toddler, probably three years old, who wanted to join the race; his dad let him run along the edge of the road by the curb and kept up with him on the sidewalk. I bet he ran for four blocks at a steady pace before tiring out.
Meghan (my new, very in shape sis-in-law!), and I (the older, slightly less in shape, big sister), had agreed to join Tim at mile 16 for some support running. Tim and Aaron started around 8 am, and began with an impressive pace of doing eight minute miles, despite a relative lack of training and hip problems between the two of them. Our family cheering squad spotted them right after the 5 five mile mark and again at mile 10 before Meghan and I stripped down to leggings and sweatshirts to run with them. We learned that support runners could jump in anywhere along the route to cheer along and help the marathon runner. By the time we jumped in to run, we were already seasoned cheer leaders. We joked with Tim, told him he was looking good, shared some funny stories from our morning, asked if he needed more to drink, and then we ran. And ran. And kept running. Tim was more worn out then he had thought he’d be, and instead of support running for 1-2 miles, Meghan and I stayed with him and kept going for 3, 4, 5 – I lasted 7 miles, and Meghan finished the whole raced with him! (a little over 10 miles) Tim was so glad we were there, he said his legs were killing him, his vision was blurry, he wasn’t sure if he could do it, etc. We focused on each mile, one at a time, and kept encouraging him as we went. Near the end of the route when he was pretty wiped out, I noticed several on-lookers yelling, “You’re almost there Tim, keep going Tim you can do it.†I was so proud of the cheerers, so proud of my brother who they were cheering for by name.
And I realized, except for those sprinters who somehow did the whole race in 5 minute miles and seemed fine on their own (unreal!), most of these runners knew that this was really a community event. A team was needed, a running partner, a support family, an army of volunteers with drinks and food, cheers from total strangers, free massages and warming wraps at the end. After I had run with the crowd for awhile, as I was walking and catching my breath in the cold, I noticed how many other support runners were in there doing what I had done, only in the race to encourage another runner. I noticed a younger man running while physically holding his aging dad’s elbow and saying, “You can do it dad, I believe in you.†I noticed a proud middle-aged guy running with a plastic, pastel, pink crown on his head reading, “I am running for my wife.†I noticed how many other people had an American Cancer Society jersey on like my brother, wondered how many people were running because they knew someone with cancer, or another disease they didn’t know how to fight or help cure, so they ran and raised money and became part of something larger then themselves for one Sunday in a city of millions. I almost cried as I saw FOUR support runners at mile 25 holding up a woman – two held each of her arms – literally carrying her as she slumped over and fought to finish. I cheered them on too.
So congrats Tim, for completing a lifetime goal of doing a marathon, and raising money for the ACS! And congrats to Aaron, Meghan who somehow persevered to finish the race, and the toddler, the elderly dad and his son, the barefoot guy and the strong woman, everyone who carried a sign with another person’s name on it, and all those who hit the pavement, sucked in the cold air, stretched out tight muscles, cheered along others and carried each other toward the finish line. What an accomplishment! What a striking example of our need to turn toward others. What an honor to be a part of, only if for 7 (still very long), miles.