Growing up, I had friends that wore the uniform, but my gangly legs and arms plus 5'10" frame made me more suited for sports jerseys than saddle shoes.
That being said, I was always....The Screamer. Here's a picture of me and my fellow high school volleyball player. Funny enough, we still play sand volleyball together over 20 years later and you could probably take the same sort of pic now...
Whether on the court or the sidelines, to this day I just can't seem to keep my mouth shut. I love to encourage and motivate. I also like to grunt when I hit a ball and cuss when I mess up, but I digress....
Once I had my own kids, I continued to do my cheering from the bleachers- much to my husband's dismay. I'm not technically "That Mom", but I will admit I have my moments.
At the age of 37, I began my journey into endurance sports and ran my first 5K. It was for The American Heart Association, and I remember both the nerves at the beginning and my first introduction to Darky. I remember thinking about a patient who had recently fought such a courageous battle (I'm a cardiac nurse) when I first thought I couldn't go on, and willed myself to fight as hard as she did.
But what I remember the most was coming to the finish line. Not because my time was great-haha...no. But because there were so many people there cheering you on it was infectious. I felt like a superstar, no matter that I had done something like a 12:55min/mile pace.
There was whooping and hollering, signs and music. And every shape and size of cheerleader imaginable, no pleated skirt required.
Well. I was hooked. I mean, where else can you get such a confidence boost as an adult? Seriously- when was the last time someone rang a cow bell for YOU? When was the last time you heard YOUR name come across a loudspeaker?
Fast forward to that fall, and my first-ever half-marathon. Talk about a party! I couldn't believe the support for the runners all along the way. There were the traditional signs ("Smile if your'e not wearing underwear" and "I thought they said RUM") of course, but there were also bands, gospel choirs, and yes...high school cheerleaders along the run. People came out of their houses in their pajamas to cheer us on and offer us shots of Patron. The firefighters stood out in their driveway and hollered encouragement.
And at Mile 11, there was the old, white-bearded drunk guy who got overexcited by the band playing and dropped his drawers to dance naked in the street with us. Definately didn't get that in school sports, but it did spur us to run a little. This isn't him but you get the idea...
Now in my third solid year of running and triathlons, I am even more thankful for cheerleaders. Race support can truly make a good race a great race and turn it from work to fun. Sometimes it comes from people you know- friends and family that cheer you on from near or far. And sometimes it's a complete stranger that sees you struggling and somehow makes you smile and keep going.
Last Sunday I raced an Olympic distance triathlon at The Great Buckeye Challenge in Springfield, Ohio. I came in with pretty good confidence that I could beat last year's time, but as I drove to the park with my bike attached to the trunk, Darky started her usual tirade.
I blasted the radio and sang at the top of my lungs, and before I knew it I had arrived. Check-in was smooth and I went to rack my bike. And right away, I ran into my swim buddy from the YMCA.
Bob and I exchanged hugs, and from there it was almost a pre-race party. I found my friends Matt and Katie- who are some of the best cheerleaders around, and struck up conversations with the folks I had racked my bike with. The lady next to me had the same flip-flops and running shoes as I did- and we were instant friends and cheerleaders for each other.
As I headed out to the water, my friend Heidi was waving frantically at me from outside the transition area. Holy moly- she and HER ENTIRE FAMILY had come to cheer me on! They had brought our friend Mike as well, and suddenly I didn't have time to get nervous like I usually do. I introduced them to my other friends that were racing, and before I knew it I was lining up at the swim gate. Ha! Take that Darky!
As I dove into the water, my goggles failed and instantly my right eye was full of nasty, e-coli lake water. Crap (no pun intended). Then, as I struggled with putting them back on, I swallowed/inhaled some of the afore-mentioned e-coli water....and then had a small panic attack. Just as I am sure a lifeguard was deciding whether or not to check on me, I got my shit together and finally started moving forward. I know I lost some time because it took me a few minutes to get under full control, but I came out of the water a couple of minutes earlier than planned.
And as I came out of the water, my cheering squad was there to greet me. The "Go Steph!" and "You got this!" chants helped drive me up the hill (who the hell am I kidding? There was no "driving"...I had to RUN up the hill) and onto the bike.
THe bike. My weakest of the three sports by far. But I had done this course before and knew what to expect. And what I had to expect was hills, and lots of them. I knew where I could push and where I needed to conserve energy, and I knew that as I came around the corner of a beautiful country road and saw The Hill From Hell, I knew that not only was this the half-way point, but that I was ready to climb it.
As one of the (MANY) riders passed me he looked up at the hill and said, "Well, THAT surely wasn't in the brochure..."
I put my cheerleader hat on and replied, "Don't worry! It's the worst of all of them and once we get over it we are half-way there!"
He smiled and thanked me for the tip, then put his head down and left me in his dust. That's okay- I'm sure it's because he had one of those super-aerodynamic helmets shaped like a pointy egg...
This year, I wasn't panting and ready to cry when I crested The Hill. I was smiling. And I was my own cheerleader for just a moment, because looking at my watch I was still on target to get back under my goal time.
I pushed hard the last 5 miles, and arrived right on target back at transition, where I once again instantly heard my name and words of encouragement. My brain was just starting to fuzz- the first sign of fatigue- and I had to take an extra moment in Transition to make sure I wasn't forgetting something. That was when I heard that the Half-Iron distance run had been cut from 13.1 miles to 6.2 due to the heat index.
Huh. No wonder my brain was a little fuzzy. 107 degrees will do that I guess. I poured water over the towel that my Secret Pal at work had gotten me and tucked it behind my neck. Then I threw on my hat and set off for the last leg of my journey, echoes of "You can do it! Almost there STeph!" making me smile and push off a little more than I probably would have without it.
6.2 miles on an average day is nothing for me anymore. And I don't say that to brag, but to set the stage for the last section of my race report. I felt great for the first two miles, which were all relatively at a slight downward grade. Again, I knew this course, and knew that the last 3-4 miles were all uphill. I had trained on hills to prepare myself, but I tend to run in the evenings when it's not 107 freaking degrees out.
In the end, it was Mother Nature:1, Stephanie:0. I used every water station there was and kept my towel wet, but it got to the point I was so hot that I literaly could not feel the ice that I was rubbing on my chest. My shoes were wet from pouring water over my head (lesson learned!) and my feet felt 10 pounds heavier than they were. One guy blistered so bad he took off his shoes and was going to finish barefoot until one of the volunteers took off their socks and helped him put them on.
Serious cheerleading there, my friends.
And so I walked. A lot. I drank a couple small cups of Coke towards the end, which did help me run for awhile, but the last mile was all uphill and my body was pretty much telling me to piss off.
Then, as I made the final turn to the finish line, I saw my parents and my friend Matt (who had already finished his race and was awesome enough to stick around and cheer me in)- waving and taking pictures, and giving me high fives. "Finish strong!" Matt called from behind me, and so I bore down to kick in a final sprint.
"Oh hell no", replied my lower body. And promptly seized up into one big cramp. My toes were literally trying to point up towards the sky inside my shoes, and the back of both my calves instantly turned into a solid mass of "F%#@ YOU".
Ok then. I guess I will limp across the finish line.
But then there was the Randolph clan, screaming at me from just outside that magical strip of tape on the ground that would allow me to stop moving. Even their two kids were waving at me and smiling.
So I jogged across instead of limping. It wasn't pretty- in fact, I have absoultely no desire to see my finish line picture. Note where they parked the ambulance...
I was immediately surrounded by friends and family, all telling me how awesome I was. And all I could do was smile. I mean, I knew that I was by far (really, really far) not one of the finishers in the front half of my distance. I actually finished one minute slower than the year before. But at that moment, it just didn't matter. I had done it, and knew that I hadn't left anything out there. So I basked in the glory of praise for a few minutes and introduced friends and family to each other- all of us instantly bonding in the heat and sharing a moment that I know I will not forget.
Over the last week, I have done a lot of reflection on not just this last race, but on what this crazy world of endurance sports means to me. I have also eaten a lot of carbs and ice cream. I have asked myself some hard questions- should I do another Tri this year or focus on my last two half-marathons? And the biggest question of all- do I stay at the Olympic distance or move up/down in length? Training for 1/2 iron is no joke when it comes to dedication of time, and I know I missed out on some things this year in order to get my workouts in. I also know that I am in the best shape of my life though, which is not something every 41-year old can say.
By Wednesday, I was itching to get back outside, and rode my bike for an hour and a half. I could still feel some residual fatigue, but overall there was a sense of unexpected happiness. After my bike ride I jogged for 20 minutes, and again was suprised to find that my emotions were so positive. I think I have come to a point where it doesn't really matter if I PR or hit my goals. I need to relax a little bit and allow myself to enjoy and yes....be proud of what I have and can do. I'm not sure yet what the rest of this year and next may hold, but for now I am focusing on working out for ME, not for THE RACE.
And in the mean time, I am going to enjoy being a cheerleader as well. I have friends that are embarking on amazing journeys over the next couple of months, and I plan on paying it forward as much as possible. I have a cowbell, and am not afraid to use it.
Words are not enough to express my hearfelt gratitude for the support I have had over the last year. So many people have "liked" my Facebook posts, made encouraging comments, and helped me stay motivated through the good and bad times. I'd like to give shouts out to:
1. My husband and son, who have enured 4:00AM alarm clocks and no junk food in the house.
2. My parents, who have washed road gravel out of my ass when I crashed and driven me home when I could barely lift my bike back onto my car.
3. Matt Kennard, who has taught me what a true athlete is, both in body and mind. I can't wait to cheer you on as you capture your Iron dream in a few weeks.
4. Katie Kracus, a woman who does not let anyone or anything stop her when she puts her mind to something. By sharing her own stories of both the ups and downs of her journey, she has helped me come to terms that you really don't have to be an "elite" athlete at all (showing up at these races and seeing such amazing specimens of athletiscism can be daunting). You only have to race yourself.
5. My Secret Pal at work. I don't know who you are or if you will read this, but your thoughtful gifts over the last 6 months have meant more than you know.
6. Heidi and Shawn Randolph, who brought their two young boys out in serious heat to cheer me across the finish line. I'm so happy to find people close by who are as crazy as I am (I seriously don't know how you guys both train for 1/2 iron with two kids and jobs...I am in awe) and look forward to cheering each other on for years to come!
7. Tina Terrell- My running buddy who shows her kids every day that hard work pays off, and is proof that life after 40 can look pretty damn good ;). I can't wait to finish the year out with you and start training for our full marathon next year (it's in writing now, so it's official and you can't back out).
So go be a cheerleader, even if you have never run more than 100 yards in your life. When a 5K comes through your neighborhood- go stand by the road and give high fives. Got a friend who is doing some kind of race? Go with them and be a cheerleader- and not just for people you know. You would be amazed at how many complete strangers you can get to smile, and will help go just a little bit faster and a little bit longer...no pleated skirt required.
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