Peanut Gallery

On Saturday the course of a 5K went right past our house. Since I’ve gained considerable skills as a race cheerleader in the aftermath of my dreadful hamstring injury, I rallied the troops (three out of four kids and the dog; my oldest was having a special sleepover with the grandparents before soccer season kicks off) and headed outside to encourage the runners.

We happen to live along a heartbreak hill. It’s one of those hills that doesn’t look so bad until you start running it because it’s gradual but also interminable. Well, a lot of people didn’t seem too happy as they ascended, but I know how much crowd support can help me push harder or just keep my feet moving in the right direction, so I was giving it all I got.

“Pump those arms! It helps! You’ve got this!”

“You’re doing great!”

“It’s not much farther. Way to go!”

And so on…

The run supports a local elementary school, so there were quite a few children running, and I just loved their response to my cheering. Without fail, their grimaces turned to smiles and they pumped their arms harder and picked up the pace and became flushed with a fiery determination.

That’s what I am talking about!

Some of the adults, however, were not so receptive to my attaboys and attagirls.

One man snapped at me, “I don’t see you out here, do I?”

Are you seriously talking trash with someone who is only trying to fire you up?

Now I know I should have just let it go. I should have smiled and continued to encourage him, but his attitude really irked me because I wanted to scream back, “I only wish I could be out there suffering the misery of climbing that hill in a race! Yes, I’d rather be suffering than be sidelined!”

{Last weekend, I received the green light to run with my girls in a one-mile fun run, and it was a great comeback. I do have some residual tendinopathy in the high hamstring area and really have to take it slow. I keep reminding myself of my long-term goals and that I don’t have anything to prove on an individual run. I am growing in the virtue of patience and learning to accept all of this. This setback has been good for me as a runner and a person.}

Watching races is getting easier on me since I had to drop out of two races in the fall and winter that I had already registered for and ended up cheering for my running pal, but I still find it difficult. I want to be out there!

So unfortunately, I found myself shouting back at the man, “I would be out there if I hadn’t torn my hamstring!”

Oh, you didn’t? you’re thinking. I did. I am sorry. Please love obnoxious me anyway. Hey, at least I didn’t stick out my tongue and say, “So there!”

A woman who was running alongside the man, who I assume was his spouse, said sheepishly, “Thanks for cheering!”

“You’re welcome! You’re doing great!” I just wouldn’t stop. What is wrong with me?

A few minutes later my unflappable enthusiasm was further attacked. “You’re doing great!” I shouted once again, this time to an elderly man who was shuffling up the hill.

“No, I”m not!” he shouted back at me.

“Yes, you are!” I countered.

“It’s a 5K run, not walk!” he argued.

“But you’re moving!” You. Will. Not. Kill. My. Inner. Pollyanna.

“I’m barely walking.”

“But other people are just sitting on their hinies right now drinking their coffee! You’re out here!”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

Please just move along, Mr. Negatron. And he did. Thank goodness.

At one point, my 4-year-old gave me a quizzical look, those earthy-green eyes of hers staring up at me and my feverishly clapping hands.

I looked back at her. “Why aren’t you cheering?” I asked her perhaps a tad defensively.

She shrugged her shoulders in a way that seemed to say, “Why bother?”

She stood beside me observing person after person climb the hill in anguish and probably was deciding she would never run a race in her life. Meanwhile, 2-year-old Thomas was wandering into our neighbor’s yard while 6-year-old Rachel was riding her bike up and down the driveway. About the only one cheering with me was the dog. Layla was wagging her tail and barking at most of the runners. A few people complimented her. I guess I should have let my tongue enthusiastically hang out of my mouth.

Four-year-old Mary Elizabeth did provide some honest but awkward commentary. One man came by breathing a lot like the wolf in Disney’s Sword in the Stone. She then said quite loudly, “Mommy, that man has a terrible cold!”

It wasn’t a cold. It’s called exercise-induced hyperventilation.

She also loudly asked if a speedy blur of a boy with long-ish sandy blonde hair was a boy or a girl.

I’m thinking our little peanut gallery maybe should have stayed inside.

I recounted my conversation/argument with the runner who asked why I wasn’t out there running with Madeline, and she said, “You said that? How embarrassing. I hope he doesn’t recognize us.”

She has a point. It wasn’t my best moment.

To be fair, I (think) I was really encouraging to a great number of participants, and many people thanked us for being out there, cheering them on and even offered us big grins. One woman said thanks and told us we were in a great spot on account of the hill. Also, a friend of mine who was stationed on a downhill portion of the course said everyone was all smiles, so we were probably just positioned on a bad spot.

And the children runners – well, like I said, seeing them pick up their pace and beam with determination and pride at the sound of my hurrays (and Layla’s happy barks!) was worth the arguing and trash-talking.

Being sidelined for so long has really reminded me to not ever take running or even tottering up killer hills for granted. I also know that once I’m back racing I will try to continue what I’ve always done for the crowd who shows up just to offer their support – I’ll smile and sometimes wave, show my appreciation, and not take myself too seriously. I’ll push myself up the hills and be grateful for all the people on the sidelines – some who, like I was on Saturday, may very well be wishing they could be out there, too.