Monday, May 10, 1999
'Put it ON!' Fans cheered strangers
BY DANA DiFILIPPO
The Cincinnati Enquirer
In the flock of fans Flying Pig marathoners encountered on the Clay Wade Bailey Bridge near Third Street, some were silent watchers and polite clappers.
Others were more demonstrative, waving signs and shaking tambourines and other noisemakers.
And there was Rose Pascal.
“Move it! MOVE IT! MOVE IT! GOGOGOGOGO! C'mon 25, c'mon 14, OOOOOOH! Look, it's the first woman! C'MON WOMAN, DO IT, DO IT, DO IT! Put it on, put it ON! WoowoowooWOOWOO!”
And that was for the runners she didn't know.
When daughter Julie panted into view, Mrs. Pascal
howled.
Husband Mike, cursing his rundown camera battery, clicked away while Mrs. Pascal jumped up and down.
“We love this!” Mrs. Pascal proclaimed before hustling hubby off to catch the race farther along the 26.2-mile route.
For the Pascals of Pittsburgh and many of the thousands of fans who lined the route, marathon watching was almost as exciting and exhausting as marathon running as they raced from spot to spot to see friends and relatives pound past.
“This is part of the fun,” said Judy Bird, 55, of New Richmond, who briefly jogged beside son Adam for a picture before rushing to her car to get ahead of the runners again.
Pat Brown of Hyde Park brought a bevy of friends and relatives to watch wife Karen's first marathon. All wore bright green shirts with the inscription:
“Karen's partial to-do list: drive carpool, pick up drycleaning, grocery shop, laundry, cook dinner, playground duty, go to bank, pay bills, clean house, RUN MARATHON!”
Mr. Brown, who has run in several marathons, knows how important fans can be. “A marathon, especially the last miles, takes so much out of you. It's really a race against yourself. The cheering of the crowd really helps you.”
That's why Cheri Cross came downtown.
The 52-year-old West Chester resident didn't know anyone running but she remembered how invigorating enthusiastic fans were when she ran New York City's marathon in 1996.
“I'm just here to support everyone,” she said with a smile.
As she spoke, she shook a cow bell. A runner dressed in a pig suit shuffled over.
“Is that a pig bell?” he asked, snorting. “Where are the truffles?”
On Broadway, several veteran marathoners rooted for the runners with a tambourine and big noisemakers shaped like baby rattles.
“We have no kids, but we have all these kid toys,” explained Dayton resident Norm Essman, 46, who has run 13 marathons.
Mr. Essman and wife, Robyn, carried a bag with all sorts of cures for marathon maladies — Band-Aids, Vaseline, Tylenol, water, Ben-Gay and Gatorade.
Such aids could help some runners fend off the “vulture van” that follows runners and picks them up if they can't finish and need help, Mr. Essman said.
“A marathon is physically tough, but it's mentally murderous,” Mrs. Essman said. “You can be on the road four, five hours. You really start looking for fans to get you through it.”
On McMillan Street, red-faced runners grinned and grooved as they trotted past four teen-agers jamming on electric guitars and drums.
The quartet, whose sign identified them as the band One Way Out, readily acknowledged they were hoping to get as much out of the runners as they gave.
“If anyone wants us, we'll play at parties,” said Tim Hart, 17, of Anderson Township, pointing to the sign promising “Good rates! Hire us!”
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