Cheer

It’s no secret that I miss cheerleading and think it’s a pity that there’s no respectable way to cheer after one graduates from college.  I miss the teamwork, the raw athleticism, the enthusiasm, the physical contact, and the frankly amazing things cheerleaders do with their bodies.  In many ways, this program will never come close to touching that, even if it has gotten me back into shape so that I fit into my old uniform from freshman year.  Doing 100 push-ups or 10 perfect pull-ups will never give me the rush that back handsprings did.  No clean-and-press will ever be as satisfactory as launching a girl two stories in the air.  Partner stretching and lifting will never come close to matching partner stunting.

Still, this program has one amazing advantage over cheerleading.  It’s something I’d never appreciated as a runner, and I never really considered taking advantage of it after I stopped cheering.  In this program, no one ever makes me smile.  When it’s hard and I’m hitting the wall, I’m allowed to look like it’s hard and I’m hitting the wall.  When I’m giving it all I have to push through two more reps, no one cares if I grimace or audibly exhale.  When I’m angry and in pain, it’s written all over my face.  It’s an amazing kind of freedom.

They still make me yell, and they still make me jump. I still sometimes need to fake enthusiasm I don’t feel, and I still have to put up with trite phrases I don’t believe in.  But by gum, when I smile in that class, I mean it.