runnin' through the ghetto

Today is the National Marathon. I didn't know it until I woke up this morning and it was all over the news, and all of the sudden, I saw my neighborhood on t.v. Turns out that as part of the H Street Revitalization Movement, the last two miles of the marathon are through my hood.
Being the novice runner that I am, I felt compelled to get dressed and go outside and cheer them on, especially when the newscaster was like "It's the spectators that are on H Street that are really helping these runners get through the last two miles." So I went outside at 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and screamed and clapped at each runner who went by. It was fun. I yelled things like "Go 'head girl!" and "Welcome to H Street!" and "Lookin' good! You're almost there!" and "22 miles down! Wooooo!"

There were hundreds of H Street residents on the sidewalks acting as spectators. You could tell which ones were the newer residents and which ones have lived here for decades. The new ones, like me, were cheering. The long-time residents, those who lived in this area and saw it under siege during the riots of '68 and called it home despite the violent reputation it maintained for years, stood there baffled. I caught a piece of a conversation between two long-time residents that I think summed up their sentiment: "They got these people runnin' through the ghetto."

Ghetto or no ghetto, this is my neighborhood now too, and I never knew it before this morning, but I'm growing kind of fond of it. "Welcome to H Street," I told the runners. And I meant what I was saying. I was truly welcoming them to my neighborhood.