I take a deep breath. “Go Lowell, Cardinals, Big Red, Fire it Up, Pump it up!” As I shout a string of school-spirited cheers, I get a rush of adrenaline and giddiness and hope that my obnoxiously loud voice echoes across the field.

Regardless of what critics may say, cheerleading is a sport; cheerleaders can toss each other into the air, throw backhand springs and tucks, and stick leg-splitting toe-touches with smiles emblazoned on their faces — all of which requires strength, endurance and commitment just like any other competitive sport.

As a former member of varsity Lowell Cheer, I look back on my year-long term with fondness and nostalgia. When I joined, Cheer seemed so foreign to me and I wasn’t as flexible or strong; I entered the sport with a million flaws and only a vague idea of the physical demands of cheer. Before joining the team, the heaviest weight I had ever had to carry was a ten-pound Biology textbook. A weakling at the time, I stared in awe at the experienced senior cheerleaders who flung their teammates into the air with ease.

Nicknamed the “Angry Cheerleader” over the course of the year, I masked a blank face, incapable of showing my pearly whites. During routines, I bore a frown and intently concentrated on the High-V and Low-V motions required. My limbs seemed to have a mind of their own, which made me look awkward during the dancing routines.

As a timid freshman, I was designated as a base, a position that bore the responsibility of ensuring the safety of the flyer, the cheerleader who gets thrown in the air. This thought frightened me, since I was certain my lack of strength would result in the unintentional drop of my assigned flyer; but through practice, I gained arm muscle, thunder thighs and an endless number of memorable bruises. During one of our routine practices for Nationals, I managed to get kicked in the face by a flyer who was being twirled into the air by her stunt group. Needless to say, the kick catapulted me across the room with a shoe print branded on my right cheek. More funny than painful, I laughed the incident off and made jokes with the rest of my teammates about how ridiculous I looked soaring through the air from one end of the room to the other.

The physical gains, although beneficial, did not compare to the unique bond that formed within the team and the boost in my self-confidence. The seniors on the team became the older sisters and brothers that I never had, as if we all morphed into a family. Through our sleepovers and the Nationals’ trip, we gained each other’s trust and knew we could turn to each other to vent about our lives. The advice that the seniors gave about high school and achieving my personal best rather than comparing myself to others has really stuck with me and proved useful this year. Regrettably, because of parents’ disapproval, I was no longer allowed to join Cheer again in my junior year.

Now whenever I watch cheerleading movies and TV shows such as Bring it On or Hellcats, I feel proud that I can understand the cheer lingo. I find myself critically analyzing the stunts they perform, rather than just admiring the routines in amazement as I used to before Cheer. As a fan in the stands rather than a cheerleader on the field, my voice is now a head-turner when I cheer on the Cardinals.

A version of this article first appeared in the Jan. 28, 2011 print edition of The Lowell.