In January 1992, I ran through a flock of pigeons along Grande Rue in Grenoble, France. “Allez-Allez!” called an elderly man feeding them. Go faster! — he clapped.

“Training for the Olympics?” he asked.

“Non, monsieur!” I laughed, shaking my head. The next day, Henri cheered again and stood for introductions. He was disappointed I was not an Olympian, but continued to clap and shout “Allez-Allez!” as I passed for the next three months. In June, I stopped to say goodbye.

“Why run every morning if you’re not an Olympian?” he asked.

“Je me prpare pour jouer au foot,” I said.

Henri paused from scattering cracked corn. “I didn’t know girls played soccer.”

Last week, I disturbed another flock along E. 70th Street in New York City. The pigeons scattered as I queued between orange barriers around a construction sidewalk. Irritated people, late for Very Important Things, checked their phones. The hold-up was a dapper man in gray slacks and polished shoes, silver head bent, hands gripping his walker, inching around the corner.

The city softened. Horns, chatter, music faded. Phones disappeared. Appointments, lunch dates, afternoon coffee lost status. We watched him shuffle one foot forward, thud the walker down, shuffle the other. Distance: three inches. Shuffle, thud, shuffle.

Twenty yards behind him, a digital billboard flashed an image of Nordic Ski Champion Jessie Diggins: One More Season. In a patriotic racing suit, Jessie embodies the quote from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”: “Though she be but little, she is fierce.”

The billboard flipped again to Rose LaVelle — Holy MVP, Batman! Midfielder, World Cup gold medalist and Olympian, the night before, Rose hammered in a goal to help Gotham FC win the National Women’s Soccer League. If Henri and his pigeons could see us now, girls play soccer — hell yes, we do.

I was thrilled to see elite female athletes on display, and annoyed at the existing pay gap. From players to coaches, administrators and sponsors, the centuries-long habit of profiting from women’s excellence still exists.

Behind Jessie and Rose is a phalanx of historical support: Haudenosaunee clan mothers, legislators, scholars, coaches, lawyers, champions, amateurs and fans pushing the sports equality agenda. In the late 1800s, Haudenosaunee longhouses were led by clan mothers who appointed chiefs, commanded land and kept society balanced. Their authority inspired 19th-century suffragists Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Matilda Joslyn Gage. Gage’s essays and activism helped build the suffrage foundation that would push the nation to the 19th Amendment.

In 1922, Alice Milliat, a French swimmer, rower and linguist, rejected claims that women couldn’t run “more than a few meters.” When the IOC slammed the door, she started the Women’s World Games; the IOC relented a decade later. In the 1940s, wartime leagues and the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League held the line — and by the 1950s, athletes like Babe Didrikson Zaharias and the Ladies Professional Golf Association founders pushed women’s sports into the professional era. Patsy Mink co-authored Title IX in 1972, declaring that girls and women had the right to train, learn and play. By 1973, Billie Jean King defeated Bobby Riggs, carrying a racket and a century of determination.

The pay gap was legally challenged when the United States Women’s National Soccer Team sued U.S. Soccer, winning $24 million. Today, NIL — Name, Image and Likeness — lets Division I athletes finally earn from the identities that fill arenas. Progress.

Shuffle, thud, shuffle. We slowly passed as the man glanced at the curb, braced himself. I got closer and he fixed his steely blue eyes on mine. “Happy Thanksgiving,” he said.

“Happy Thanksgiving to you,” I replied. “Allez-Allez!”