[This obviously is a tragedy for all of humanity. I offer thoughts from a runner's perspective. Thoughts that were hard to put to words until tonight, and even now, are a struggle.]
I walked out of work yesterday wearing my Boston Marathon jacket, carrying my drawstring bag from the race. I hadn't brought those things because it was Marathon Monday. I usually have them these days and I am very proud to wear the jacket. But it wasn't a usual day anymore. I left work an hour early, fighting back tears. I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't comprehend it all. Explosions at the end of the Boston Marathon just didn't make sense.
Boston is our Mecca. When you tell someone you run marathons, they inevitably ask if you've run Boston. It's a finish thousands upon thousands of runners aspire to one day achieve. One for which people put in countless hours, days, weeks, months, even years, of hard work. Of pain and agony. Of highs and lows. Of hope and dreams.
I was lucky enough to run two years ago. My Boston story was not unlike any other. Several attempts to "BQ" (achieve a Boston Qualifying time) came up short. One race I missed the time by just a few seconds. In Fall of 2010, I collapsed at the finish line in New Hampshire, having qualified by a mere 3 seconds. And in April 2011, I was blessed enough to celebrate all the way from Hopkinton to Copley Square, and raise my arms in exultation crossing the finish line.
Then yesterday I heard the news, saw the pictures, watched the videos, and read the accounts. I recognized the places immediately, as if it was yesterday. While I wasn't there this year, this hit very close to home. I could have been running. My family could have been there watching. If my dad had qualified, it would have been about where he would finish. It could have been my sister. I knew people that were running this year. As runners, we are part of a community. A big family. And, by extension, so are the volunteers and spectators who support us every step of the way. They selflessly take time out of their schedules to support us, put up with our running talk and overall nuttiness, and at races, encourage complete strangers. It was all too real. It was my running family. Emotionally, it shook me hard.
When I got home I was compelled to go for a run. Courtney came over for some company and brought her running shoes, apparently knowing I might want to run. I ran 8+ miles (longest in a few months) on Sunday, so my legs were tired, and on top of that still recovering from various injuries. It didn't make sense to run. But then, it was the only thing that made sense to do. It was all I could do at that point. I wore my Boston shirt, of course. The run helped. Having Courtney's company helped. I called my dad and my sister, and that helped.
Still, today I was in sort of a daze. I worked (until the power went out in my area) and was semi-efficient. I wore my Marine Corps Marathon shirt (now that Boston's was dirtied). The questions are all still fluttering around upstairs, but the biggest is always "Why?" Patriot's Day, Marathon Monday. A day celebrating the fight and perseverance in Americans. 25,000 people that stop at nothing to get there. Hundreds of thousands more supporting them and enjoying all the festivities on a beautiful day. A celebration of the human spirit.
Instead, an 8-year old boy, waiting for his father, now waits for him in Heaven. Two others lost their lives. Nearly 200 with injuries, many serious. I can only imagine the pain and suffering that those directly affected
by this can be experiencing, and my heart goes out to all of them, their
families, and their friends.
Through all the horror and devastation, we have to find a way to see that human spirit. That it cannot be broken. We have to see the hundreds of first responders, EMTs, volunteers, and civilians who rushed to the aid of those injured in the blasts. We have to see the runners who continued running straight to the hospitals to give blood. We have to see the people who opened their business and homes to those in need of food, water, heat, or somewhere to stay. We have to see the outpouring of support from the community, Americans, and those around the world.
Does this mean that I will never run again in Boston if I am fortunate enough to qualify again? Does it mean that I don't plan to run New York? Or Chicago. Not a bit; it ensures I will run them. We will not be beaten. We must continue to see the spirit that marathons embody. The spirit of the people of Boston, the people of America, and the human race. And that spirit cannot be broken.
