Boston: We Love You

The greatest stressors on race day are usually weather and temps,  getting up ridiculously early to prepare and get into the starting corrals, having everything you need,  dealing with the crowds and transportation, and fighting your own expectations.  I'm sure as this group of elites ran through their early miles all they focused on was pace and time, pace and time....getting into the groove that will eat up the road in a quick and steady cadence through the finish line.

The last mile or so until the finish,  where the bombs went off,  was full of runners in Boston.  The 4-ish hours finish time is a good average;  many marathoners come in around 3- 4+ hours,  and the chute with spectators on each side were full of people.  Runners grasping for their last bit of energy into the line;  spectators cheering them on...families, babies, moms and dads.  If you've run a marathon, then you know:  there is nothing more celebratory than what happens as folks come in. 

My supervisor and I got the news at work, about the same time.  She ran Boston 3 years ago and is from there;  so distraught after trying to reach family,  she left.  I felt a surreal shock settle on me, as I kept trying to focus on clients and work....strangely,  it almost seemed as if the world had caught its collective breath as we all looked at each other asking the question:  "how does this happen??"

The old races,  Boston and NYC,  are the pinnacle of any runner's resume'.  From now on,  everyone running yesterday's marathon will know it as "the year of the bombing."   From now on,  running a marathon - or any sporting event- will come with much added security and questions and trepidations....as we all become targets for some one else's violent revenge.

I ran a modest out and back this morning,  not feeling particularly energetic,  my soul all bound up in the feelings of deep grief we in the running world,  and the world at large, are feeling.   Yes it is one more in a long string of violent events.   And yes each time, we feel the shock and surprise.  But running is our precious birthright,  this simple thing we do that gives us solace and solitude,  community and camaraderie,  peace and health all at once.  I ran and prayed.   I thanked my legs for bringing me this far.  I thanked the road for being safe, and prayed all our roads remain safe.   I thought about the families, the dead,  the maimed;  I imagined legions of angels at our disposal helping, giving hope back to every runner who, like me,  put on their shoes and ran today.  I knew every footfall was my confirmation that I strive, maintain,  persevere, and make a mark by simply being alive. 
Mostly I prayed for a world where such things become a distant memory told to children about how the world changed to become a better place.

Keep running.