Monday, April 15, 2013

For Boston

Today was a hard day. The Boston Marathon is something I hold so close - because this is my city. This my event. My running the Marathon changed my life and the very fabric of my identity. To run Boston restores your faith in humanity - from all the amazing causes people fundraise and run for,  the kindess of strangers who live along the route and pass out food and water to runners, to a generally grumpy and sarcastic city opening their small and mighty city to the world - it is the epitome of the human spirit: resilient, kind, and connected.

The events from today looked to be the antagonist of the Spirt of the Boston Marathon. Whoever is responsible was seeking to shake that spirit and destroy the bond within the global running community, Boston, and beyond.

I've experienced so many injuries from running (as most runners do) - hammies, knees, blisters - the list goes on and on. But as any injured runner knows, it'll heal, and you can get back out and hit the road. The stories of cancer survivors and trauma survivors who turn to running to heal themselves and go on to help others are countless. The running community has learned from running that nothing happens overnight, but that gradually and with support from our fellow runners (and non-runners alike), we can heal, we can accomplish, we can contribute to something bigger than ourselves.

The stories of humanity are already starting to surface: the first responders on the scene, running into the oblivion, to help victims. The nurses and the doctors in the medical tents who triaged patients with grave injuries, even though they thought the worst they'd face today was some dehydration or some chafed nipples. The residents of Boston banding together to offer vistiors anything - a phone charger, a place to stay, a hot shower, food - in a giant Google doc.

Today's events cut me to my very core. My home, my friends, my co-runners, my spiritual center was attacked by someone I don't know for reasons I had no control over. I cried for the victims. I cried for that patch of Boylston St. and my running store. I cried for those runners whose personal victories are now overshadowed by this atrocity. I cried for the runners who were not able to finish the race, after 16+ weeks of training and mental preparation. I cried because I felt like someone had hurt one of my closest friends or family members.

But tomorrow, I will lace up again. I will wear my "Boston Runnah" t-shirt. I will run my quiet 3-mile loop around the Charles River. And I, with my fellow Bostonians and runners, will begin to heal.