To say that my mind has been consumed since last Monday would be an overstatement. I tried writing several times since that has typically been my outlet, but it’s the images I saw sitting helplessly in my living room on April 15, 2013 that chill me and continue to wake me up in the middle of the night. I’ve tried running but during the last week the miles have become stalled choking cry fests if I go to that dark place and think about what happened. I wasn’t there, but my heart was. I waited anxiously to hear from friends and those I consider my running family. Phone circuits jammed and overloaded, the only connection to them I had were through media outlets replaying the blasts over and over again without editing the graphic details. The man who ultimately helped to identify the bomber in the white hat, who is now without legs is what I have been waking up to every night for the last eight nights. I’m barely able to function through a workday and still I was one of the “lucky” ones who had not been there directly according to my family members who still don’t understand a marathon is a standard distance of 26.2 miles… I have never hated a word such as “lucky” until now. I did though have the misfortune of turning on my television at 2:52pm as I was getting ready for work to witness those first news broadcasts as I scanned my phone wondering why I hadn’t gotten my athlete text alerts for friends who were still running the race up there. I kept thinking, “It’s been four hours, why haven’t they finished yet? Where are they?” I maintain that such events are not comparable by any means. Last Monday was not 9/11. It was not a “typical” day in Syria. I can understand that there are people in the world who may hate my country, who may hate my religious beliefs and my democratic ideals but there was something about Boston that made it shockingly unexpected. I feel speechless. Helpless in ways I don’t I fully understand and I wasn’t even physically there.
My personal experience of running Boston in 2009 was overwhelming for a number of reasons that now, today, no longer even register for me. My priorities have deeply shifted. Although, while running in my fourth ever marathon at the time, I had never experienced such a large community of people supporting runners. Where else do you take water and food from strangers? Accept kisses and hugs along the course at Wellesley and drink beer with rows of fraternity brothers in the presence of police officers on the street? Where else do you feel an outpouring of innocent love and are proclaimed a rock star at the finish line? Not even my best dreams end with such illumination and feelings of success. As runners we wear our medals to post race dinners with pride and joke about traversing stairs and getting dressed the next day for work while our adrenaline is still keeping us mobile. The finish time becomes unimportant as much as the journey we took to get there. The Tuesday water cooler becomes a place to tell glory stories of crossing the finish line when you were least certain about your abilities and how you dug deep there at the very end and made it through. The very best stories are there at the finish line because so many of life’s circumstances inspired you to try, to make the attempt and effort to get there. Yet, last Monday’s innocence was seemingly destroyed in a succession of ten seconds.
Ten Seconds.
I say it was “seemingly” destroyed because if you are a runner, know a runner or love a runner you know we will continue to keep doing what we love. We are resilient. No act of cowardice will change this. Nothing will alter those early morning long runs, speed work sessions and taper tantrums. We will be changed; this is true on a fundament level. We will be marked in a way that will always ache for those at Boston last Monday. The purity of our sport tainted but like the phoenix rising from the ashes of tragedy we will continue running, because that is simply who we are.
I believe that for those of us runners, the best medicine will be to turn off the TV in the coming days and weeks, shut down the cell phone and go for a run. Let the miles exhaust our turning minds and begin to reclaim some of the peace we sought in our running to begin with. For those that don’t run, I believe this is equally painful for you; I have no doubt that all people from all walks of life have experienced pain on some level. There is NO comparison here. When I look at images of people who trained daily for hours, days, weeks, months and years to achieve the BQ (and still continue to do so) those grievous injuries of losing limbs and being severely injured from the finish line blast, words just choke me. My thoughts are to support those continuing to grieve the events of the day, the runners, families, volunteers and first responders. If you need to run miles as a tribute, fundraise for those in need, get back in shape and start anew then just do what you need to do to help your grieving process along. Understand that we might not want to talk about this, it’s hard enough to think about the “what ifs.”
So again, while I wasn’t there, my heart still hurts for Boston and my running family. It grieves for the little boy who doesn’t get to grow up, the restaurant manager who doesn’t get to marry her sweetheart, the young college student who will never complete school and the security officer who fulfilled his duty to protect and serve with the ultimate sacrifice, lives simply cut too short, for all the victims, now survivors struggling to make sense of such an illogical event. When you see us staring blankly at our sneakers encourage us to put them on and get out there, heck grab your own and join us, we’re a friendly bunch and we accept all people from all walks of life. For me it will be the getting back into the swing of things, finding a new normal all over again, training for a new BQ, new PRs but mostly to be with my fellow runners.
“If you are losing faith in human nature, go out and watch a marathon.” ― Kathrine Switzer, 26.2: Marathon Stories
The following video clip is of the fans at the Boston Bruins game breaking out into singing the National Anthem. I’m trying to focus on the positive images of strength and solidarity. Those are most helpful for me to reflect on during this difficult time. XOXO
Boston Bruin fans sing the National Anthem
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