First things first: I know my updates on this blog have been lacking, but it’s all in the name of setting up my website, the debut of which is still a few months away (and you bet your ass it will be the best website you’ve ever seen!). (Hopefully.)
I can’t stop thinking about Monday. I’m sure this doesn’t make me unique in any way – and to be honest – I’m sort of mourning like I live in Boston, like I was there, like someone in my family or one of my friends was affected.
I couldn’t tell you why.
I fell in love with the city during a trip when I was 12 or 13. My brother and his wife lived there at the time – and since then, I’ve been back twice more. I have it in my head that some day I will own a house out there. Being there… every time I go back, it’s like home.
And then someone took it upon himself to bomb it. For no rational reason.
I feel as tired and weighted as I did when I was 16, watching the Sept. 11 attacks from my kitchen table over and over again until I made a bed from two chairs and passed out there. This time, I tried to avoid seeing grotesque pictures (and I don’t have a TV so I avoided media coverage that way), but it was inevitable. Shredded body parts everywhere. A man who tried to stand not realizing he didn’t have legs. Blood flowing down the streets.
An 8-year-old who will never grow up.
Some of my family and friends contacted me saying how glad they were that I was not running Boston. Running the Boston Marathon – for someone like me – is a really good dream if you’re on crack. But if you ignore the fact that I’m not fast enough for it (and that I haven’t run purposefully in about 5 months) … I knew what they meant.
My own marathon experience was hard fought and ultimately won. I struggled, I whined, I cried … and yet I persevered – and I absolutely would not have gotten through it without the support of my family and friends. And until Monday, it never occurred to me that a finish line would be a place where I’d have to fear for my and others’ lives, where I’d lose a limb or two. Where the family members or friends who cheered me on at different points in the race wouldn’t be there because an explosion took them away. Until Monday, I never thought the finish line would say, “Crime Scene Do Not Cross”.
I hope that in the coming days, weeks, or months some justice will be served. That authorities will find the person or persons who did this (and not let the media gorge on false info or stereotypes). I hope that, if you are a runner or a walker or a run/walker, you’ll continue to do what you’ve been doing – pushing yourself, trying your hardest. I hope you’ll let that last bit of inner strength come from the memory of those who are trying to piece their lives back together in the face of a senseless tragedy.
Perhaps the most important thing to take away from this is, if you are faced with unimaginable fear or destruction, to shove back at it until it dissipates. To all those who ran or helped on Monday, I do not have words for how much I respect you.
Take care of yourselves, friends.