A Real Heartbreak Hill

I've never wanted to run more than I do right at this moment.

I am still in shock after what happened at the Boston Marathon yesterday.  Patriot’s Day is the best day of the year in Boston— morning baseball at Fenway combined with the marathon and its throngs of supporters make for an electric atmosphere. Unless you've been there, it’s hard to explain.  Even though I've moved away, I still woke up on Marathon Monday excited to follow the day’s festivities online.

Four hours after the marathon began, the jubilation turned to terror. After hearing the news of the bombings at the finish line, the only thing I could think of to honor my city from a thousand miles away was to run a few myself. But I can’t because I have a back injury (which feels pretty minuscule in light of yesterday’s events).  So I read the news all night, changed my Facebook profile picture and wore my Red Sox hat.  It brought me a little comfort, as did the friends in Chicago who checked in with me to see if my family was safe.  This morning, the Chicago Tribune ran a touching tribute in its sports section.  I realized that if I can’t be in my home city, I am glad I live here.


Now that 24 hours has passed, the shock has turned to anger— anger that nothing is sacred anymore, not even a 117-year-old road race.  The innocence of this day has been snatched up from Bostonians and the running community.  People came to run— but some didn't walk away, while others may not be able to ever run again.  One of my friends, Mike, said it best when he said: “the day after a marathon your legs are supposed to hurt, not your heart.”

Another friend, Samantha, said it perfectly in a Facebook post this morning:  

“I know it's late, but finally I've thought of words I want to say. The finish line of a race is sacred. It's a place where dreams are both made and accomplished. Where you witness loved ones and complete strangers achieve their goals, with tears in your eyes. And I just feel how dare that sacred ground be attacked so brutally. This was definitely personal. Thinking of you Boston.”

All I could say after the bombs went off was “why would someone do this” but she said everything I have been feeling.  If you've ever run a race, you know the sense of community you get when you pin on your number.  The camaraderie is outstanding.  As is the freedom you feel as your feet hit the pavement and the wind tickles your face as you cruise along the course. 

It makes me sad to think that maybe I’ll never feel that way again. It made me feel even worse when I heard that the second confirmed victim who died in the blast was a 29-year-old woman.

But in the 24 hours after the attack, I have seen nothing but perseverance, fortitude and incredible spirit. The same spirit that lines the streets of Boston on Patriot’s Day. 

While our community has been infiltrated with evil, the moment will be fleeting and the good will far outlast the bad.  There is strength in numbers -- something I have seen at every road race I have ever been a part of.  Even in Chicago, halfway across the country from the attacks, impromptu runs have been organized to honor the Boston victims. It breaks my heart that I can't be a part of it or mourn with the city I love. But I do know this: like all injuries, our great city will heal and bounce back stronger than before. 

We will all run again.