By now you all know what happened in Boston today.
How many times have we all run races with our loved ones waiting for us at the finish line? It never once occurred to me that any of us could be in danger. I don’t know that I’ll ever view any finish line, especially that one in Boston, the same again. I was not there today, but I was there two years ago today. My family waited for me at that finish line like so many other families today. I took ownership of that finish line because I worked so hard to get there. It holds a special place for me.
Horrible things keep tarnishing and hurting people, places and experiences we love. And, now, terror has touched running in a profound and new way.
We all know what the finish line of a race symbolizes - pride, achievement, gratitude, fortune, happiness, relief, and hard work. The finish line is where we reunite with those that care about us, and where we share our hard sought accomplishments. That line means so much.
To watch that older gentleman, just feet from the finish line, get blown off his feet and to the ground was devastating (amazingly, I found out that this man, Bill Iffrig – 78 years old, not only crossed the finish line, but he did so second in his age group and walked 1 km back to his hotel room. I love the determination of runners of all ages).
For that line to become a place of horror and carnage is surreal, disgusting, saddening, maddening.
“Why, mom, does this keep happening?”
I have no clue what to tell my kids about our world anymore.
My heartfelt thoughts and prayers go out to everyone in Boston today, especially those who passed, the injured, the traumatized, the scared.
Many have said the day of the Boston Marathon is the best day that the city experiences all year. I am so sorry today is now a part of Boston’s history. I’ll tell you one thing – this makes me want to work my butt off to get back there again. Stand up, fear not, be strong.