I held off posting right away.
There’s always so much speculation when such tragedies occur. Everyone trying to make sense out of the senseless.
This whole thing has been weighing heavy on my heart this entire week.
Reflection has done nothing to sort out the carnage.
I’m new to the running community. A community who, after only one 5k, has left a lasting impression on my mind and my heart.
Running is often thought of as an individual sport. Running against your own times. Achieving your own goals. But the camaraderie. Ah, the camaraderie!
I never felt so much emotion as when I gave birth. Indescribable, I-can-do-this-teary-eyed-joyous-love filled emotion. The day of my first 5k, I was filled with nearly that same emotion.
A crowd of people I’d never met cheered on runners they’d never met, the high-fives handed out along the course, the father running with his son softly encouraging… it gives me chills.
When I opened facebook Monday afternoon and began reading the many posts about the brutal attack at the Boston Marathon I was in shock.
I cried.
My mind wandered to those injured. Those who lost their lives. I immediately began wondering about the hubs cousin who is away at college there (she was fine). I thought about runners, and their families waiting along the finish line to join in triumph over accomplishments. I thought about my own family standing at the finish line the previous weekend awaiting me. I wept.
Race grader and their followers offered a way to show support the following day by wearing a running shirt in honor of Boston, so I did. For Boston. Didn’t seem like much, but it was something I could do all the way across the country.
#RunforBoston was all over twitter, so I did. For Boston.
The past week, I’ve been spending extra time with A just snuggling, running, reflecting, snuggling some more, more running, and lots more snuggling. Because that’s what you do when tragedy strikes. You hold your loved ones tight, you find solace in the usual comforts.
I received a message from an old friend who knew about my running endeavors saying maybe I should stay away from marathons. It was certainly food for thought through all the reflection of this horrific event.
But that’s what the people responsible would wish for, isn’t it? That we retreat. That our spirit be broken, and we hide like the cowards they are.
I learned, with the untimely passing of my dad who was in the wrong place at the wrong time when ran down by a drunk driver, that senseless acts happen. It’s just that. The wrong place at the wrong time. We could live our lives shelled up in our houses. Never step out of our comfort zone. Hide like cowards.
If I learned anything from my first race it’s that those runners aren’t cowards. They’ll hold their heads high. They’ll make it to the finish line on the next race. They’ll never give up.
Lives were lost to see those runners keep going… to the finish line. That finish line there in Boston and beyond.
We will move on. The events will blur, and details be forgotten. What I think we should remember is the courage that swelled there that day. Tragedy will strike, events we can’t always control will happen. Boston solidifies that even though there is evil in this world, there is still so much good, so many good people.
My heart is with you Boston.
Haven Street Style Studio 