Tuesday, April 16, 2013

An Attack On My Community

I am a runner.

My husband is an ultra runner.

He is a two time Boston marathoner.

I cannot wrap my thoughts around what happened yesterday in Boston.  I literally was right there two years ago.

I ran the 5K the day before the marathon in 2011.  I ran that exact stretch of Boylston Street.  That street is the final stretch of the 26.2 miles.  When you make the turn on Boylston, the view is indescribable.  People lined up along the side of the road, cheering so loud you can't hear your music on your iPod.  You feel such an adrenaline rush- even after only running  a 5K- I can't imagine what that feels like after running the marathon.

Yesterday, the unthinkable happened.  To think that my husband could have been one of those runners is just more than I can handle.  He had mentioned to me in the past he'd like to run Boston one more time.  Words can't express how thankful I am that he was not there.

I take this act of violence personally.  While I didn't know anyone running yesterday, I have something in common with every single person there.  I am a runner, a runner's wife, and a spectator.  There were runners, runner's wives, and spectators there.  I am a member of a running community because I run and because my husband is a runner.  Our best friends are runners.  Our own children have participated in races.  This is a community.  It is an attack on my running family.  The scenes were all too familar.  I recognized the infamous Boston jackets.  I recognized the bridge above the finish line where the media was lined up getting pictures of the runners as they crossed.  I recognized the finish line- my feet crossed that line two years ago.  I recognized the line of flags along the street right in front of where the bomb went off.  I remember seeing and being in those same moments two years ago.

I have trained for a half marathon.  I have supported my husband as he trained for race upon race.  I have spent many mornings alone while my husband completes his training runs.   I sacrificed my time with him so that he could attain his running goals.  My children know that the "Saturday Morning Norm" at our house is that Daddy has gone for a run.  He is rarely there when they walk sleepily down the stairs.  I have stood at finish line after finish line on race day waiting for my husband and friends to finish their races- anxiously waiting.   I feel that the events of yesterday were a personal attack on us.  I am angry, sad, and scared.

What was supposed to be a joyous day quickly turned tragic.  My thoughts and prayers go out to the entire city of Boston, my running community, the first responders, and medical professionals at the hosptials caring for my running family.