#prayforboston

I woke up this morning pissy that I wasn't going to be attending the Boston Marathon.  This would be the first time since I was 22 that I would not go into the city.  I whined at GM about it (who decided to work from home as well) and then grudgingly got on a conference call.  Around 11AM, I watched the winners cross the finish line, cried (sporting event winners make me misty), and then turned to him and said we HAD to make sure we took the day next year to go.

See, Marathon Monday in Boston is one of my favorite days of the year.  Non-MA people find this odd, since I don't run marathons. But Marathon Monday is a delightful mix of athletes and spectators, people doing something amazing and people happy to witness that.  The air vibrates in Boston on this day.  Roof decks and patios are open and we gather as amazing runners, spectators, drinkers, and cheerleaders...supporting friends and perfect strangers alike. 

Today, On April 15th, 2013, the first Marathon Monday I did not attend in 8 years, someone bombed the finish line.  But that's is not what this post is about.  It is not about who did this or what I would like to do to them.  It is not about the horrific scenes Bostonians had to witness today, or the fear that terror inspires.  We can talk about that for years to come. 

This is about the good that the Boston Marathon brings.  I want to record how I feel about it so that I don't lose it. 

My first marathon was actually before I was of drinking age.  A few friends from high school and I went to see Will Ferrell running.  Little did we know, that was impossible.  But as we stood there watching these amazing athletes, running more than I drive in a week, I was beside myself in awe.  These were regular people doing something just so NOT regular.  And for the day, they take off their  heels, ties, and uniforms and they become super heroes. 

The next time I went, we happened to be at mile 26.1 in time to watch the winners cross.  I saw a woman (Kenyan, of course) running so fast, it looked subhuman.  She was running- no- she was gliding, with a huge smile on her face, like she could do another 26 and would not be tired.  I watched the first 5 women cross, and I just got all weepy, so proud of these perfect strangers for accomplishing something so magnificent. 

After that day, LG and I made this a bit of a tradition.  One year I went in to support a friend from college.  We tracked his miles and found him on heartbreak hill, and ran along side him, screaming cheers of support to get him over what can only feel like a mountain at that stage of the race.  The year I started dating GM, we went to the marathon and drank up and down Boylston.  It was the first day I had met most of his co-workers.  Last year we ended up on a roof deck by Fenway with dozens of mutual friends from all areas of life, just hanging out, loving life and loving the city.  This was an event that has been crime free, tragedy free, and just a celebration of sport and achievement. 

It is difficult, knowing  what it is like to stand on the sidewalk, in awe of the competitors, not to feel violated by the thought that someone could blow them up.  That it could have been anyone.  That a child watching this, and maybe feeling the same level of amazement I did the first time I saw the finishers, would have had their lives forever altered, or ended, in that same moment.

Its difficult to find any sliver lining, and maybe too soon to look.  But I am adamant that this day will be a day again where you are proud of your fellow man, even if you don't know them.  Where you can revel in the achievement of humans, and friends, and life.  That is the feeling terrorism tries to take from us.  My heart breaks for the city of Boston today.  But maybe we will learn something from the runners today about never giving up.