I think I’ve posted before that I’m a runner. The events in Boston yesterday still have me off-balance. I wasn’t there but I’ve been to Boston (and loved it), and a co-worker runs the Boston Marathon every year, and I had a friend there as a spectator. Everyone’s checked in, and Tom finished in 3:15, thank God. (Though hey, the dude finished 26.2 miles in just 25 minutes more than I finished 13.1. Now I feel like a complete slacker.)
People in the running community are wearing their race shirts today to show solidarity and support for the runners, first responders, spectators and family members who were affected. I’m wearing my Color Run shirt. When my husband moved out, I’d only just begun running, but after my first 5k I felt like I’d found a place where I belonged. There’s something about the sound of sneakers hitting pavement that makes me feel like I’m home.
Hearing the news of yesterday–doing 70 mph on the NJ Turnpike, on my way back from visiting my family in New York–this attack touched me personally because runners are my family too. I won’t even tell you how many laws I broke, trying to get home to get more information. (I could barely get any AM radio reception.)
If you want a really great first-hand account of yesterday, I read this blog this morning. I also saw that runners are wearing this race bib today when they go out:
I’m adding it to my bib banner, which hangs proudly in my room by the window. Every morning I open my eyes and smile, knowing, “I did that. I belong somewhere. I run.”
Today my heart is in Boston. When I started running, my goal was the Broad Street Run, which I’ll be doing in 19 days (assuming it’s still on; so far yes, but with tightened security). I never believed I could run a marathon. Now I want to try, for those who can’t run ever again.