After a late night of riding my bike along the marathon course and a long morning cheering on the runners at Wellesley I had finally settled in to take a nap Monday afternoon when my phone started ringing. I promptly ignored it, but it kept ringing. And ringing. So I got up and checked the voice mail transcripts. At first I was surprised to see so many, but then I read what caused me to run downstairs and turn on the tv:
I stood in front of the tv for ten minutes watching the same video clip of the explosion. Disbelief and shock quickly transformed itself and I began studying the video, looking for anyone that I may know. Having met Kim and Vin at the half-way point I knew what they were wearing so I scanned the footage looking for any sign of them. Finally convinced that they weren't there I confirmed with the BAA tracking that they never reached the finish and weren't scheduled to for some time. Facebook had become the source of information for most people so I updated everyone as I found out anything.
What amazed me was how quickly I went from the shock of seeing what happened to transitioning into crisis mode to start collecting, organizing, and disseminating information out to people. But through it all one feeling remained with me; anger. Anger at whoever did this. This is my marathon, the marathon I grew up watching, the marathon that got me into running. It stands as a testament to the countless hours of sacrifice and perseverance that runners endure to better themselves and their dedication to reach for a goal for which some may never achieve. The Boston Marathon is an event like no other. It is a race, a celebration, a party, a destination, a day of victory. It is history. I stood in anger as someone tried to take away all of that.
I'm still angry, but also resolved to not let these events change anything I love about the marathon. The anger may last for awhile but one thing I am certain of is that I have no fear. No one can make me afraid to be involved with the marathon that I love, no matter what they do. Because in the end it's not just about celebrating a race, it is about celebrating the people who make up the race. That is what makes the Boston Marathon so special, the people, whether they are running, volunteering or cheering it's the people who make the race what it is.
After watching hours of tv and internet coverage, hearing all of the stories, and making sure everyone I knew was safe there were still no answers to why. So I did the only thing I could think of to do, I laced up my shoes, and for the first time since suffering the injury that kept me from running that day, I went for a run.