In the spring of 2007, I was working as a live-in nanny in New Jersey. A few of us nannies took a long weekend road trip to explore New Hampshire, Rhode Island and Boston. We arrived to Boston late Sunday evening and awoke Monday morning to fire alarms going off in our hotel. Pajama clad, in a sleepy haze, we shuffled outside to wait for the chaos to settle. While we waited we saw a few people running with bibs on. The “parade” continued until we headed back inside for breakfast. At one point, someone explained it was the Boston Marathon and I remember thinking, “Oh, cool!”
Now that I’ve dabbled in running and even ran the NYC 1/2 marathon back in the day, I have much stronger appreciation for what the Boston Marathon means. I’ve read blogs and watched documentaries about how people train for years to simply qualify for this race and it is incredibly motivating. I never expect myself to personally run Boston, but I am in awe of those that do.
I woke up yesterday excited for all of those runners whose dreams were coming true. I reflected on how excited and how proud they must be for making it this far. I didn’t stream coverage of the race itself but I followed along on Twitter and admired from afar.
When I first read the word “explosion” I thought surely they meant a photo of an exciting race finish (although that would have been incredibly delayed since the leaders had been finished for a while). Dumb and ignorant of me, I know. My jaw and heart quickly dropped to the floor as I continued to read and see images of fires, amputations and casualties.
I was horrified to read of such tragic injuries and deaths and my heart still hurts that violence like this continues regularly. What a painful tarnish on a day that should have only been a rewarding and triumphant day for so many. My thoughts and prayers go to all of the runners and volunteers in Boston. If you can help, please do.