Boston Marathon Tragedy: Heartbreak for Runners Everywhere

This past Saturday, I stood at a starting line in cold tempratures waiting for a race to start at a time too early for a weekend. People think I'm crazy. They don't "get" why I am willing to get up so early on a weekend. Or why I can deal with running in near-freezing temperatures. Or why I want to run double digit miles for fun. Truthfully, sometimes I feel crazy. Then, I look around at every starting line. I see all the other runners and smile. I'm not so crazy. These people get me and why I love running. Whether I know them or not. We are united as runners. We are a family because of this common bond.

Yesterday, as always, I tracked the Boston Marathon for the thrill of it. I have completed a marathon and I'm nowhere near qualifying. But, I can't help but feel a connection to these runners. I live vicariously through faster feet for the day. I feel their triumph or disappointment. The Boston Marathon has always been a joyous event, celebrating the amazing accomplishments of runners. It has always given me faith that anything is possible. That no dream is too big. Truly it is about dreams. The dream of crossing that finish line. No matter how fast or slow, as they cross that finish line, the world is full of possiblity.  It serves as a reminder that the human body is capable of much more than we think. Yesterday, that dream became tainted.

As I tracked the race, I was thrilled for elite runners who did well (including the first American male runner - Jason Hartmann, who happens to have been raised in Michigan). I continued to virtually cheer for non-elite friends I knew. Joy turned to horror, as I saw the first tweet that something had happened. I hoped for the best, but it was worse than I feared. As a person, I feel sorrow for everyone there. As a runner, my heart breaks for my "family".  I'm not alone in this sentiment. I saw several tweets, Facebook posts, and Instagram pictures from other runners echoing the same thoughts.

Maybe we feel a connection because we all know the hard work and dedication you have to put in. The sense of accomplishment you feel at the end of the race. The pure love of the sport. Whatever it is, I know we all feel it. I saw numerous reports that marathoners who had finished the race, ran to nearby hospitals to donate blood. I watched the news and saw crowds of people rushing to help runners on the course get away from the blast. Those acts reaffirm my feelings that this community is a family.  

Yesterday was supposed to be happy. It was supposed to be filled with excitement and hope. But, it was filled with panic and terror. Yet, I still have hope. There was love and compassion to help others. To put other lives before their own. A running community it more than just runners. It is the the spectators who cheer us to a finsh. The race director and crew who make sure a race runs smoothly. The volunteers who selfelessly give their time. Law enforcement who help provide safety. Medics who are always ready to help those who are injured. Today, as I wear past race shirts in their honor, all of those people are my in my heart. All of them are my family. I'm praying for them. I'm sending them my love.  

I know countless other runners who are doing the same. One cowardly act will not break apart a community, a country, a family. It will stregthen it. It will bring people together. The Boston Marathon is supposed to be about dreams and hope. I can't help but feel like it will remain about hope. Hope that those that are injured will recover. Hope that we will find whoever did this. Hope that dreams aren't lost forever. Hope that if runners return to the course someday, it will be in honor of everyone affected yesterday. In the meantime, I know every time I lace up my running shoes, it will be for each and every one of them - my family.