5 Years ago....

Today marks the five-year anniversay of the Boston Bombings, and I wanted to share this post from Dimity Davis, cofounder of Another Mother Runner. 

1:30 on Monday: I read a text from Sarah when I got out of Pilates. “Did you hear re: bomb blast at Boston Marathon?”

First, I wanted to throw up.

And then I got teary.

I was teary when I heard about the Aurora massacre. Those shootings were close to me geographically, but my lifestyle didn’t transport me into that theater.

I was more teary when I heard about Sandy Hook. Those shootings were far away, but my lifestyle dropped me right into that elementary school.

But the Boston tears were different. I just saw Boston rockstar Michelle on Wednesday night. We just had Boston squeaker Tish on the podcast. I just took Boston runner Katherine’s dog to the dog park. Everything—my friends, my work, my lifestyle—put me right there, except that I wasn’t right there.

And now I am just undone. Angry, nauseous, sick of looking at the pictures, can’t turn away from the pictures, darkness under my eyes, heaviness in my heart. Undone.

Undone that some crazy people or person, in an effort to make his or her cause noticed, hurt our running family, the most generous, kind community I’ve ever been part of.

Undone that my neighborhood pal Becky, a mother to 3 beautiful girls, finished within a minute of the bombs going off. Less than 60 seconds. I can't even imagine how she's feeling right now.

Undone that over 5,700 people didn’t get to finish a race they’ve focused on for months—and possibly dreamed about for years.

Undone that big races going forward will likely get the TSA treatment: a ridiculous amount of hassle, which may—or, more likely—may not root out one bad egg out of hundreds of thousands.

Undone that people who don’t know running will forever associate terror with this beautiful sport, an activity that has the ability to transform lives, administer gigantic doses of self-confidence, send spirits soaring.

Undone that spectators, out to support their loved ones, now have to worry about more than getting a good photo. And undone that runners will waste energy fretting about the safety of the spectators.

So, so unbelievably undone that an 8-year-old boy was one of the (at least three) victims who lost their lives. A son who was presumably cheering for his parent. Grant, my husband, is aiming to qualify for Boston within the next few weeks. Fast forward a year, and Ben, who then would be 8 years old, and I are standing at the finish line...undone.

Undone that something that so many people do to find peace, quiet, meditation, currently feels so chaotic and horrific.

Undone that I can’t reconcile the world I want to live in with the world I do live in.

One thing I’m not undone about, though, is this the strength of, love between and support among tribe of runners. I feel fortunate to be nestled in it during these challenging times.

My favorite race photos are the one when we runners look like one colorful, unstoppable ribbon; despite varied paces, politics, personalities, we move as a whole.

A much better view of Boston.

Today will certainly change the flavor of future races, of race logistics, of spectator participation. But when the race goes off, we will still move as a whole.

And that, thankfully, can never be undone.

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