Boston

I couldn’t post yesterday…

I was in the middle of my 60 minute training run and got a text from my mom about bombs at Boston Marathon. Generally, I turn the ringer off on my phone when I run so I don’t get interrupted, but yesterday I didn’t. And usually when I forget to turn my ringer off, I ignore texts that come in until I’m done, but yesterday I didn’t.

I was horrified! Horrified that someone would bomb a marathon, horrified that I knew people there running the race. Stuck in place on sidewalk, I started searching Facebook, trying to contact friends running there to make sure they were okay. And trying to remember who was there. Awful!

Finally a report, one friend had just crossed finish and was hugging her family when explosion happened. They are not hurt and were together thankfully. Another friend was also fine. Relief.

I started to walk. I took one last look at Facebook and saw this picture of the fireball:


Immediately tears stream down my cheeks. Usually it’s really great when your job and your hobby intersect—not today. I thought about heading home but then I got angry, remembering brother and sister firefighters who responded to September 11, 343 firefighters never went home. Now this. I posted on Facebook, “First you bombed my brother and sister firefighters, now my brother and sister runners. Fuck you!” and started to run and run and run, tears running down my face. I finished my intended route, a negative split, full of resolve.

We will not stop fighting fires, we will not stop climbing skyscrapers to save victims, we will not stop running, will we not stop living. Just watch us.

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