It's been a week and a half since the Boston Marathon bombing. As a running blogger, I felt a sense of duty or obligation to write a response. But I couldn't. That Monday, I had no words. I watched the news as helplessly as the rest of the world. The images of the senseless crime made me nauseated and angry, but I couldn't reign it in. Tuesday came and went, and Wednesday, and Thursday, and I had a million emotions and reactions to the tragedy, but couldn't process them into words. The longer I waited, the more beautiful responses were being written and posted by other writers--professional journalists and blogger friends alike. They were all finding the words. They all pulled meaning and beauty out of the sadness. They all offered hope and strength in an insightful way. Why couldn't I?
This type of thinking is toxic, and it takes the focus off what actually matters. Boston was never about me.
I can't begin to understand the pain and heartbreak of the victims. My heart goes out to their families, and I sincerely hope they eventually find peace. The hateful acts of two people took the lives of three, and forever changed an amazing event. The Boston Marathon should have been the ultimate celebration of tenacity, and it forever will be, but now with an asterisk.
The race will return stronger than ever due to the strength of the city of Boston and the tireless community of runners. Runners will do what they have always done. We will come together to cheer and encourage. We will coach, and we will teach. We will push each other through pain, and help each other heal. It's who we are, because as runners, that's what we do. We move forward.