Today was supposed to be Marathon Monday. Patriot’s Day for those celebrating in Boston proper and around Massachusetts. Today was supposed to be a celebratory day filled with baseball, hockey and, of course, a marathon. A marathon for those who worked so hard to get there. A marathon for the best of the running community. A marathon that, for some, is the pinnacle of their running career.
Then suddenly, it wasn’t anymore. Today quickly became a day of terror and confusion. A day so full of optimism and accomplishment had become ground zero for one of the most horrific acts of this decade thus far.
I’m not from Boston. Hell, I’ve never even been there. To that effect, I didn’t even personally know anyone running in the marathon today. But I am a runner. And whether you can run one mile or one hundred, if you are a runner the hurt stung a bit deeper.
These are our races. These are our accomplishments. And every second matters. I keep hearing of people who crossed the finish line minutes, seconds before the explosions detonated and it absolutely chills me.
As of this moment, it’s impossible to know what has happened – who did it, perhaps more importantly, why. But today, as runners, we unite. We hurt, we weep, and we pray that everyone that can be safe, is.