Running in 4 marathons to date, I know the thrill of the final mile that leads to the finish line. That's where the largest crowds gather; where thunderous applause and cheering fill the air. The finish line is the place where spectators urge weary runners to the end. It's the place where runners hear their names called out by loved ones in the stands who have propped them up after months of training far from the course they're about to finish.
Normally the finish line is a happy place. On Monday it wasn't. Shouting spectators were encompassed by clouds as strong blasts bowled down onlookers. Runners staggered more than normal, bewildered by the surreal events just seconds from crossing the finish line. In moments people were falling down, screaming in terror, as order quickly turned to chaos. In moments, sirens filled the air as police and safety workers were pushing people in wheel chairs and loading bodies onto ambulances. Just like that, a place of celebration become a crime scene. The race was halted. Lives were lost and many wounded. The City of Boston was shut down as an anxious world watched on.
There are so many sad stories coming from this tragic day. Dreams became nightmares. It's heartbreaking to think of the people who are forever affected by this act of terror upon so many peace loving people. Perhaps in the months ahead there will be answers and ultimately justice will prevail. Like many I hope for a speedy remedy to this hideous crime.
On a personal level, I have a dream of going to Boston. In Chicago I came within 13 minutes of qualifying for this year's race. While happy for the significant progress I made to get in striking range of this year's race, I admit to some disappointment that I did not quite have the speed needed to qualify. If I had, I have no doubt I would have attempted to be one of the 23,000 entrants to this prestigious event. But for a little more speed, I could have been a participant in this greatest race of my life.
Thirteen minutes stood between me and dark history. Who knows how things would have turned out? I am typically a driven runner when I'm training. I have goals and marks I want to hit with time and distance. Yet I wasn't quite there with my time. I have to admit that as much as I wanted to make it this year, being late to Boston was like the Japanese tale of a father and son who were delayed by a series of events on the way to the market with an ox cart full of produce. The father bemoaned the tardiness of their business to the big city full of business opportunity. As he was stewing over lateness of the hour and the city he could see far off in the distance, the father and son stood in complete shock at the sight of a big flash and rising mushroom cloud over the Hiroshima. At that moment, he realized the blessing of a tardy ox cart. And I get it too!
I still want to run fast enough to qualify for Boston. That has not changed at all. But I'm reminded, once again, that being late to Boston, is certainly not the worst thing in my aspiring dreams as a runner. My thoughts and prayers for the runners and families forever touched by the 2013 Boston Marathon.
