Maybe only a runner — even a non-qualifying runner — can understand.
I’m a runner.
Or a person who has run for 30 years.
These days when all my joints and muscles are working moderately well my body allows me do 20 miles a week.
In my mind, I do 10 a day.
If you are a runner and strike up a conversation with another runner the subject of marathons is always lurking around waiting to jump into the mix.
“I ran Chicago the year they stopped the race because of the heat” to “I have a big birthday this year and I’m determined train for my first,” 26.2 miles is the marker in the life of anyone who runs.
And Boston is sacred.
“I qualified.”
Running 26.2 miles in a time that earns you the right to enter Boston is the brass ring.
Even reaching a lifetime qualifying time in a qualifying event isn’t a guarantee of entry with the race closing out in a number of hours after registration opens.
No. With the recent lowering of times needed to qualify, I know it will never happen for me.
But I appreciate the thrill of the chase for that elusive spot for those able to compete at that level.
Friday night at a party, I enjoyed lots of small talk and smiles — but the one conversation that engaged me was one betwixt me and two runners.
A runner who has run Boston and another with the potential to qualify.
I steered them toward that subject with the skill of a child figuring how to get her mom to turn into an ice cream shop.
Boston was Monday. What better topic than bending the ear of someone who has flown up Heartbreak Hill to the finish?
My husband doesn’t get it.
He doesn’t understand why I love to wake up well before sunrise to stand in line with a few thousand runners to run 3.1, 6.2, 13.1 or 26.2 miles.
Runners for the most part are a bit the loner. Even if you are running 17 miles with a group — you have to turn in on yourself at some point and choose to keep moving forward.
They are for the most part polite. Standing patiently in line, sometimes 50 deep — to use a stinking porta-let. They say thank yous to those handing out cups of water at Mile 8 or bananas in a tent after the finish.
When I think of the Peachtree Road Race, the image that comes to mind is tens of thousands of runners and friends covering the rolling hills of Piedmont Park after 6.2 miles.
I see a sunny July morning. Sweat and a towering American flag.
Then I think of trash cans everywhere.
Trash cans for empty water bottles, used tissues and IEDs.
Maybe it’s something only a runner can understand.
I was angry yesterday.
Now I’m just so terribly sad for us all.
I am not a runner and appreciate this perspective on Boston. It’s so hard today to think about anything else. Thanks for these words.
Oh, this is beautiful. I’ve tried to find my words, but they fail me. But this? Is perfect.
Thanks Jana, as a runner you know. Of course it’s tragic for everyone.
I completely agree Kirsten. It has deeply affected every American.
I’m not a runner, but I understand the need for solitary time… and also for how it would change forever how you think while running, racing. And I can certainly understand sad — that’s exactly how I feel: profoundly sad. (And very relieved. My son lives in Boston and he’s safe and sound, whew)
Julia — it was your tweet, the one where you expressed concern for your son that caught my attention that something was wrong in Boston. Even though I had been following runners tweets all morning, I honestly didn’t think it had anything to do with the race. It left me stunned.
My boy also lives in the center of Boston and this one time decided against the finish line wait. His friends didn’t but still escaped injury thank God. ‘We are all deeply saddened. He is very sad as is his wife and friends. But all realize they are blessed today.
Zoe, I can only imagine how this hit the people who live in that wonderful city. I haven’t been there in a while — but I love the history. I’m sure this is something that will leave emotional wounds for a long time.
After the initial flurry of calling my sisters, who both work in Boston – one whose office building is now a crime scene – and then lowering myself into the news and details – I’m now kind of numb. I can’t even conjure up anger. But every time I read something referencing yesterday, I release a few tears. Maybe more than a few.
I appreciated this post because it is real – not overly dramatic with its emotion. Thank you.
I wonder how this will impact future events in urban settings, like the PeachTree… or the local Memorial Day Parade, or any number of places where people gather… one thing I know is we cannot be afraid, we can be sad, we can be mad, but we have to live our lives.
Thank you Kristin. I am just so sad for what this means for large running events. I know it is too personal for those who live in Boston and have loved ones there.
I agree Michelle. It boggles the mind to think what some of us have come to. How a very small few can try to take away that feeling of freedom. We can’t let them.
Jamie, I love it when you are on the grid. I love that you are a runner. I keep thinking of my parents and my best friend waiting for me after the Nashville marathon (2006, so like a zillion years ago) and what if…. as it was, it was chaos just looking for a bagel and my daddy. But a bomb? I still can’t get my head around it and frankly I don’t want to. Thanks for writing about this. I really related.
Thanks Christie. I appreciate those words.
This was very well written and you expressed the same thoughts going through my mind the last few days.
It’s just a horrible thing to have happened.
I went to college in a suburb of Boston and I taught at Boston University for a couple of years, so in some ways, that city feels like home. Yesterday just makes me sad.
Beautifully done… I have a love/hate relationship with running myself, and I admire so much those who can take on such a challenge. For someone to take such a wonderful event and turn it into terror for all involved is despicable. My love and prayers are going out to all those affected.
Beautifully done… I have a love/hate relationship with running myself, and I admire so much those who can take on such a challenge. For someone to take such a wonderful event and turn it into terror for all involved is despicable. My love and prayers are going out to all those affected.
I am a runner too, and even though my marathon times won’t come close to qualifying me for Boston, my heart was on the course yesterday well before the bombs went off. I watched the winners streak across the finish line, ran in my head alongside all the others, and watched in horror as scenes of devastation replaced scenes of exhausted elation. As a long distance runner, this is personal, and I am walking through today with an aching heart. I needed to read something like this. Thanks for writing it.
The Boston Marathon is such an institution of community- it is sacred, you are right. This whole thing makes me sick 🙁
runner or spectator, we all can appreciate this piece. we are all angry and sad, and with seems to me, escalating crazy these days, running on empty.
I too am worried Icecreammama at crazy seems to be on the rise. Empowered crazy.
Such a scary thing that happened yesterday. You’ve said this so well. I have a big birthday coming up in about 3 years and I wanted to train for a half (believe me, it’s going to take 3 years!). People plan their lives around marathons. So sad that this happened.
I am not a runner, so it is interesting to read the heartfelt perspectives of those who do about what happened yesterday. It impacts us all, but I’m sure it’s so much deeper for those of you who have been there going for that finish line.
I really like the way you’ve given your perspective as a runner.
I’m not much of a runner having run two 5ks, but mostly for the cause they were supporting. But I loved running in a race much more than running by myself. I loved the swell of people all heading towards the same place. I liked being pushed by the lady in the pink that I tried to keep pace with until I couldn’t. Until I picked someone else from the crowd and tried to keep up with them. I wonder if I was one of those people for anyone, someone they tried to keep pace with.
Yesterday was a tragedy for everyone. Runners and non-runners. Bostonians and non-Bostonians. Americans and Non-Americans. It was a tragedy for humanity.
What a great image Marta. It seems we bond in some way with fellow runners — competitively against or just because we are breathing side-by-side. We find ourselves joined with one another during the course of an event. I still remember certain runners from random races from random points in time — all heading toward the same place.
You aren’t the only one who has or will write about the events in Boston. But I doubt many will be able to share a personal reaction quite so well without making about “me, me, me.” I admire the way you’ve deftly handled this topic.
So heart-wrenching. I have never liked running, but have run a few 5Ks and the camaraderie with the other runners is always the best part. I can’t even imagine the excitement and joy at being a part of the Boston Marathon.
What I love about this is you say little about the tragedy itself, but you say so much about it when you describe what it means to be a runner, that odd combination of loneliness and camaraderie. Beautifully done.
I so admire you runners and appreciate your perspective on this subject. You expressed yourself well without being melodramatic.
Although I’m not your kind of runner (no marathons, no aspirations for one), I completely understand the sentiments you expressed so beautifully in this post. Well done!
Heartbreakingly well written and heartbreaking subject in general. I want to live in a world where some things are just 100% safe. Monday was surreal.
This stuck with me “you have to turn in on yourself at some point and choose to keep moving forward.” It is oh, so true. Lovely tribute post from someone else who gets it. And ps – Peachtree? Piedmont? You’re looking at an ATL girl! I ran Peachtree last year and just did the Publix half marathon last month. 🙂
This was really beautifully told (glad I found you!). I don’t think I’ll ever be a marathon runner, but I get that it is sacred and the “holy of holies” is the Boston. My father ran marathons before it was popular, and I knew the attraction was the challenge and that sweet feeling of accomplishment. I hope it’s not tainted forever.
I agree Kim. Though it might have the opposite effect. It might become even more symbolic. Hope so.
I think this is my favorite post dealing with this topic. You captured the melancholy really well.
I’m not a runner (aw, hell no); but I have really enjoyed reading posts this week by those who are. Such a sense of community.