I’ve decided to post about Boston because the recent tragedy
brings up so many emotions inside of me. You see I’m not from Boston, have
never lived in Boston, and have not yet qualified for or ran the Boston
marathon. Let’s be real here, I’ve never even ran a marathon, but if I were to
choose one to run it would ABSOLUTELY be Boston!!
My love for Boston goes back to when I was just a kid. My
dad, Dick, was born in Boston and raised in New England. Although Dick and I
are not blood related, Boston has always been in my blood. I grew up watching
the Boston Red Sox…hoping every year that they would one day break the “curse
of the bambino” by earning a World Series Victory. Which, Thank GOD, finally
happened in 2004! Every Sunday we watched (in addition to the Denver Broncos!!
YEAH!) the New England Patriots.
When I was 13 I made my first trip to Boston. I was in awe
of Fenway Park. I watched my first FIFA game in Foxboro stadium. I fell in love
with Boston. As a child I grew up on a farm in Western Colorado, basically, the
antithesis of Boston. Boston wasn’t
classy or sophisticated like New York City, nor was it glamorous or flashy like
LA. Boston was authentic, unapologetic for its viewpoints, patriotic, educated,
and a little rough around the edges.
As an adult I’ve had the privilege of working in Boston.
Although I absolutely hate the weather, there is something very special about
the city! It’s unapologetic, loud, foreign language English speaking people! Where
else in the world do people say Wicked!
3 years ago, I flew to Boston to support some of my friends
who had qualified for the race. At this point, I didn’t really consider myself
a runner. I had done a couple half marathons, but really had no desire to run
further…after all I’m a soccer player!
The one thing that I have always been is supportive of my
fellow athletes. As a teenager one of my biggest pains was standing on a soccer
field and looking into the stands and not seeing a stadium of fans cheering us
on.
As athletes, especially as adults with jobs, kids, and other
obligations, I know how much dedication it takes to train for a marathon and
not just ANY marathon, but one that takes an extremely impressive qualifying
time!
You see 3 years ago I was that person on Boylston St.
cheering on my fellow runners that I had trained with for months. I had my cell
phone tracking all their bib numbers. I
watched as the winners finished in just over 2 hours and then as my training
partners trickled in just under and over 3 hours. I was amazed at how many people were cheering
on people they didn’t even know. One lady standing near me didn’t even have any
runners on the course…she just had the day off—after all it is Patriots’ Day.
I saw a mother dressed all crazy waiting to cheer on her
adult son. When he came over to give her a hug she cried…after all this is the
BOSTON MARATHON! Thousands of people
dream of qualifying and when they do, it’s a spectacular achievement for them
and their families! The crowd of people
around me saw that I had a lot of signs. So every time my next runner would be
passing by, 30 or so people standing around me would want to know their name,
what they were wearing and what time we should be expecting them so that they
could all call out to the runner! For four hours I was bonded to complete
strangers through a sport where there are no losers.
This past Monday was no different than other Mondays. I did
my early morning workout and came home just in time to fire up my computer and
watch the Boston Marathon live. I had my runner tracker up and ready (tracking
about 30 runners from across the world!). I was especially excited to see Olympic
marathoner’s Kara Goucher & Shalane Flannigan run. Both I had met the
previous year in Boulder. I’ve been following their training and cheering them
on and was heartbroken, yet proud, when Shalane came in fourth just seconds
behind the 2nd and 3rd place finishers. I was thrilled to
see the Kenyan mother Jita Jeptoo win
the women’s field after taking a few years off to start a family.
I was on the edge of my seat as I was tracking my friend
Spencer. I knew he was close to a PR, so I was posting on his wall &
sending him positive fast running vibes!
As per usual…he PR’d. I had a
bottle of champs just waiting for me so that I could pop it as my friend Julie
crossed the finish line. She also had me on the edge of my seat as she was
close to getting a Boston PR, which she did!! As she crossed I poured myself a
glass of champagne (a delicious tradition we started several years ago) and
posted a picture to Facebook. I sent her some congratulatory texts and she told
me about her race, the good, the bad, etc. Then she posts that a bomb just went
off…I didn’t know what she meant…like a bomb, bomb, a bomb that goes boom?!? I
was confused! Was this serious? What the hell is she talking about? Luckily she
was no longer at the finish line. In fact all the runners, but one, I had been
tracking had already finished the race. I searched the internet to see if there
was any news of the bomb…nothing yet, I only had the info that I was getting
from Julie. Soon information began to pour over the internet & TV. My heart was broken. I remember what it was
like to be a spectator. I have stood at the very spot where the bombs went off.
I have walked up and down Boylston St. It was a happy day!
 |
This is a picture I took standing behind the row of flags
where I spotted the Honduras Flag (right were the bomb went off this year).
|
I have no words. I was in shock, I had tears, I was angry.
It is amazing how in one moment you can be so happy, celebrating a great
accomplishment and in the next completely broken. I am not sure what the lesson
is here for me. I’ve spent days reading,
thinking, and processing what happened on Monday. Yesterday I went for a very
long run in honor of those that can’t run.
Prior to the bomb going off, I was thinking that I would like to
volunteer for the Boston Marathon one of these years ( a thought I had had 3
years prior). I was thinking, would I want to be on the course where I could
hand people water, or would I like to be at the finish line…
After the bomb went off I had an initial thought of…Oh, God,
I would hate to have been a volunteer at the finish line…Really? Where did that
idea come from? I have NEVER backed down from adversity and I am not afraid of
dying! How is it that some coward could actually make me question my desire to
do something so wonderful! Thank God time has passed and I’m back to my senses.
No one, especially not a coward can keep me from doing something I love, running
& volunteering! Both are near and
dear to my heart. I will be volunteering for the Boston Marathon. Maybe in
2014, maybe in some future year, maybe I’ll make it a tradition. I’m not sure,
but one thing I do know is that I will not let someone’s hatred keep me from
doing what I love and neither will any of my fellow runners and volunteers. Until
I qualify to run Boston, my heart will continue to be captured along the 26.2
mile course every 3rd Monday of April.
Continue to Live, Love, Run.
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