I still feel quite shocked and numb, and the words to my feelings are slow to come. I did have a fleeting moment of clarity, about finishing races, which I have done nine times in the past four years. A finish line is a mixed-up crush of elation, pride, relief, exhaustion and celebration, where the accomplishment of a race is realized both in hours and minutes and seconds, and in hugs and high fives.
At each of my finishes, I have basked in my strength, but also in distinct moments of vulnerability. As the body comes to rest, muscles twitching, asthma flaring, sweat turning quickly to shivers, these physical shifts can give way to an emotional overflow. Mostly it’s joy, but sometimes it’s disbelief at what you’ve just accomplished and a burst of reflexive tears just fill your eyes. So when I think, that today, the personally sacred moment of crossing a finish line was disrupted with the most unimaginable violence, the tears that come are just so deeply sad.
My thoughts and concerns are with all of the victims who have been injured, or killed, and with their loved ones who feel so helpless right now. My deepest gratitude to the first responders who ran into danger and mayhem and also to the doctors and nurses who received the wounded with focus and determination to ease their pain. My respect to the officials and citizens of Boston who I have no doubt will care for each other until every last person is healed and justice is brought to the criminals who blew up their city.
My heart though… my heart is with the runners and the finish lines they have yet to cross. Something tells me that when they do, they will let those tears flow and flow and flow.