I had a post on nail polish planned for today, but that just seemed sort of silly, when all I can think about is Boston. My college was along the marathon route, and I remember Marathon Monday being so joyful and spirited. We would line the street at mile 21, right after the runners had climbed up Heartbreak Hill, and hand out water, bananas, perhaps a cold beer or two, and lots and lots of high fives. It was inspiring, to see people’s faces as they pushed through mental and physical pain and exhaustion to triumph by running 26.2 miles. The day always left us a little sunburned, with sore and raspy voices, but exhilarated by witnessing what an individual can do with perseverance and the amazing capacity of the human body.
I was thinking about running Boston next year (for a charity — no way would I qualify). I think the time has come for me to challenge myself to a marathon, and returning to Boston, where I cheered from the sidelines, sounded so wonderful. Then yesterday happened. And the joy of that day, that iconic race is marred. All I can say is I am so, so sad. For the injured. For the runners who didn’t get to finish after training so hard. For Boston.
I hope that someday, maybe not next year or the year after that, but someday, the event will again be a celebration of the human spirit. In a way, though, maybe that’s still true — as sad and bitter as a tragedy is, people have stepped up to help, whether they are tired runners helping others get to safety or those inundating the hospitals to give blood.
The city is in my prayers today.