The Boston Marathon is the gold standard of marathons. It’s for elites and thoroughbreds. It’s for the strong, the fast, and the steadfast. For all those who believe that you don’t just get the neon jacket. You have to earn it.
I’ve only run Boston once. It’s among the most notable achievements in my running career and a constant source of motivation and inspiration. I have to get back there. I have to BQ. I need to get back across that finish line to catch the elusive unicorn.
For an unknown and certainly unjustified reason, the Boston Marathon was attacked today. I am disgusted and angry. But more than that, I’m deeply sad. Hurt. Confused. Why did this happen? Who would do such a thing? Why target this event?
These are my people. We, the runners. Sweaty overachievers who train for three or four months just to cross that finish line. We are gritty and unglamorous. The wiry men with chicken legs and the wholesome girls with flat chests. What the hell did we ever do to you?
People died. Families and friends waving supportive posters. Grimacing runners with 26 miles behind them and only glory in front. These are the people who were injured or killed. It’s obviously stupid to give advice to heinous, evil criminals, but you’ve got the wrong guys. These are the good ones.
We don’t yet know who did this or why. But what we do know is that the Boston Marathon is a great race in an even greater city, and that those of us who have climbed the ruthless miles of Heartbreak Hill surely have the tenacity to fight through the pain.
I will be back, Boston, and so will you.
I’m going to put down some quality miles tomorrow and encourage you all to do the same. Lace up and get out there.