on the iPod: "from the morning" -- nick drake
After finishing marathon number six my thoughts were on how my running has transformed over the years, how much fun it was to run in my hometown, how Todd had endearingly mistaken the name of the race for the "Pigeye", how Mrs. Murie's phone had autocorrected the name of the race to the "Hotguy", how I had dang near hallucinated due to dehydration in mile 23, and just how much I absolutely loved running. After finishing marathon number six I was so thankful for all the friends i've made along the trails, all the great races that i've run over the years, and how much i've grown as a person through running. After finishing marathon number six, my legs were aching in that sexy-good way and I was already thinking about the next one. After finishing marathon number six, everything was right with the world.
And then Boston happened.
I was sitting in my best good friend Mrs. Pugh's office working on curriculum implementation, when another friend and teacher, Mrs. Randall, texted with the news. I must admit that the magnitude was lost on me initially, as I was aware that the Boston Marathon was going on and was anxious to see the highlights, but I hadn't been following the progress online at all. And then I got a few more texts. And an email. Then more texts and more emails. In fact, I got lots of texts and emails. It was then that I stopped to think about what was going on and began to get that sinking feeling in my stomach. I saw images and headlines, blurbs and updates, speculations and reports. That sinking feeling got worse as I realized that the sport I so dearly love, the community that i've been able to call my own, the most deepest of passions within me, was under attack. I felt deep sadness and vulnerability, realizing that it was going to get worse before it got better. In those initial hours on Monday afternoon, I wanted to crawl inside my own head and process what was happening alone. So even though I went through the motions of the rest of my day, including a grad school class, that's what I did.
Throughout the week I continued to quietly watch the updates while experiencing a very real sense of grief about the tragedy. Friends continued to text and email, commenting they immediately thought about me and their other running friends. At first I didn't really think much about those communications, because I wasn't registered for Boston and never even thought about it. In fact, Mrs. Murie and I have talked many times about marathons we'd love to run and the Boston Marathon never crosses my mind. It still doesn't. But then I realized, as more people continued to reach out, that something else was going on. Something much bigger than me. I realized that people were experiencing the same feelings that I were and were doing whatever it takes to try and make sense of the senseless, so they were reaching out to the runners that they have in their lives. My friends were reaching out to me in care and love. When I came to this realization is when I felt the rawest emotions i'd experienced in quite some time. Tears fell as I went to bed, the house eerily quiet and completely dark. It was a humbling feeling that I won't soon forget.
As the week progressed my emotions did as well. My right calf was completely shot and running wasn't an option even though the weather was perfect for afternoon five milers, so I was left with only time to think. I moved forward from confusion to contemplation of what could possibly cause such a terrible tragedy to happen. I stopped thinking about the bombing and started thinking about the people. I thought intensely about the runners, particularly those within the vicinity of the finish line. I thought about the volunteers and race officials, desperately trying to find order in chaos. I thought about the spectators, those that were injured and the three that lost their lives on that dreadful afternoon. And I thought about whoever may have been responsible. I thought about that person a lot.
Throughout the entire week I never felt anger. Not for one single moment. I still don't. That's not an attempt at taking the high road, or a sermon on what Jesus might do, but my simple and honest feeling toward what happened. Knowing now that it's highly likely two brothers were the sole perpetrators of the tragedy, I can't help but wonder what possibly could have gone wrong in their lives that led to this choice. Where did they not receive love and compassion? When were they wronged, or shorted, or made to feel unwelcome? How could their lives go so terribly off course that they would choose hate and fear over peace and light? Because i've been shown grace and love so many times in life I can't begin to imagine, but I also can't abide anger.
Run 26.2.
No comments:
Post a Comment