I will never run the Boston Marathon.
As a slow runner, this is an absolute truth for me.
But yesterday, when I heard the news that there had been explosions at the finish line
I was there in my heart.
I've been to enough finish lines to know that they are joyous places. Friends and family gather to support their crazy runner-friend or loved one and they get caught up in the excitement. They start cheering for strangers and encouraging people who look as if they might be struggling.
Stand at any finish line and you'll see a whole range of human emotion. Elation and disappointment. Joy and pain. Happiness and frustration.
But I've never seen fear or terror.
I've never seen anything like the scene that so many people experienced yesterday
and I never imagined that I could.
As a Mom/Runner I was particularly saddened to hear that an 8-year-old boy was a victim of hatred and terror. I immediately wondered if he was waiting to see his mom or dad cross the finish line. My children have waited for me at countless finishes and I never once imagined that they were not safe.
So, when Katie came home yesterday I asked her to put her running clothes on. We ran in the sunshine and she told me stories about her school friends. We took Ruger with us and listened to his excited panting. We just ran.
We didn't talk until we got home about the tragedy at Boston.
My little runner was as sad as I was to hear about it.
But, we handled our shock and sadness the way I imagine the Boston runners would want us to.