The immediate aftrmath of the Boston Marathon bombingEvery Wednesday evening and Sunday morning, we gather to run.
Its a varied group: people learning how to run again, others getting in shape for a 10k or a half-marathon, and some of us training for a full marathon. We gather in the back of the room, alongside those who have something of a hallowed status: the Boston group.
The Boston group is made up of runners who are training for the Boston Marathon, or those who have already run it, and even some for whom the race is old hat, an annual tradition. We look upon them with a certain awe; we can only dream of being fast enough to qualify for Boston.
Each time the Boston Marathon comes around, a select few elevate to join the ranks of the veterans. I spent Monday morning with one eye on a spreadsheet, and one eye on the Boston Marathon tracker, as eight of my running partners and coaches conquered the streets of Massachusetts. I followed them throughout the day, and one by one, it seemed a coronation was in order. Some flew through the finish line, others struggled near the end, but one by one, they completed the grand-daddy of marathons, some for the first time.
In the end, only one of the group didn't finish; she was held up less than 2 km from the finish line after the bombings struck the finish line in one of the most unfathomable acts of terrorism one could even imagine. Now, they're all left, not to celebrate, but to mourn, and we mourn with them. When they return for our weekly Wednesday session, once the hugs and "glad you're OK"'s have been handed out, what then?
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