As I trust you gathered from Monday's post about the #BostonStrongNYC run, I did no actual running during the observance, on account of having been sentenced to three weeks in a boot. It is both functional as well as fashionable, and I am delighted to wear it to work everyday...
 |
| Blogger code dictates one must take work bathroom selfies totes omg143!!!1! |
Despite my footwear, I did actually hobble around the Lower Loop of Central Park on Monday while hundreds of others ran around me.
 |
| Thanks for the pic, Baker. If you look closely, you can see the boot and my short shorts |
A lot has been said about the "running community" since the bombs went off last week, some of it feel-good (if cheesy), but some of it critical. To be clear: Last Monday wasn't about running. It was about terrorism and extremism and I'm fairly certain distance running itself isn't an affront to the terrorist dogma.
But for those running and supporting the Boston Marathon, last Monday should have been about running. Because what normally happens on Patriots' Day in Boston is that 25,000 people run a marathon and thousands more watch and clap and don't have to worry about being killed or maimed by fucking idiots.
What's an affront to the terrorist dogma is the normalcy of going about our everyday lives without fear. And so this past Monday, the running community worldwide got back to our normal routines, and while we did, thought about those in Boston who don't have that luxury.
Mike reached out to me from Seattle over the weekend and offered to share his story of the running community's response from the left coast. Take it away, Mike:
On
Monday evening, more than 300 runners finished their stretches and ambled off
on a leisurely run through the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle. Some were
dressed in running gear, some dressed in ratty, old clothes dug out
specifically for this occasion. One man wore a balloon hat. Another wore all
white, another all black. One woman carried a giant American flag. There were
giant groups, trios and duos, and some running individually. All shared smiles,
all squinted in the springtime evening sun, and at 6pm, all surged down the
street.
One
week earlier, over 23,000 runners began the 2013 Boston Marathon. Most were
dressed in running apparel – short shorts, hats, sunglasses, lotion, water
bottles strapped to their waists. Some were there for the first time, others
were veterans. Some were there to break records, others just to cross the
finish line (a massive feat in and of itself). But around the 4:00:00 mark, two
explosions just yards from the finish line kept more than 5,000 from finishing
the race, injured over 180, and killed 3.
Back
in Seattle, just minutes before 6pm, a man wandered up to the group. He had
tears in his eyes. “Remember Boston, people,” he said. “Remember Boston. That’s
my hometown. Thank you all for this. Thank you all.” He held his arms in the
air, as if to embrace the entire crowd.
There
were accounts from different news sources at the scene about runners crossing
the finish line in Boston, hearing and seeing the explosions, and immediately
running another two miles to the nearest hospital to donate blood. Other
stories told of runners sprinting back into the carnage to lift fences and
rubble and bodies to safety. People ran to safety, people ran to their loved
ones, first responders ran to assist. And on Monday, people all around the
country ran to pay their respects, not just to those who lost their lives, but
to those who were injured, and to those who risked their lives to help. Not
just to an entire city which locked itself indoors for a week, but to those
that stayed outside for a week, searching for someone responsible. And not just
to those submitted by the force of the explosions just yards from the finish
line, but to those who were stopped short, and to those who finished. Running,
it seems, is a universal sign of joy, of love, of fear, of pain, and of
heroism.
One
news reporter asked, “What, as a runner, made you want to take part in
something like this?” The runner responded, “The horrific things that happened
in Boston weren’t just an injury to Boston, but to the running community around
the world. This is a way to show the people of Boston and the people who lost
their lives that they’re part of a very, very big family, and we and everyone
else doing this in the world are going to support them in whatever way we can.
Today just happens to be running.”
So
off the group went, at 6pm on Monday evening. As I hung around the middle of
the pack, I took a second to turn around and see how many people followed; I
saw a massive field of blue and yellow and white and black and red flooding the
streets and sidewalks, engulfing parked cars and pedestrians heading the
opposite direction. Hundreds of heads bobbing up and down, hundreds more feet
striking the asphalt without meter; still ahead of me were hundreds more.
We
ran like a force, weighty and speedy, zipping down the streets of Seattle. And
we weren’t running simply for the love of running, but rather to stretch the
arms of our community out to Boston from 3,000 miles away and embrace her; to
take our turn amidst the long line of cities around the world waiting to do the
same. After all, running is what we do – we’re humans with lungs and hearts and
bones and brains and feelings. So we ran, because that’s how we speak. And we
spoke simply to remind the people of Boston and those affected by the
explosions that their family is here to support them in whatever way we could.
That day just happened to be running.
To
Boston, with love,
The
Seattle Running Community
