Most years I go out on Patriot's Day to cheer on the runners. I like the halfway point - 13.1 miles down, and oh-my-god-I-have-this-much-still-to-go? can be a rough place, so what the hell, I go out and hop up and down and cheer them on. It's hard, running.
But with the earlier start time the past few years, and a later work time for me, and just getting over a fever, well, I went home after work today instead. Figured I'd check for the results after I'd had some lunch.
But around 3:00, a strange post popped up on my Facebook newsfeed. "[Boyfriend] and I are fine," it said. "Nowhere near the blast." Blast? I thought. What blast? Then another one, from a friend who moved to NYC a few years ago but grew up here in Beantown. "BOSTON, CHECK IN!" read this one.
So I did what any sensible TV-less person would do and popped up a couple of local news sites on my laptop. Holy hell, did I regret that decision a few moments later. Bombs, blood and Boylston may be euphonious in their alliteration but they are NOT a happy combination of words. I quickly posted my own "I'm fine" message and started checking my own list of friends, especially runners. No one I know was involved, to my knowledge, and yet this is MY CITY, damnit, you don't go BLOWING UP RUNNERS, or LITTLE KIDS, and you sure as hell don't do it in front of the BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY!!!
Angry much? Oh yes, I'm angry. This weird holiday that we celebrate here in Massachusetts, this whole Patriot's Day - Lexington and Concord, anyone? The Boston Marathon is the oldest in the world - the first one was run in 1897, a year after the first modern marathon was held at the first Olympics in Athens - and you can't just sign up, you have to qualify for this thing. Inasmuch as this young country HAS history, well, this is it. And to the scumbag(s) who thought they'd blow some stuff up today, I have devised a lovely punishment for you.
All those runners who were forced to abandon the race after the detonations? The ones who'd been training for months and running for hours and didn't get to cross the finish line because of YOU? Well, when you're caught, all those runners should be allowed to complete the distance they were denied. Over your body. Wearing cleats.
This is Boston. We're not going to put up with this bullshit.
All was not gloom and horror today, though. On a personal level, it was rather reassuring to receive numerous texts, calls and messages from people wanting to find out if I was okay. And my 22-month-old nephew popped out his first sentence today (it was "Daddy, sit down" if you care - closely followed by "Auntie, get down" {yeah, all right, I was up a tree}). The sheer number of people volunteering to put up runners and family members displaced or stuck here due to the chaos. The outpouring of support from the rest of the world (even Yankees fans! You know it's big if they're on board).
But Marathon Monday will never be the same.