Where does one begin to write about what happened in Boston yesterday?
Should I even try? Maybe it’s better to stay silent.
This morning I read this post by Caitlin at Fit and Feminist and this one by Susan Orlean at the New Yorker.
Yes, of course. I know this. The only way for me to write about this is to write what I know. Tell my stories.
I ran Grandma’s Marathon in 2001.
I spent most of the 26.2 miles by myself, and at my five-hours-plus marathon pace, my place was toward the back of the pack. But the crowds along Lake Superior were still there for me.
Contrary to what I was experiencing at home at the time, I was lifted up by support and exuberance and, well, the love of complete strangers.
Somewhere around the 25-mile point, a woman spectator offered me a piece of orange jelly candy. I gratefully accepted it, and with that slice of sugar for fuel, I went on to cross the finish line.
I cried this morning when I thought of the spectators in Boston yesterday, injured in body and spirit.
The marathon depends not only on the runners, but also on the spectators, there to cheer people they loved and people they would never meet.
I probably will never qualify to run in the Boston Marathon, but someday I will go to watch and cheer. And I will take orange jelly candy.
Thank you for linking to me, and also for sharing your thoughts. I also thought of the spectators I’ve encountered during marathons and how much they have meant to me, and my heart breaks for those who were injured while being there to support the marathoners.
You’re welcome, Caitlin, and thanks for reading. I am hoping that next year’s Boston Marathon will have more runners, and spectators, than ever.
And the orange jelly candy will taste sweeter than ever. xo
Yes. For me and for the runners who will use it, and the events of this week, as fuel for the finish.