We weren’t at the Boston Marathon yesterday. Mr. P had to work and Little Boy’s preschool was open, so though I had the day off of work, I took a “me” day to recover from the rigors of grad school/full-time job/100K race training/domesticity. I felt guilty about bringing Little Boy to school, even though he loves school. As I watched the elites finish the marathon on television around noon, I thought that I really should have taken Little Boy to the marathon so he could see his Ethiopian countrymen kick butt.
But, this was not a “near-miss” thing. For one thing, I never would have taken Little Boy to the finish line in Copley Square unless Mr. P was running it, as he was (still is!) planning to do next year, qualifying time willing. I used to work in Copley Square and go to the finish line on my lunch break; I know how chaotic it is under normal, non-explosive conditions. From a practical perspective, taking a 4-year old to Copley would have been unpleasant for all involved. If I had taken him to see the marathon, it would have been in Newton or Brookline.
Still, I’m taking this tragedy rather personally. Not just because I love running, not just because I love Boston, not just because I love Patriot’s Day, but because I love finish lines. I ran a storied race in Massachusetts on Patriot’s Day, but it wasn’t the Boston Marathon. It was the 99th running of the Lexington Lion’s 5 miler. It’s a very competitive race and I ran fast, finishing at 36:52 (7:23 pace, 3rd in my age group). I crossed the finish line exhausted, happy, and a little peeved at myself that I couldn’t catch the group of girls ahead of me.
How I love the finish line! To see people cheering, even if they didn’t know me. I knew they were there waiting for their friends and family to finish, but they cheered me and contributed to the general sense of accomplishment I felt. A tiny accomplishment, a 5-miler, but I trained hard and raced hard and I deserved to be at the finish line.
I’m so heartbroken about what happened. Disbelief, shock, outrage, fear… I love finish lines, but I’ll never be able to cross one again without thinking about what happened at the Boston Marathon. And when Mr. P runs the Boston Marathon next year, Little Boy and I will be cheering for him in Newton, suitably on Heartbreak Hill.
