On the Boston Marathon Bombings

I haven’t written about it. I didn’t think I would. But I think I should. The tragedy at the Boston Marathon has hit me worse than I’d thought.

(“Why do you look so sad?” the wife asked. “I don’t know,” I replied.)

I’m an avid runner, and one who has dreamt of qualifying for Boston for the past 10 years. Never managed it, but it didn’t matter. The anticipation probably gave me more joy than its actualisation will.

It was routine when I ran to have images of myself running down the streets of Boston push me on during my runs. Cheered on by friends and family and in peak condition.

Two breaths in. Four breaths out. Boston.

(“Maybe it’s work,” I said.)

But it’s hard to do that now. After what happened.

What a horrible, horrible juxtaposition. That of a planned and dedicated personal triumph, set against that of the randomness of terror and vulnerability.

Just thinking of it hurts. Makes me sick.

(It wasn’t work I thought.)

On my run last night I couldn’t help but think, “what’s it all for, what’s this all for?”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑