The day that changed it all

Today I sit at my desk feeling not a whole lot different than I did on September 12, 2001. Uncertain, apprehensive, and defeated. The images from yesterday's bombing seem burned into my mind: the runner blown to the ground by the force of the blast; the girl in the pink running top who crosses the finish line as the explosion blows through the sky, and who first checks her watch and then looks behind her; the woman on the stretcher covered in blood. My ears hear the cheers quickly turn into cries and screams, and I can't seem to stop wondering if finishing a race will ever be the same.

Although many of us runners (and triathletes, cyclists, mountainbikers, swimmers...) who watched the tragedy unfold yesterday have never run Boston, and probably never will, we all know the feeling of euphoria that accompanies the final mile, the sight of the "Finish" sign, the loud cheers from the crowd. We know what it's like to train and train for months, even years, and to see all of that perfectly encapsulated in that final stretch. Yesterday's bombing changed that final stretch, maybe forever. Not only will the concept of the "drop bag" that runners leave at the finish probably be a thing of the past, none of us will be able to easily forget what happened yesterday the next time we cross a finish line.

I know April 15, 2013 will not go down in history the same way 9/11 did. It will never have a two-syllable acronym to capture its horrors. We will not have worldwide commemorations ten years later. And for that I am grateful. "Only" a handful of people perished, "only" a hundred or so were injured. As my mother would say, that is a handful too many, but still, it could have been far, far worse. The fact that it is not, is worth a prayer or two. So, unlike 9/11, it probably won't be long until other, "bigger" stories crowd the Boston Marathon bombing to a second or third place on the evening news. Yet somehow, that doesn't seem right.

The running community is a family. We all share the same pains and joys in training. We complain about rain, sun, winds, high temperatures, low temperatures, and everything else in between. We share stories about crazy dogs chasing us, running at oh-dark-thirty to get that ten miles in before work. We commiserate when someone is injured, we encourage when it is needed, we cheer when it's earned. In our triumphs and our failures, we are brothers and sisters. Put two strange runners in a room, and within minutes, they will be chatting as though they have known each other all their lives. They will exchange tips, race ideas, horror stories, and accomplishments. A runner plus a runner doesn't equal two runners, it equals a team. So yesterday's attack wasn't just an attack on the city of Boston, or the Boston marathon, or even the American people. It feels like an attack on people with whom I share an entire world, an attack on my family.

So today is an off day. While the world slowly picks itself up, searches for those who committed this heinous crime, the running family sits around and wonders about how to move forward. Why they, of all the people out there, were the target of this crime. How this will affect future races. How to move forward from here. We won't sit around for long though. Pretty soon, we'll realize that the best way to recover is to go out and run. Maybe slowly. Maybe not so far, but run we shall.