The bombings in Boston hit all of us in some way. For me, yesterday's tragedy brought out so many overwhelming emotions, both as a former runner and as someone who loves someone who hails from and loves Boston.
I know what it's like to face a course or a road and battle the little voice inside of you that says "quit" with every painful yet exhilarating stride. It's that constant mental struggle behind the physical kinetics that makes crossing the finish line so much more than finishing. It's knowing that you've pushed yourself both physically and mentally to reach that point. The pain goes away, the miles feel inconsequential because you're basking in that sense of accomplishment. For all the runners, supporters, and bystanders at the Boston Marathon yesterday, what should have been a moment of success and achievement was cruelly transformed into a moment of unbelievable pain and suffering.
I'm a tried and true Midwesterner, but I have come to create a spot in my heart for Boston because of James. He has great pride in being from Boston and loves everything about it - its food, its culture, its people. He's waxed poetic about Patriots Day for as long as I've known him, and he made me feel envious that no one else had a Patriots Day.
Every time I visit Boston now, I feel like I'm visiting an old friend. Seeing the Citgo sign, the Charles River, Celtics and Red Sox anything everywhere - they've all become as familiar to me now as seeing the clock on State Street or Wrigley Field. So seeing heartbreaking images of Copley Square yesterday - images so different from the idyllic, European-esque images that I've come to associate with those streets - was like seeing an old friend beaten and bruised. I had no words.
James and I were fortunate to have no family injured or killed yesterday, but we do know of people who were not as fortunate, so the sadness is far-reaching. We pray with everyone who is reeling today, especially those who have lost loved ones or have loved ones who were injured and forever changed by yesterday.