Running for Boston
“What’s it going to take to get you running again?” a friend asked me just last week.
“Eh, I don’t know,” I said at the time. “I run, but I’m not really a runner, you know?”
Now I know what it takes to get me moving. It takes Boston.
As I sat in front of the computer on Monday, obsessing over the news feed and tweets that were flooding in, I got angry. Not sad. Not depressed. Angry.
On Tuesday, I went for a run. It was solo, slow, and on the Trail of Many Allergens (so perhaps not all that well thought out), but I did it. I’ve never felt so compelled to do anything in my life.
Whoever you are who did this to the Boston Marathon, to the city of Boston, to the innocent bystanders: You think you can keep us away from races? Keep us afraid? Keep us away from running? #$%& you.
I don’t have time to train for big distance races this year, but I spent Monday night searching for 5k, 10k and trail races that I can manage without devoting my whole Saturday morning to logging miles. But I can assure you that there will be races. A whole summer full of them. Because I won’t be afraid. I won’t stay home. I won’t hide.
It’s our nature to keep moving. We keep going even when things look grim, when we’re exhausted, when we’re demoralized. We pick ourselves up, keep going, keep putting one foot after another. That’s how we do it. We’re runners.
I’m a runner.