I grew up at mile zero. Mile zero of the Boston Marathon, that is. When you grow up in Hopkinton, MA you can count on one thing: if you mention your hometown people will look at you puzzled at first, ask you what towns surround it, and eventually excitedly exclaim, "Ah yes! The start of the Boston Marathon!" I spent the first 18 years of my life in that little town and it has a whole lot of heart. A little bit of that heart broke today after the tragic attack at the finish line of the Boston Marathon.
See, when you grow up in Hopkinton, the third Monday in April isn't Patriot's Day. It's not just another boring holiday or an excuse to spend an extra long weekend at the cape. No, it's Marathon Monday! In the weeks leading up there's an excited buzz around town as signs are posted, storefronts get a fresh coat of white, the starting line is repainted, and the football field turns into a porta potty wasteland (disgusting but charming none the less). As a member of the Hopkinton middle school system each student gets a fresh Kenya/Marathon tee-shirt, a chance to meet with some of the running world's top athletes, and a growing feeling of excitement for that Monday that kicks off April break. You run, skip, or rollerblade downtown to see nervous faces at the start. As you get older you find your way to Main Street without your parents and the more rebellious kids try to sneak stolen alcohol from the liquor cabinet into fountain sodas from Bill's Pizza. Without a doubt, it's one
of the
best days of the year.
After graduating high school, I did a brief stint at Syracuse before ending up at Boston University, a mere 26.2 miles from the little suburb I grew up in. Marathon Monday is different when you're a college kid navigating the city. You try to balance the fine line between day drinking and day passing out in front of your fellow Bostonians and college peers. Once I tripped walking to view mile 25 and spent the rest of the day joking that I was the only person to come to the Marathon as a spectator and to walk away with an injury.
It's hard to describe the atmosphere in Massachusetts on this day. At mile 0 the energy is palpable. You wake up to the sounds of runners sprinting around your block trying to fit in one final warm-up. You become accustomed to sneaky athletes stretching or stealthily relieving themselves in the bushes around town. At mile 26 the energy has changed. If you're having a bad day and want to see good in the world, check out mile 26 of the Boston Marathon. College kids, children, older couples, people of every race, size, age, background, and walk of life are yelling, no, screaming encouragement as the runners, hand cyclers, or wheelchair athletes take their final, pained steps towards the end. I've seen runners hold up an injured stranger to help them across the finish line. I've seen world renowned athletes start to wain in speed only to be revitalized by the cheers of children hoisted upon their parent's shoulders. And I can't even count the number of elated faces and bear hugs
received as these powerful humans take that final step over that yellow and blue paint.
Last year I moved from Boston to LA for work one week after the Marathon. After a couple hours of packing up my apartment on Beacon Street I stepped outside to watch the race from the bridge overlooking mile 26 on Commonwealth. I stood with my sister and friend for hours thinking about the the past 23 years I'd witnessed of this great event. The day that brings people from all corners of the earth to run, race, cheer on, and experience the joys of the Boston Marathon. Never in a million years did I think I would spent today hunched over my computer and phone, 3000 miles away, waiting for updates from my friends and family while watching live streams of the horror unfolding at the finish line.
The one thing we can take from this day is the overwhelming sense of good we witnessed. Video footage shows hundreds of people running to help the injured just seconds after the bombs went off. Stories of runners heading straight to the hospital to give blood came pouring in through every news vehicle. Within minutes of the tragedy, I had friends and family from all over the country texting me to make sure my loved ones back home were safe. My Facebook feed turned from silly posts to a constant stream of reassurances that friends were safe but shaken from the day. Despite the horror, the city banded together almost immediately.
And now we face tomorrow. A tomorrow at least 3 people won't see because they were murdered in the senseless bombing earlier today. A tomorrow where people will wake up in the hospital without limbs, with severe burns, and maybe without a loved one who didn't survive. So how do we move on? How to we respect those lost, repair those injured, and regain the strength of this day in Massachusetts? I spent most of the day asking myself this question and while there is no obvious answer, I know we can bounce back. Will it ever be the same? Probably not. We need to honor those lost while celebrating the millions of people who have run this race for 117 years. We need to band together like the twitter community did today to prove that there still is good in this world. I highly encourage everyone to read Patton Oswalt's profound take on the day as he totally nailed it (much more eloquently than my ramblings).
Tonight I'll go to sleep in Los Angeles but my heart will be home at mile zero, through Heartbreak Hill, and to mile 26.2. I'm lucky that my friends and family survived mostly unscathed, but saddened for the victims and witnesses we will not soon forget. I hope as a country we can use today as a catalyst to stop hate in the world. That same hate took the victim's lives in Newton, and Aurora, and 12 years ago in New York City. Something needs to change and I hope it starts with today.
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