Love that Dirty Water

April 18, 2011—the day I ran the Boston Marathon—was one of the best days of my life. I spent most of my life hating running, but I fell so in love with the lore of the Boston Marathon that I dedicated a year of my life to preparing myself for the challenge of running 26.2 miles. I pushed through Heartbreak Hill, kept going when I wanted to give in, and had the most incredible feeling of accomplishment and pride when I crossed that finish line.  Today 23,000 people woke up thinking that the day would be one of the best days of their lives, and it turned out to be one of the worst for many of them and their friends and family.

I am always sad when I hear news reports of mass violence, but today felt personal. Though I am temporarily displaced from Boston, it will always be my home. Having had the experience of running the Marathon forms a huge part of who I am. I have witnessed countless marathons in Boston and I know the Marathon is not just about running 26.2 miles. It's about the entire community coming together to celebrate the patriotic history of the city and to push ourselves to accomplish feats we never thought possible. The Marathon is Boston and Boston is me.

A friend said it best: “As a runner, as a Bostonian, is like such a personal attack on your family. And if you want to fuck with my family, you fuck with me.”

I started off feeling sad and worried. Then I began to feel angry. And then I started to want run. I had a sudden urge to lace up my shoes, go out to Hopkington, and show those responsible that they cannot take this away from me. There is no doubt in my mind that the Marathon will go on next year, and it will be Boston’s way of showing the world that we are strong. And I want to be a part of that.

So if anyone hears of a charity spot for 2014, please let me know. I’m all in for Boston.