Boston Strong

I get to say hello to Mama and her ducklings (who live in the Boston Public Gardens) during my lunchtime walks.

The Boston Marathon used to be background noise for a day off when I was growing up.   When I started working in town, a bunch of us would walk down Boylston and hang out at the Purple Cactus' patio bar and cheer on the stragglers (this was back when the race started at noon).

And then my social circle started running.  a 5k here, 10k there, then one of us hit the big show:  The Boston Marathon.  I was so giddy and happy and proud for her, I took the day off, and cheered her on in Natick and Boston.  In front of Lord & Taylor, to be exact.  She has a picture of us from that day, cheering her on behind the barrier.  I was five months pregnant with my son.  I won't share that photo here, because I do not want to associate that image during that wonderful day and her amazing accomplishment with what happened this year at the Marathon.

If you live or work in Boston, it's hard not to have any association with Boylston Street.  I've bought running sneakers in that Marathon Sports that's currently missing windows.  During my walks in the Common and Garden last week, I would hit the corner of Arlington and Boylston Streets, and see the gaggle of news vans, and the barricade.  I didn't stop, I kept going.  I did not want to gawk at the tragedy.  I was already overwhelmed with the events of that day.

I know, It's hard not to be overwhelmed if you have any association of affection for Boston.  The first time I saw where the bombs went off, I played the what if? game.  What if I had done my usual Patriot's Day activities, and went to the Red Sox game, then walked over to watch the race?  What if....   But, that didn't happen.

I wish I didn't have the images of that day in my mind.   I had just put down the kids for an afternoon nap, hoping they were exhausted from their trip to the park.  My daughter had asked if we could watch "more runners on TV."  That morning, we had all watched the start of the race.  She asked where her Daddy was in the race.  "No, Sweetie, Daddy's not running in this race, he's at work."  We all cheered the wheelchair race winner, then went on with our day.

I grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV, to have it on in the background while I tidied up from the kiddo tornado.  "If you are just tuning in..." the news anchor started.  I looked up, and saw the carnage on Boylston Street.  I ran for the phone, and called my husband.  I was shaken, and horrified, and needed another grownup to talk to.  He couldn't see the scene, and so was not as upset.  "Turn off the TV," he told me.  Instead, I told him I loved him, and then called my parents in OR.  I wanted to make sure they knew I was nowhere near Boston.  My mother and I watched the helicopter footage together.

More calls, more texts from people.  Who was there?  Was anyone we knew running?  The scariest game of Bo-Peep played while phone lines and websites were overloaded.  Friends and acquaintances we knew running were all accounted for.  Little ones woke up, and the television went off.  A lot of hugging happened.

Bostonians are resilient people.  We've stood up to bullying and fear before.  We lace up our boots, push up our sleeves, and say "That all you got?"  We also try not to do a lot of dwelling on things, and move forward when bad stuff happens.  We move on, we move forward.

The city is a lot calmer this week.  There's a lot less AR-15s walking around Government Center.  The news vans are gone.  Boylston Street  is open for business.  I decided to take some of that move forward energy and apply it to my fitness.

This morning I got up early, and went for a walk.  That became intervals between walking and running.  It felt good (so good, so good, SO GOOD).  The adrenaline rushing, being able to get out all that stress from these past two weeks, the anger, the fear, the panic.

We are Boston Strong!