My mind can get a little overwhelming at times. It doesn’t know when to stop or rest, and I don’t think it cares. I think it’s pretty invested in self-preservation. I wake up in the morning to the dull recovery from yesterday’s processing and creating, with dream reels rolling credits in the background.
Some mornings after I’ve had enough coffee to reach the present moment, I tie on my Brooks and hit the pavement for an intended 3 miles, inevitably turning into 6 or 8. Endorphins quiet my mind. Not since Crestwood Middle School Track & Field have I cared how fast I can run a mile. I’m about finding a good pace and seeing how many miles I can run. I’ve wanted to run a marathon ever since living 45 minutes outside Boston and quitting smoking.
I ran a half marathon last year and thought, that’s probably far enough. So, yeah, people who qualify for the Boston Marathon are my heroes. I can’t imagine how many years it would take me to be able to qualify for that race, but I’m pretty sure I never would. I know a woman who ran it 3 times as a bandit before she raised enough money for a number. She told me about salt tablets, peppermint candies, Vaseline, taping my feet; it was all so hardcore. Anyone who runs 26 miles in a row, at any pace, has a resolution I respect.
I can’t wrap my brain around why anyone would choose the Boston Marathon for a violent strike. I understand attacking the World Trade Center, financial symbol of the United States, western capitalism, and puissance. I’m not saying that was any less tragic or senseless; I’m saying I understand it. But the finish line of a race where people thrilled to finish in four hours are met with chaos and injury? It’s an especially shitty attack.
And after the fact, everyone is shocked. No one has any idea what the hell is going on. No one ever saw a fucking Crockpot filled with bomb or the asshole that put it there. There’s a part of me that hopes we never find the person or people responsible for this. I hate it when the media cycles repeat themselves to make those people famous. It’s so frustrating and who really feels like they can do anything? We’re all just waiting for the next carnage and praying that we’re somewhere else at the time.