I'm still not processing this all that well, so this post is going to be a bit jumpy. I want to start with the end: I'm a Bostonian and I'm a Runner.
On Sunday, I woke up at 3:30 am, so my mom and I could drive from her house (where we're staying for April Break) to my office in Cambridge. After we parked, we hopped on the T to get to Copley. We made it there right at 6:30. I got my 5K bib, we walked around, I took pictures of the Finish Line. She bought be a Boston Marathon shirt (I made sure it didn't have 26.2 on it, since, well, I've never run a marathon). I ran the 5K. Saw Mom in the crowds right before the start line. Had my best time all year.
Monday was a beautiful day in NH. We were playing outside, when my phone pinged and I got the first new flash. About an hour later, I turned on the news for 2 minutes. That's all I could take, was 2 minutes. I turned it off and started crying.
Since then, I've pointed out where we bought the shirt (you can see it in one of the videos of the techs looking for evidence), where I took a picture of the finish line (pretty darn close to the first explosion, only 30 something hours earlier), of the buildings I ran past, even what song I heard from my running mix. I know a few acquaintances who ran on Monday. I had a friend at the Red Sox game.
I grew up in NYC suburbs. My dad worked as a firefighter in our town. On Sept 11th, he drove to the Bronx to help (he stayed in the Bronx for 2 days, manning that firehouse, then did search and rescue that Friday). I was sad and angry, but realized I wasn't a New Yorker anymore. I wasn't heartbroken.
On Monday, I felt that heartbreak. This is MY town. This is MY Running Community. Running helped me so much over the past 2 years; it's an instrument of good, of health, of peace, of friendship, of strength.
I've been in NH all week, I haven't been for a run along the Charles yet. Monday, before work, I'm going. I'm going to cry and take pictures. But I'm going to run. For Boston.