Heartbreak Hill

We had just arrived home after a glorious day watching the Boston Marathon when I received two texts from a friend who lives in Virginia.  At 3:17 p.m., she wrote, “CNN is saying stay away from garbage cans…” and then “Text or call when you can!”  At first I was going to reply with something cheeky like, “I rarely paw around in garbage” but then thought somebody may have stolen her phone number, similar to what has happened to other friends’ email accounts.  I went upstairs to send a message via Facebook, when Nels told me what he had just found out:  somebody had bombed the finish line, and they thought there might be more bombs stashed in garbage cans.

The initial shock that always comes with this kind of news—Columbine, Oklahoma City, 9/11, Newtown—was exacerbated by the pure exhilaration that came with having been there just a few hours before.  We stood in the cool spring late morning sun, surrounded by thousands of others bearing witness to the monumental effort it takes to complete 26.2 miles.  We all cheered the wheelchairs, the elites, and then the first waves of runners from the vantage point of Heartbreak Hill, a few miles from the finish.  We also cheered the military personnel walking in long lines in their desert fatigues with large backpacks, symbolizing the context of this race as part of Patriots’ Day, a celebration of “the shot heard ‘round the world” at the battles of Lexington and Concord, the scene of our country’s birth. 

There was a huge security presence: spotters on bicycles, riding along with the runners, looking into the crowd.  Police on motorcycles, moving along the edges of the course, keeping spectators out of the street so runners would have a clear path.  Riding immediately before the elite groups of women and men, there were black vans full of men holding large guns.  At the time, in the sunshine, with the bright colors of runners’ singlets and spectators’ spring jackets, it felt like overkill.  “Who would want to hurt runners?  Runners are harmless,” I said to my friends.

Now I get it.

The Boston Marathon, as my brother Joe put it, is a sacred event.  It is not only revered by runners, but is symbolic of the hard work and sacrifice that led to this country’s founding, commemorated by the race taking place on Patriots’ Day.  The beauty and strength of the individual human body, running, opens into the collective beauty and strength of the running community.  Nels pointed out that the finish line is a place where runners are at their most vulnerable—physically and emotionally spent, tired, hungry, thirsty, sweaty, looking for their loved ones, often with no key, no phone, and dependent on the kindness and organization of the race directors and volunteers.  Bombing the finish line of a marathon is a kick to someone who is down.  Bombing the finish line of the Boston Marathon is a gauntlet thrown down.

How can we, as individuals and collectively, work for a sense of peace and healing at this moment and beyond?  I was heartbroken yesterday, and still am, at the loss of life and the multitude of physical injuries.  I was angry, and still am, that now this race, and every large race, will have to redouble their already incredible efforts to secure the participants and the public. 

At the same time, though, let’s not allow our sadness and anger to overwhelm our awe at what was accomplished yesterday.  Let us applaud the efforts of the winners, Lelisa Desisa of Ethiopia, and Rita Jeptoo of Kenya, and their fine competitors, including our very own Shalane Flanagan, Kara Goucher, and Jason Hartmann, all of whom finished in the top ten. In addition, the 20+ thousand runners who trained for this event, putting in hours of running, deserve accolades.  The race organizers should also be recognized for putting together an enormous event attended by thousands.

Of course we want justice, but not at the expense of healing.  Healing comes from positive action.  Runners, wherever they are on the spectrum of recreational to hard-core, can keep the spirit of the Boston Marathon, and the sacrifices of the victims, through renewed dedication to the sport.  Non-runners can act with fierce determination in their chosen activities, physical or not.  Healing comes from the knowledge that we are constantly working to be our best selves, and understanding that others are doing the same.   Poet William Stafford offers these lines to carry us forward:

Will you ever bring a better gift for the world

Than the breathing respect that you carry

Wherever you go right now?