Boston Strong

It has been very distressing to read Facebook these days.  So many of my Facebook "Friends" have become so opinionated!  Many have voiced anger and frustration over the election and the inauguration, but just as many seem to be triumphant about it and are equally angry that the "sore losers" are resisting the Trump Administration.  It has opened up old wounds that I thought had been healed decades ago.  And everybody seems to have gone into their own corner so that true dialogue is impossible.  So I decided to take a break from it for the most part, except for looking for and finding the photo of Paul, Fred, and Jennifer posted by Jamye after the Hot Chocolate 10-K they all ran on Saturday.  That's the kind of news I want to hear right now!

Tai Chi on the deck just before it began to rain.  A small child had left his toy on the railing, and I am not willing to move it - big wheels turning, little wheels turning.  The ocean rolling and rolling.

Martha discovered that a movie was playing in Emerald Isle, a matinee and one that we wanted to see, so we missed church services this morning.  The movie was Patriots Day and it is a powerful one, about the Boston Marathon bombing in 2013, two years after I ran it; this made it even more powerful because I could have been there, and Martha and Katy (who were in the finish line stands) could have been there, too.

I posted this on Facebook after the bombings:

I have read so many posts from runners who have been deeply affected by the tragedy at Boston.  It is a terrible thing for all of us to bear, but doubly so for runners, because in a sense running is our escape, our sanctuary.  Out there on the busy streets and quiet roads and distant trails, we often enter into a special country where the troubles of the world seem a long way off.  And Boston, especially, is a kind of holy city for marathon runners, where distance runners have to earn the right to shred their quads on the unforgettable Newton Hills and stumble through the ear-splitting tunnel of Wellesley Women and finally turn that glorious corner and run down Boylston Street to Copley Square.  When I qualified for Boston, Martha gave me a book that described the famous course in so much detail that I knew when to expect each landmark along the way.  So this was like a bomb going off in a church or a synagogue, a desecration of a place where thousands gather to pursue what Alberto Salazar calls “an imponderable enterprise.”  A place of joy and terror and suffering and triumph.  And now it is a place of special sorrow to all of us who have ever tied on a pair of running shoes.

But since then I have watched remarkable stories of the survivors, how they have gone on to complete future Boston marathons wearing prosthetic legs, how they have triumphed over adversity.  Gruesome and bloody and violent at times, Patriots Day nevertheless spoke strongly - "Boston Strong" - about this power of love triumphing over hatred.  I will always remember that when the bombs went off, runners and spectators began running toward the explosions to see how they could help.

That is the kind of inspirational message we need today in a world that seems to be so filled with hatred.  It is a time for being Boston Strong.