At 3 p.m., I was texting Jen, whose husband, Dan, just finished the Boston Marathon today. It was an amazing day for a marathon, and I was thinking — finally! Last year the runners had such a hot, miserable day. Today was perfect marathon day.
After her last text, I got a call from her and I thought it was a pocket dial.
“Did you hear anything about some kind of explosion at the marathon?” she asked?
I popped open Boston.com’s live blog of the events. “Hmm, wait. It sounds like there might be something going on,” I said. There were just a few posts about a rumored explosion.
Then the information started flooding in.
I texted her back the info I got, until it was overwhelming. Just a flood of information from Twitter, the NBC live feed news in the background. and toggling between the Boston.com live blog and Facebook to make sure that my friends who were racing/watching were OK.
As a New Englander/runner/journalist this event just hits me on so many levels. The amount of training and passion and dedication that it takes to be a “BQ”-er is tremendous. I had considered going to Boston this year to watch the event, just because it is so special to be able to go and watch and see elite runners make history. It is so special to see my friends, who worked so hard to get there, rub shoulders with greats like Shalane Flannigan and Joan Benoit Samuelson.
The amount of emotion I’ve felt every time that I crossed the finish line after a 26.2 mile race has been overwhelming. That’s why this kills me.
I can’t think of many times where I’ve felt more emotionally volatile then at the end of a roller-coaster ride like a marathon, and I can’t even imagine how they must have felt. And then those that have been severely injured … and lost limbs … and died …
As a journalist I feel twinge of pride and amazement at how fast my colleagues organized to spread information (and, for the most part, quash dis-information). I’m not sure I could have known more if I wasn’t standing at the finish line myself.
The Boston Marathon is one of our great American symbols. It is the embodiment of the American Dream — no matter who you are, if you work hard, you can raise yourself up.
I’m still dumbfounded.