Not Afraid to Run

I was at work on Monday sneak-watching a live feed of the Boston Marathon as the men’s leaders, a trio of Africans, battled against each other to be the first to cross the finish line and claim victory. For so long, qualifying for the Boston Marathon has felt like a pipe dream, a milestone I would be thrilled to hit but has always felt so far out of reach. When I first started running with Jason along the Burke-Gilman Trail, I would trot along at a 12:00/mile pace while he kept doubling back to me with a barely-concealed look of annoyance on his face. My first marathon was a 4:35, and my second marathon wasn’t much better (in fact, my off-the-bike marathons at both Ironmans I’ve raced have been close to my standalone marathon times). And then my BFG, who has always been a strong runner despite his height and his size, told me he was going to train for the Portland Marathon and try to qualify for Boston. He had run a handful of marathons, each time improving from the last, but for his age group he’d have to qualify with a 3:05 or faster. Jason, who’s always been a more dedicated and more focused athlete than me, hit all his workouts, dropped some weight, and showed up to the start line on a cool, sunny Portland morning looking slim and fit and ready to run his ass off for 26.2 miles. He crossed the finish line in 2:57, earning not only his spot at Boston but a much-admired place in the “Sub-3 Hour Marathon” club. I was inspired. Jason had just shed 22 minutes off his previous best marathon time. He encouraged me to try to qualify too, that I could get there with a little bit of dedication and perseverance. He even promised to not register for the 2013 Boston Marathon and wait until the 2014 signup opened up so we could register together if I were to qualify. So I made my 2013 season goal to run a marathon and hopefully be fast enough and in great enough shape to stamp my ticket to Boston. My training, however, has been frustratingly intermittent. I’ve been depressed. Stressed. Lazy. Gluttonous. Unfocused. I’ve threatened to sign up for three different marathons and bailed each time, never feeling quite “ready” to commit to a specific race. So my goal of running a BQ marathon, or even a PR marathon, has slowly been slipping through my fingers. I thought to myself, “Well, maybe another year. There’s always another year. 2014 won’t be so special.” And then, later that Monday morning, my Twitter feed lit up with news. Scary news. Terrible news. Heartbreaking news. There were two explosions near the finish line at the Boston Marathon. People were hurt. Limbs were lost. Deaths were reported. I sat at my desk, dumbfounded. I IM’d Jason, who I had been chatting with about the men’s finish earlier that morning. He responded with, “What? Are you serious?” As cruel a joke as that would have been, I wish I weren’t. I left work feeling sick, distraught, concerned. Wondering, as I always wonder during large-scale tragedies such as this one, what kind of human being would do something like this to his fellow man. My heart aching for the runners and spectators who were injured, for the family members who lost a loved one, for the victims who were probably runners themselves, now faced with a future where their favorite hobby will forever be altered due to injuries or amputations or psychological damage. But what saddened (and angered) me most of all was this comment...