Broken Hearted

My heart has been heavy all day. I am accustomed to seeing finish lines that look like this:

 

 

Not this:

 

Last night while lying in bed, Wade saw a comment pop up on Facebook about an explosion at the Boston Marathon. Our hearts raced as we did the math and determined one of our nearest and dearest would have/should have been pretty close to the finish line, with his family cheering him on nearby. We spent a restless night, awaiting news of their safety and trying to piece together the scattered news reports. We awoke in the morning to confirmation he and his family were safe.  With minds at ease, we said a prayer of gratitude and took to the internet to find out more. My American heart is broken. My human heart is broken. And so is my runner’s heart. The sport of running and the spectacle of the marathon is something that I have loved for years. It is core to my interests and identity. I love it for many reasons, but at the top of the list is the camaraderie, enthusiasm and the display of true human spirit that you find at endurance events. Strangers pat each other on the back, give one another encouraging words and engage in friendly conversation. Friends and families of racers come out in droves to not only support their athlete, but the thousands of others they do not know and will never see again. They hand them water, ring a bell and shout, “Looking strong, way to go!”, to every Tom, Dick or Harry within the sound of their voice, that is pushing themselves to their physical limits. It is humanity at it’s finest. It is beautiful, emotional and brings me to tears nearly every time.

Today, humanity at it’s finest was crudely and horrifically disrupted by humanity at it’s ugliest. For reasons that may one day be explained, but never understood, children, spouses, parents, friends and athletes were targeted in a violent demonstration of who knows what. It devastates me. Children cheering on daddy. Runners elated at their personal best. Fathers holding signs for their daughters. It’s soul crushing. Tonight in her prayers, Tessa said the following, “Please bless the girls and moms and dads who got hurt, please bless their legs to get better, bless daddy to come home safe” and the kicker, “Please bless the world can be beautiful”. Tears welled in my eyes and I said to myself, “Please, bless that it can.”

It can. And it is. There is beauty all around us. The next race we all participate in will be beautiful and triumphant and maybe all the more meaningful. The injured will bravely move forward into a new life.  I pray that time will heal those wounds. Prayer heals all wounds if we allow it too. You know what else does? Running. Running has cured nearly all my life’s ails. We need to lace up our boot straps, or our Asics and keep running. For the beauty of the sport, for the spirit of humanity and for those that can’t anymore. Or at least until they can do it on new legs. Saudi and her sidewalk-less, do it in a abaya, try and find a trail I dare you approach to running be damned. I’m going running. Whose with me?