So. Boston.

What I want to start by saying, is that I'm pretty surprised by how I reacted to the news of the events that occured at the finish line of the Boston Marathon.  Unsurprisingly, someone articulated it better than I did.  So I'll defer to Craig's opening monologue.

I was shocked.  Yes.  I was upset.  Yes. And I hoped to God that whatever it was and whatever happened didn't cause a disproportionate reaction that caused more damage, and deeply hoped that people were able to mobilize effectively and safely to help the injured and (so help me) make sure that there were no more threats in the vicinity.  (As of this typing, there are 3 dead and 176 injured.  One of the dead is another child.  And some of the injured are maimed for life.)

So I'm a runner who's had the pleasure of running races.  I'm a runner in the sense that I'm a martial artist.  I'm dedicated, I learn enough to be dangerous, but these are still nothing more than serious hobbies for my health.  In terms of serious running, I'm barely barely a drop in the rain barrel.  I've volunteered a handful of times, I've spectated as much as time allows, I've crewed one full-Mary, and y'know I've never ran a full Mary myself?  It's kind of scary.  It's not "off" my radar, but it's there.  Like a store that looks interesting that you pass every day on your commute and say "some day I'll pop in there."

And I have no designs on Boston.  None.  That's fabled and storied and, frankly, a smidge intimidating.

But having acclimated myself to race culture, I know about Boston.  I follow the runners.  The "elites".  I know the history and the names.  I follow the tweets and social media updates.  The Master's was this Sunday and I was with a group who was rapt with attention at something that I could care less about, and consider to be kiiiiinda boring.   And here I am getting gooby about runner's. 

Oh, and I do know about running goodly long distances.  And pounding 26.2 miles- as much as I used to make fun of friends for doing it- is no fucking joke.  From the elites who finish in a little over 2 hours to the people (like the 101 year old Sikh marathon runner) who are running just to say the did it or just to finish.  It's...okay, so if you want to see people who willingly put themselves through the grinder, hang out at the finishing line of a marathon.  And cheer.  And watch.  It was humbling, filled with elation, tears, success.  It gets in your guts like no other sporting event I've ever attended.  And it is a feeling of accomplishment that you get to keep forever.

Same goes for running.  Everybody can have every single reason for wanting to run, and they can span from being insanely personal to just...plain enjoying moving outside.  It's unifying.  That's why I adore running with my friends on weekends.  That's why I love being in races with 10,000 other like-minded fools on a cold Saturday morning.  That's why I love plugging in and going for an 11 mile run around my neighborhood.  My mind floats off.  And when you're mildly ADHD, it's so wonderful to be able to engage in an activity that let's it all wash out into the world.  It takes every tiny to huge worry on my mind and let's it filter out into the universe.  It's hippy, but it's true.  There is absolutely nothing like the love letter I could write to running.

Which is why I feel like this is such a personal, and scarring act.   It's why I feel like I identify so strongly with those people.  I've cheered at a finish.  I've crossed the line in tears and ready to vomit.  I've had so many of these feelings while seeing a inflated banner that says "FINISH" that it's so unbelievably frightening how much I sympathize with the city of Boston over this tragedy.  Moreover, how every runner is probably feeling the same way. 

And it's why part of my heart reacted the way it did, and why Ferguson's words sat with me like they did.  I'm sick of this shit.  I'm sick of the fact that when it happened, I didn't fly off the handles- I wanted answers and I wanted people to stay calm and focused and to WAIT until more information was available.  Because when the panic bleeds into the instantaneous and wild speculation with which information travels these days, it can be so intensely detrimental to the situation.  And then I think I'm turning into my dad.

See, I found out via Facebook.  And from the first "What's going on in Boston?" post, I found myself doing all the Googling I could for information.  And when more and more social media posts came up, I noticed that there wasn't anything definitive that was being offered as to the "why" or anything about "victims".  (There were stories about limbs flung everywhere, blood running down the street, the explosion came from a hotel kitchen, etc.)  Websites and links were already showing some pretty gruesome images along with video of the explosion...And that, friends, is when I took a deep breath and stepped the fuck back.  And all within about 60 minutes.

In September 2011, I know where I was.  I was asleep.  I had a job interview. And I was popped out of bed and told to turn on the television.  I started scribbling in a notebook all the information I could assimilate from the news stations.  I still have it.  And I wrote down that they ("they") were reporting basically everything every conspiracy nut has posited over the last 12 years.  They ("they") reported that there were already over 10,000 fatalities.  (We know now that there were a little less than 3,000.  Including the aircraft.)  I wrote it down.  I thought I was watching history and needed to. 

And think about 18 years ago?  Before instantaneous gratification of social media and digital news feeds.  I was at my cousins wedding, and the only information we could get was what we'd see on the News several hours after the fact or in the paper the next day.  It must have been terrifying and devastating to the people closest to those who were lost.  And here we are now, looking for suspects and needing to know NOW!

And that's my point.  My 1st feeling was that I hope nobody panics.  That nobody loses their shit and starts immediately pointing fingers of blame.  That nobody get crazy and conspiratorial and start making rash leaps in logic and sense and swim in the murky cesspool of speculation and misinformation.  A Facebook buddy frassed something along the lines of  is that people don't question things and just accept what they see.  (In relation to why Snopes HAS to be the go-to place for debunking.)  I responded that it was because of that statement?  We need something to debunk the bullshit.


I also want to point out that I was deeply heartened to see that people spent more time on social media posting their support, Fred Rogers quotes, and finding out how they would be able to assist in whatever capacity.  Look to the helper's indeed, because there are always helpers.  And in spite of listing over 18 years worth of horrible tragedies that have befallen the US, I think that it's heartening to see that the way people are mobilizing in the face of these horrors is to meet it head on and to give strength where it's needed.  To give selflessly whatever support and care that they can.  I think that's pretty amazing if we stay on this course of action.

I love Boston.  I love the history.  The people.  I wish only light and healing and the hope that they will keep moving forward with their lives, and that in the following years this blight will become a sad and quiet footnote for a race that is the culmination of human perserverence, hard work, determination, and fortitude for 117 years.