By now, you’ve heard this story. The one about that precious cherub who watched as his dad finished a race that he had long been training for.
And all I could think of was him:
It’s not the Champion, arms-raised version that I posted about last year. It’s the half-blurry one of him looking for us on the sidewalk. It’s the version where, after running almost 13 miles, he’s still just looking for us. For the ones with the signs, with the shouts, with the smiles of encouragement.
Two and a half years ago, my hubby ran his first marathon (Chicago). To support him, my mom, the boys and I trekked to the city, brimming with excitement to cheer him on. The distance of walking (for us) and the crowds deterred us from bringing our two little guys last year when Jim ran it for the second time.
In their place, we brought my 12-year-old niece, 11-year-old nephew, and one other nephew. Eight years old. I remember cramming together like sardines the last half mile of the race. Searching desperately for someone we waited 26.2 miles for. Praying and hoping that they had made it thus far without stopping for a medic visit. People of all ages, all walks of life, waiting, screaming, and living.
So you wait. And wait. And unless you’re waiting for a Kenyan, you’re most likely still waiting.
Then around the corner, around that last bend, before the big hill, you catch glimpse of his hair. The recognizable orange of his shirt. And then you see it, his tired smile that he’s almost there. You’re proud, but as his wife, I’m immensely relieved.
And that’s what those people did on Monday. They waited and waited. As each runner crossed, a sense of relief and pride.
And then the unthinkable.
A beautiful article on Boston and the relationship between runner & spectator.
I’ve admittedly been avoiding reading much since Monday, but I knew you would find a way to be eloquent. Nicely done. Now I want to hug your husband (in a none weird way).
Oh Sam. Thank you for posting your thoughts on this. Hits too close to home . . .
Such a terrible thing, my heart breaks for all of the families in Boston.
I will never understand why people do what they do to hurt others like this. I could only imagine knowing someone in the race waiting to see if they were okay.. Prayers for all of those who were involved in this terrible crime 🙁 heart goes out to you all!!
So scary…. I just can’t imagine. I kept thinking about how I’d never traveled much until becoming a blogger a couple years ago. How it still feels weird when I’m in a new city. How far away my family seems. Then I would think about all of the people staying in hotels in Boston – not knowing when they could fly home, not wanting to leave the hotel in fear of what might happen next, and being so far away from home.
Totally heartbreaking for so, so many people. And I imagine that having actually experienced a race like that, it hit waaaay closer to home for you. Sad that there is so much darkness in the world sometimes… But I’m always glad to read the positive stories that come out of the disasters too…
This is so perfect. I love that you captured him looking for you guys but it’s also what makes it heartbreaking to think of what it would be like to have been there!!!
My husband is also a marathon runner, though he has not ran one in quite a while. Tears after reading your poignant words . . .
This made me tear up. It’s hard to put yourself in those people’s shoes…it’s almost too far in the darkness for the mind to go. I do love how you described him searching for you…:)
So well said. Your words add a keen perspective to the tragic events in Boston. So sad.
The Boston Bombings hist so close to home for me, my aunt and uncle use to volunteer so grateful they werent there this year! Plus I was born near boston! I stayed up all night reading updates!