Sunday morning I took an early morning cab to Boston Logan
Airport. It was the 14th of April. I was making small talk with the
very friendly cab driver about Marathon Monday- an event that brings in
thousands of people from around the world to run and celebrate and cheer on
those brave and crazy souls that run 26.2 miles for fun. I asked the cab driver
if he had been busy because of the influx of people. He laughed and told me
“no- the type of people who are in town this weekend don’t take cabs,” he said,
“they run...”
His sentiment came back to me a couple days later in the
aftermath of the marathon bombing when I heard the news that some individuals,
after running a marathon, kept running to the hospital to donate blood. There
were several heroes that day. Several unnecessary heroes. Unnecessary because
these heroes should have been cheering on runners, grabbing a celebratory beer,
or taking a much needed nap. Instead they were running to donate blood, ripping
off their own clothes to make tourniquets for injured bystanders, and weeping
about a cowardly act that took innocent lives, jeopardized the safety of one of
the oldest cities in the United States, and tainted the beloved Boston
tradition that is Marathon Monday.
I find myself, in the aftermath of this horrible tragedy,
ironically feeling a sense of pride that I live in Boston. Being a (almost)
Colorado native, I never gave Boston much credit. The accent is annoying. The
drivers are horrible. Dunking Donuts is everywhere and it’s not even good. It’s
too windy. Too rainy. Too humid. The sun doesn’t shine enough. I hate the
sports teams. I’m not a city girl…So many have said that whoever bombed the
marathon picked the wrong city to mess with. They say the people of Boston are
strong. You knock us down and we get right back up. It takes a certain kind of
person to live in Boston. A person who can tolerate obnoxious accents and
horrific drivers. Who can bundle up and walk head first into horizontal rain
and ruthless wind. A person who can silently rejoice when the Patriots or the
Celtics lose. Who can go to a game at Fenway Park and still enjoy the
time-honored stadium despite the fact that the Red Sox squashed the Colorado
Rockies only chance of a World Series. Ever. It takes a certain kind of person
to live in Boston and after almost four years of living there, I realize I may
just be that certain kind of person.
It’s only been a couple days since the historic marathon was
terrorized with back-to-back bombs. The criminal is still on the loose. I have
no doubts they’ll find it (it being the criminal. I prefer not to give it any
human qualities). They’ll find it, punish it, serve it due justice. But what
happened has happened. No amount of justice served can take back that day. No
amount of justice served can give back lives or limbs lost. And no amount of
justice served can erase the horrible images from my mind that are sure to
haunt me anytime I walk down Boylston Street from this day forward. And I guess
that’s just life. These things happen, and unfortunately they will probably
happen again. And if they don’t kill you (God willing), they do make you
stronger. You have to keep on
living. You can’t live your life in fear of cowards. You can’t let them win.
I’m signed up for my first marathon in November in another old, historic city-
Philadelphia. And I’m going to run
it for Boston. My family goes to the Indy 500 every Memorial Day Weekend. It is
perhaps the most fun day of the entire year. And I’m still going to go this
year, and the year after that, and the year after that. I’m still going to go
to the movies on opening night. I’m still going to be an elementary school
teacher. I’m still going to go sporting events and the mall and I’m still going
to fly on airplanes. Life is full of danger. So what do you do? You live. You
pray. You savor every day, every experience, every moment. I strongly believe
there is more good in the world than evil. “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m
not the only one.” Evil tries to knock us down, but we get right back up fighting
even stronger than the last time. Still don’t believe me? Move to Boston. Become
one of us. Then you’ll see.
And if you're still having a hard time believing in good, here's some inspiration:
