That’s what tears me up about the events that took place at the Boston Marathon on Monday. The most horrific of the injuries were inflicted upon the spectators who were cheering on the runners. Of the three who were killed, one was an eight-year-old boy who was waiting, watching, and cheering for his dad. These are the ones who, for months on end, heard their runner say, “I’ve got to go out for a run.” These were the ones who had date nights cut short because there was a long run in the morning. These were the spouses for whom the other side of the bed was empty in the morning because their partner was pounding out early morning miles in the form of tempo runs, fartleks, and speed work at the track. These were the ones who dealt with stinky, sweaty running clothes in the laundry hamper. These were the ones inflicted with senseless terror, painful injury, and death when two makeshift bombs exploded in the midst of their celebration. I am shaken to the core when I think that that could have been my wife and family in the stands.Large marathons like Boston, Chicago, and New York will be forever changed as a result of this tragedy. The thing is, runners are going to keep running them. We runners are a strange breed. Over the years I’ve had close encounters with dogs, inattentive drivers, and large holes in the ground (that’s a whole story in and of itself). I’ve had people throw cigarette butts at me, they’ve shouted insults, and one fellow actually drove his car over the curb right at me to be “funny” or “to make a point.” None of that has stopped me from running. A few weeks ago, I dislocated my shoulder while skiing. The first question that I asked in the Emergency Department was, “Am I still going to be able run my half-marathon in two weeks?” Pheidippes, the guy who got this whole long-distance running thing going, ran from Marathon to Athens with the news that the Greeks had defeated the Persians in battle. "Joy to you, we've won" he said. And then he died.
And still we run.
And we’re gonna keep running, bombs be damned.
It’s the spectators that I worry about. A friend of mine was in the grandstand on Monday waiting to cheer on his girlfriend. He sent me a note with his ears still ringing from the blast. “Are they really saying they found a bomb underneath the grandstand? OMG. After the second bomb, I thought the grandstand was not a good place to be. They did search bags to access the grandstand area, where you needed a pass. But the same area was wide open yesterday. And it is eerie seeing myself on TV when the bomb explodes…Mike, I saw a man with both legs blown off. For no reason!”Race spectators and volunteers make you feel like a rock star. They line the race route with signs that say things like “Chuck Norris never ran a marathon!” They shout, they cheer, they ring cowbells, and kids hold out their hands for high-fives. They hand you cups filled with water or Gatorade. They pass out orange slices and bananas. And then, when you cross the finish line they are there to say “Great job!”
There has been a lot of focus on the runners this week. Lots of interviews have been conducted with runners who were there. But I’m thinking about the crowds. The author of Hebrews writes these words that seem especially appropriate as I think about the tragedy in Boston: “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us…” (Hebrews 12:1). We never race alone.
In a few weeks, I’ll start training for another marathon. With every step I take, I will give thanks for my wife
and for all who make this glorious sport what it is.
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