Cheesy, maybe, but a good reminder that our time here on earth is limited, and that any given day may be our last.
This week's blog was going to be about my experience at the Iron Girl Clearwater 1/2 Marathon, and my renewed love of running. In a way, it is still about exactly that, because running is what we DO. It is a huge part of who we are, the "fabric of our lives." (Now, I have to laugh at this reference, because anyone who has donned ANYTHING made of 100% cotton for a long run knows that it often results in unpleasant chafing and larger than life blisters). Sort of like this:
Not my foot - that picture was super gross. You are welcome.
During the time I have spent as a member of the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team In Training program, I have come to know many wonderful people. I like to call them "AWESOME." In addition to being kind-hearted souls, some of these individuals are also extremely talented runners.
This is Coach Lyle. He's Kind of a Big Deal.
Coach Lyle was running the Boston Marathon this year for the FIRST time. I was beyond excited for him. For the majority of the year, he coaches people for their events, running countless miles back and forth so that no one ever feels as though they are going at it alone. He answers questions, emails the TEAM, organizes get togethers to celebrate accomplishments - all with an infectious smile. The man oozes positivity. Ask anyone. You cannot be around him and not want to be a better person.
This race, though, this race was all his. He earned it, he worked hard for it. I was sad that I couldn't be there in person to cheer, so I did the next best thing: I race stalked him! I had text messages sent to my phone, I watched the live coverage and had a little digital person running across my computer screen. I updated Facebook to the point that it did cross my mind that he might block me from tagging him.
Boston is a big deal. It's the most prestigious marathon . . . the city basically shuts down . . . offices are closed, people camp out on the Common and cheer for 20,000+ strangers each on their own journey to the finish line.
I had the opportunity to witness this event first hand in 2002, when I was working on an audit in Hyannis. This was well before my introduction to endurance sports. I viewed every single person running the marathon as the equivalent of an Olympic Marathoner. They all looked fast to me, and I deemed them all crazy. Who voluntarily runs 26.2 miles? Lol.
I tracked Lyle, Maria and John for hours. I was filled to the brim with excitement when Lyle crossed at 3:03, and when Maria crossed at 3:32, and when John crossed at 4:04. I sent congratulatory text messages, telling them to enjoy their race and the city.
Boston is one of my very favorite cities. If it wasn't so cold, I would consider living there. History is abound, everywhere you turn. In the summer, hydrangeas bloom in the most beautiful shades of blue, decorating the flower beds and the steps of the brownstones that line Newbury Street. I like to walk through the city, forgetting that it is the 21st century, imaging what it must have been like in the 1700s. Chad and I went there a few years ago, and I had him walking all over town, for hours on end - at one point, he quietly requested that we take a cab back to the hotel. I was a bit startled, but it was a GREAT idea. We had to have been a good 5 miles away, down in the Harbor, and we were losing daylight.
I was in a meeting at 3:15pm on April 15th, talking to my boss. I glanced at my laptop, and saw that one of our managers in Boston was messaging me. I looked, because I thought it pertained to our meeting. When I saw that she had typed "explosions in Boston, check on your friends," my heart dropped into my stomach. I wrapped up the meeting quickly, not even sure what I had promised to do.
Remember how I said that Lyle is AWESOME? Even though I knew that he had finished running more than an hour beforehand, I had a sinking feeling that he might have been close to the finish line, cheering on the runners as they finished their races. That's just Lyle. BUT, the good guy that he is, he had already sent text messages and a Facebook post that he and his group were fine. Whew. I checked in with Pete, who found Maria, Holly and Teresa. I posted to John's wall, and his group had checked in with their home support crowd (in Fresno, CA) and they were all safe as well. We checked on Vera and Kara and Dave and Doug. All fine.
I am extremely thankful that every one I knew participating in the race and those travelling with them were safe and physically unharmed. I checked in with former and current co-workers to confirm they were safe - all good news was reported. My phone was actually buzzing continuously, because my friends and family and co-workers thought that perhaps I was in Boston either running or spectating, checking in to make sure that not only was I okay, but that my friends were safe. I had no idea people thought I was there; I feel terrible for not thinking to alert everyone that I was NOT there!
My heart rate quickens and my stomach turns over every time I think about the explosions in Boston, knowing that it could very well have been worse - way worse. Like many others have said, it's not about US. It's about everyone else - our fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, friends, cousins, training partners, co-workers and strangers. It's about those people who we hold closest to our hearts, who support us when we are running injured, when the weather isn't pleasant, when we neglect chores and spousal time, when we go to bed at 9 o'clock on a Friday night because we have a group run at 5am an hour away from our house that we wouldn't dream of missing . . . who are on the sidelines cheering, taking pictures, posting splits to Facebook and Twitter, and then running almost as many miles to see you multiple times on the course . . . who are waiting at the finish line, with a smile bigger than the one you are wearing yourself because they are happy for your victory.
How DARE someone attack the biggest, best part of our heart? How DARE they?
Tuesday night I heard that Lyle was going to be at track practice, so Teresa and I surprised him. I drove up to BFE, just to give him a hug and tell him that I am relieved that he is safe. I ran a bit - after all, it WAS track - and we talked. Not so much about what happened, but about other things, lighter things.
Misty, Lyle and Me at track 4.16.13
I drove home that night, deep in thought. I slept soundly - having that tangible moment where you know your friends are certifiably safe provides a peace that is unmatched. I woke up the next morning, full of resolve. I felt that I needed to do more, to be more. I signed up to run 26.2 in Philadelphia this November. I felt the NEED to run, to make the statement that I am not afraid.
Later that night, when Chad and I were discussing the events in Boston, I asked him if he hoped that I change after our wedding, if he hopes that I no longer run. He said that as long as we live in a free country, crazy people are going to do all sorts or harmful, evil things, and that he doesn't ever want that part of me to change, that he wants me to do what I love. Swoon. I told you this man is special <3
Even though the sport has forever changed, it is still ours. It belongs to the runners and the race directors and the spectators. It belongs to us.
And so I run. . . .
