The Finish Line

Running has always been a sacred space for me. From the time I ran around the block for the first time, I was hooked. I remember the first time I ran 8 miles. It was on Christmas Day and the trail was empty. Just me, what wild life was left and a forest of hibernating trees. I could see my breath and feel my heart beat as my legs moved me effortlessly forward. I felt joy rise up and fill my heart as I ran the last hundred yards to the car. I'd never run farther in my life before that day. There would be longer distances and many more days but for some reason, that eight mile run really stands out. I felt like I was one with the Universe.

Running is my moving meditation. My opportunity to leave the mind behind and really focus on being in the moment.

Running is the great equalizer. It does not care how much money you have, how influential you are or whether you are grouchy or kind. It treats everyone the same - you get from running what you give. That fairness, that equalization, is also why running is the great connector. It galvanizes communities, families, friends and causes. It inspires others to come out and cheer and selflessly celebrate the accomplishment of another. Running draws people together in warmth and celebration. It is a exercise in hope and goodness. Or it was. 

Watching the terror at the Boston Marathon was one of the most difficult things I've witnessed. I watched as the carnage of runners, friends, family and spectators of all kinds lay strewn near the finish line. Tears stung my eyes as I heard that a little 8 year old boy was killed. WHY?!? I kept asking. Who would want to blow up a marathon?!? And worst of all, why blow up the FINISH LINE?!

The Finish Line. The most sacred place in any race. I thought about how many times I've crossed a finish line. At least 30 times and each and every one of them was a celebration. Sometimes I saw someone I loved patiently and eagerly awaiting my arrival. Almost always there were volunteers and other spectators cheering me on to the finish. Many times, athletes who'd finished earlier in the day had returned to keep cheering for those of us who were mere mortals. The finish line is a place of celebration, hope, encouragement and love. It is also a place of remembrance. 

Those last 100 or so yards before you cross the finish line, when the crowds are cheering and the end is quickly approaching is surreal. Every sacrifice no matter how small passes through your mind. Every painful training run; early morning or late night workout; every frustrated tear or small victory; every missed happy hour and all those times someone called you "crazy" or "obsessed". All of those memories remind you how you came to be 100 yards from a sign that reads, "FINISH". I can't tell you how many times I've had tears in my eyes crossing that line. The Finish Line is the one place where joy and turmoil are not at cross purposes. Where the sweetness of perseverance and determination is rewarded with those last precious strides. 

By blowing up the finish line at the Boston Marathon, those terrorists raped all runners of the bliss we feel crossing over that sacred spot. Many of us will run again and will cross many more finish lines, but we will never be as innocent again. We will have a twinge of fear for those who wait for us and so selflessly cheer us on and wonder if they will be safe. We will be looking around to see if it's safe to cross - like we would if we were crossing a dangerous street. Yes, we will pick ourselves up like runners always do but we will never be the same. 

The Finish Line will still be my place of hope, truth and satisfaction. I will never let those bastards have that. But I will never again be the same. I will never be able go back to those days of fearless innocence - blissfully gliding across the line without a care in the world.