I am not a runner. I am the back of the pack. When you are a walker, it is sometimes difficult to feel a part of the marathon community. After all, by the time I reach the finish line, a lot of people have already gone home! But I am part of that community. And I have never felt that sense of community as strongly as I do today.
A friend of mine was running the Boston Marathon yesterday. Throughout the morning and early afternoon, I kept checking her progress, and was thrilled and proud to see her finish time of 3:42. (That’s the same finish time of my slowest half marathon. She went twice the distance in the same amount of time!) I am in awe of my friend, and of anyone who runs, whether it’s a 5K or an ultra.
As I passed on the news of my friend’s achievement, I thought about the start line of my tenth half marathon, now less than three weeks away. I thought about what it feels like to stand at that start line, a bundle of nerves and energy, ready to push my body to its limits. I thought about the sense of aloneness I always feel at the start line… and the deep sense of community and camaraderie I feel as well. Those miles, they belong to all of us. That course, it belongs to all of us. That finish line, it belongs to all of us.
The finish line of a marathon should be full of joy. It is the culmination of months – sometimes years – of determination and dedication, of sweat and struggle. Crossing any finish line is a triumph of spirit and will; I can’t imagine the sense of accomplishment a runner feels when crossing that finish line in Boston. And I can’t imagine the confusion and horror when those bombs went off, at the finish line of what is considered by many to be the greatest road race in America.
You don’t cross the finish line of an endurance race with your body. You cross it with your heart. My heart was in Boston yesterday afternoon, breaking with sorrow and horror. My heart was with the confused runners heading down the chute to the finish line. With the first responders who ran toward the blasts. With the runners who kept on going, straight to the hospital to donate blood for the victims. My heart was with every back of the pack runner who was stopped along the course route, unable to achieve their goal. With the spectators who only hoped to celebrate the amazing accomplishments of the day.
I am happy to report that my friend is safe and sound, and on her way home from Boston. All of my friends and loved ones who were at the race, and who live nearby, are safe and sound.
And now I wonder: What will it feel like to queue up with the thousands of other marathoners a few weeks from now? Will we be scared? Will our sense of community be even stronger? One thing I know for sure: Our hearts will be in Boston, even as we cross the finish line in Toronto.
Because that finish line, it belongs to all of us.
