I would like to dedicate this post to anyone and everyone who was
recently affected by the bombing at the Boston Marathon, a true tragedy. To Boston Marathoners, runners, spectators,
volunteers, Bostonians, this is for you.
Do you remember the first time you fell in love? I can’t remember the exact moment. I’m not sure whether it was when I ran on the
esplanade for the first time, on a crisp fall day, feeling the crunch of the
leaves beneath my feet while greeting the other happy runners as we passed one
another. Maybe it was the first time I
saw the CITGO sign fully lit, the designated North Star. Perhaps it was my first margarita and shared
plate of nachos at Sunset Cantina with my college friends. It could have been during my first game at
the historic Fenway Park, listening to the melody of “Sweet Caroline.” In the end, the moment doesn’t really
matter. I was in love. And his name was Boston. Boston was my first true love. It captured my heart from the moment I
arrived as a freshman at Boston University.
Now, I realize that most people’s first love is not a city. However, I think this exception is made for
anyone who has gone to Boston if only for a day. I had the pleasure of attending Boston
University, and living in Boston for 4 years of my life. In that rather short period of time, I found
myself considering Boston my home. My
family made sure I remembered my roots, especially to sport my Phillies cap,
which I always did, but in the end I became a Bostonian. Maybe it was because some of my closest friends were
from the area. Maybe it was the fact
that I really liked the Boston accent (I always tried my hardest to master
“Pahk the cah in Havahd yahd”). Maybe it
was because I could find a Starbucks or a Dunks on just about any street
corner. Or maybe it was just the charm
of the city. Boston became a huge part
of me, and I was lucky enough to become a part of the amazing city.
Boston was a first of many for me, and holds a special place in my
heart. I attended university in Boston,
I worked in Boston right in Copley Square, and I had some of my best memories
in Boston. Some of my very best friends
still live in Boston. I even had the privilege
to run in the great Boston Marathon. Not
once, but twice. The Boston Marathon is
always an incredible day in Boston, for everyone in the city. Not only do dreams come true as thousands of
runners come together to turn right on Hereford, left on Boylston, but the Sox
play, and spectators keep the runners up to check on the score. People from all over the great city come
together to enjoy the marvel that is Marathon Monday and cheer on the runners. Sure my legs hated me as I ran, especially
when I reached the top of Heartbreak Hill, but crossing the finish line of what
is probably the greatest marathon in America was one of my best moments not
only in Boston, but in my life. Marathon
Monday is a magical day, and the fact that this tragedy occurred truly broke my
heart.
Being so far from home can be difficult. Days can be rough and without the comfort of
family and friends it’s not always easy.
I’ve discovered, though, that the worst days aren’t when crappy things
happen here. No. The worst days are when terrible things
happen at home, and I can’t be there to help or offer comfort to my loved ones. It makes me feel helpless.
On Monday evening, Evelyn, a fellow PCV and very close friend who I
attended university with, called me to tell me the news of the bombings at the
marathon. Horror, disbelief, shock, confusion,
worry, sadness all overcame me in one moment.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Who would do something so awful?
My thoughts immediately jumped to those I knew in Boston. Five of my friends were running, who thank
God all of whom are safe as are their families.
My friends who live and work in the city are also fine. However, not everyone was as lucky. People were killed, hundreds were injured,
and the sacredness of the Boston Marathon, of Marathon Monday was taken away on
that special day. The joy of crossing the
finish line became horror, something that should never happen.
I may not be able to do much from here for Boston, for the city that
holds my heart, but I will keep running.
I will do the Comrades Marathon June 2nd in honor of Boston
and all of those affected by this tragedy.
I know the people of Boston are strong (they survive Boston winters,
after all). Boston will pull together
and get through this. I hope to be
toeing the line of the Boston Marathon 2014 if I am able to qualify. I will continue to work towards qualifying so
that I can again take part in one of America’s finest pastimes. Whoever committed this terrible act cannot
take away the love or wonder of Marathon Monday. It will live on, and we will always remember
those lost during the Boston Marathon, 2013.
Boston, you’re my home.
Le rata,
Meg
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