We’ll talk about the Boston Marathon today on “100 Eyes,” which you can watch here at 3 p.m. You also can ask questions during the discussion and share your own story.
We’ll talk about the news of the day, and the people from South Dakota who were there.
Philip woke me up to tell me that they had captured one suspect and were looking for the other. It’s definitely been a weird few days at our house. I felt like I was generally doing OK, but then when I got to work yesterday, I felt really panicky and weird. As the day went on, my stomach hurt so badly I just left at 5 and went to bed while Philip did solo parenting. I missed my book club, a drink with a friend, and family time. I don’t know. I was just exhausted and sick and couldn’t stay awake.
I feel better today, and I hope it lasts. Philip seems to be doing OK — he’s glued to the news nonstop, like the rest of the country.
Thankfully the kids don’t know what happened and we are careful not to talk about it in front of them.
Since my blog post went up and my article ran in the Wednesday paper, I have had several phone calls and emails about the Boston Marathon. A doctor from Sioux Falls was out to watch his daughter run on Monday — she finished in 3:27, well ahead of the blasts and an awesome time on a tough course (let’s not forget this is a race, too). He had this to say in his email, which sums up everything I didn’t write:
Certainly the greatest tragedies of that horrible day are obvious and self-evident, but there are sub-themes of sadness that add to it. The trivialization of all of the work and dedication represented by qualifying, running, and finishing is one of those themes. That evening, after we finally got back to our hotel and could eat dinner, my daughter simply said, “It feels like the marathon itself almost never happened.”
That is it exactly. I’m wearing another Boston Marathon shirt today. I’ve struggled with whether to wear them. Is it tacky? Insensitive? Should I put like black tape through them or something? I don’t even know.
He went on to talk about how something was lost that day — and how important it is to remember all the good things that happened. I feel that way, too, which is why I wrote the way I did — in celebration of 117 years of running from Hopkinton to Boston.
As I ran on Monday, I was thinking of a totally different column — one that begged residents of Sioux Falls to get out in September and support our local marathon, which Runners World noted was in the top 10 in the country for percentage of the field that qualified for Boston. That’s pretty amazing. And yet most people in town don’t know anything about the Sioux Falls Marathon, or don’t care about it, and certainly don’t stand along the course cheering on the runners. I wanted to write about the economic impact it could have on our city if we got out and supported that race. You can’t imagine how much money Philip and I spent in Boston. People would spend a lot here, too. And we could have an awesome race.
I’ll still write that column, but maybe not for a few weeks, and probably not really in relation to Boston, which will always have a different feel now.
But what happened on Monday didn’t just happen to runners. It happened to spectators, too, who stand for hours looking through a sea of people for their one runner — for a chance to clap and yell for 10 seconds as he or she goes by. When you are out on the course, that support means so, so much. And I’ve watched my share of races and marathons — and I cry every time.
Running a race is an emotional experience. What happened Monday was an emotional roller coaster.
We’ll talk about it all today at 3 p.m. I hope you’ll join us.