A Moment for Boston

Rue La La is selling these tees
if you are interested (proceeds benefit
the Emergency Medicine Fund
at Massachusetts General Hospital).

I have a couple of posts due to you kids, but as a runner, I felt the need to address this first.

I sat at my desk yesterday afternoon fighting back tears. I don’t know it if was all the calls and texts asking me if I knew anyone running Boston, or my sister emailing me about how happy she was that I didn’t qualify for Boston this year, or the tweet I read from a reporter passing folks on the street in Boston on their phones all saying the same thing: Mom, I’m okay.

Yep. Just typing that makes the tears well up.

Regardless, like many of you, I was saddened by what happened at the Boston Marathon yesterday.

Then I was angry.

Irrationally so.

I wanted to throw everything off my desk.

I wanted to scream and kick things.

I wanted to walk into Hot Attorney’s office and break his jaw. And I probably could – I've been taking kick-boxing.

But before I did any of this – though, after I used the eff word as a noun, verb, adjective, adverb and conjunction – I stopped to ask myself why I so desperately wanted to destroy something beautiful.

Honestly, because that is one of the ways I respond to fear.

The other is humor.

A few years back, I was at the starting line for the New York City Marathon. There I was on Staten Island, waiting for my race to begin, when I noticed the snipers. The guy standing next to me followed my eyes to a nearby rooftop and asked. “Is that a sniper?”

I took a deep breath, looked away from the sniper and up at the stranger next to me and responded “Seems like a pretty harsh punishment for bandits.”

For the uninitiated, “bandits” are people that run the race without a bib.

See. I was trying to be funny. That is what I do when I am scared.

That and get angry.

Yesterday, I couldn't be funny. So instead, I went to rage.

Until I remembered more destruction wouldn’t help the situation. Destruction. Anger. That is how we got here in the first place. Because whoever did this – whether it was one guy, one gal, or a team of folks – I’m pretty sure he, she or they did it from a place of fear.

Being afraid is perceived as a weakness. But anger. Anger is awesome. Anger inspires fears. Anger garners respect. Someone who is angry isn’t a pussy; they’re a badass.

Except they’re not. They are scared. The person who did this is a coward. And so instead of responding with more anger, I’m going take deep breaths and thank the universe that my friends and family are safe.

I’m also through being afraid. I may be a little suspicious of adult males I see walking around the city with a backpack, but really that is nothing new.

And now, I’m going for a run.