(I usually start blogging by naming my title first. But I'm not going to this time because I'm not quite sure where this blog post is going to go so I'm going to do that part last.)
Before I started running about 3 years ago I always thought runners were a little "crazy." Not only did they enjoy running, but they always seemed like they were in some secret society. Like they were part of some brother/sisterhood. I never quite understood it until 1. I got addicted to running and 2. I completed my first half marathon in January. I think anytime a group of people work hard, push themselves and strive to achieve a common goal it automatically ties them together. And after the physical, mental and emotional exertion (that's the best word I could think of, sorry) of running a half marathon, let alone those who run a FULL marathon, I totally got it. I automatically felt like a part of that "society" that I hadn't understood before. I found myself finishing my race and going to the finish line to cheer on my fellow runners (You can read about my race here). I was proud of those that completed races after mine. I was proud to be "a half marathoner." Call me crazy, but that's just how I felt.
Fast forward to yesterday when I went on my first run on the road since my half marathon. I've been running on the treadmill at the gym, but haven't been on the pavement since January. And I must say, it felt great! But I ran with a heavy heart. I couldn't help but think of all of those runners whose either accomplishment will forever be tarnished or they never got to complete one of the hardest things they had ever trained for. My race (read about it here) was such an emotional day for me with feelings of relief (to finally be accomplishing something I had been working so hard for), of happiness as I passed by children holding up signs for their parents (including my children) and strangers cheering us on, of appreciation for my parents as I see them on the side of the road with my children holding up signs and cheering me on as well as appreciation for my husband who decided just days before the race that he would run it with me since my friend who was originally suppose to run it with me was unable to. And then there were feelings of tiredness when I got to about mile 10, and silliness as I sang out "Call Me Maybe" as it played from my ipod because it reminds me of my girls and all of the times we have sang and danced to it together. It was a day of such wide range of emotions, but one that I never had to experience was fear. Or terror. Or sadness. These are all things the runners at the Boston Marathon experienced. And one of the greatest feelings a lot of them didn't get to feel was accomplishment and sheer joy as they crossed the finish line. Because they had to run in the opposite direction of the finish line. I can't even begin to imagine what was going through their minds that day. And sadly what some of them witnessed that day.
I ended up doing a lot of praying on my run. Praying for those injured, those heroes who sacrificed their lives to protect others, those who helped out and have done and seen things unimaginable, and those whose loved one were there that day and didn't get to come home. I know God is so much greater than the evil in the world and there was so much goodness that far surpassed the evil that happened that day. I know my God will prevail. I love hearing all of the amazing stories that happened that day. And I am so thankful to be a part of that "crazy, running brother/sisterhood."
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