I do not stand alone when I say that Monday, April 16 changed my life. My mind was spinning. Are my friends okay? Will my dream of running Boston ever be the same? The worst thought … are people dead?
In one school year we have witnessed a deadly hurricane, the massacre at Sandy Hook and now a terrorist attack on one of the world’s most prestigious athletic events.
For the rest of the week I jumped at loud noises and found myself wide awake at night, no matter how much I wanted to sleep. I felt desperate and out of control, like I had to do something to be proactive instead of reactive in the wake of the tragedy. On Tuesday, April 17, 2013, I did something I have not done in far too long … I went to church.
As a child I used to feel daunted in church. I went to a Catholic school in Lowell, Mass., and the church at my school was this gigantic, dimly lit, intensely decorated space with dark wooden pews. I found myself distracted and overwhelmed by stained glass windows, big ceiling, and sad-looking statues that surrounded me.
This place, I was taught, was God’s house. I was a very scrawny, chicken-legged kid to begin with, so standing in church made me feel even smaller. As I stood in the cozier Egan Chapel of St. Ignatius Loyola Tuesday night in a prayer service for the victims of the tragedy so close to my hometown, I felt even smaller than I can remember feeling standing in church as a child. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one asking the hardest question: How does God let this happen?
I wish I knew the answers to these tough questions, and my confusion scares me as much as anyone else. It’s terrifying to admit that in some situations we have no control. As much as we wish we could, we can’t be in command of when the Red Sox win, how much the Big Dig costs, or the weather on Patriots Day.
Although we were expecting a normal day on April 16, we didn’t get it. Marathon Mondays will never be the same. While I have felt as helpless as anybody in this past week, the only place I got any reassurance was from a song in church that I learned as a little girl in Catholic school.
The song that opened the vigil on Tuesday night at the Vigil was “Be Not Afraid”. That night it took more willpower than I have ever had to muster up in any road race to sing the words, “Be not afraid / I go before you always / Come follow me / and I will give you rest.” In all my heartache, I realized something important: I am not powerless. If nothing else, I simply cannot let terror or fear stop me from living my life and chasing what I have wanted.
In my heart I know that I am supposed to be a marathoner, and I will follow my heart. If terrorists decide they are going to target runners, then I will never let them kill my dream of the marathon. If anything, I will train harder, take more risks and refuse to be afraid.
Marathoners are some of the most fearless people I know. Some runners showed their guts on Monday by running two more miles (after 26.2, crazy, right?) to donate blood after the race. Civilians, first responders, doctors and countless men and women in uniform demonstrated courage. Kindness shows itself in the aftermath of disaster, and so this is what we should focus on, not the evil.
If you’re like me, wondering just what you can do to feel in control again, I offer you this: As one nation, under God, indivisible, in the spirit of the marathon, we can continue to fearlessly put one foot in front of the other. We can offer gratitude to our heroes. We can find peace. We are Boston Strong.
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