Boston Heroes

April 20, 2015

Greetings from where I normally write,

This hat, one of my favorites, is so light I can hardly feel it.  It absorbs sweat, keeps the sun and rain out of my eyes.  I don’t normally wear it unless I am running.

A few days ago I was in the Atlanta airport and among the teeming masses I saw a flash of color I recognized and it made me smile.  Still smiling.  It was a distinctive jacket, a little brighter than the ordinary traveler might wear, with three distinctive stripes on the sleeves.  I have one just like in my closet.

I was already aware that the Boston Marathon was coming up, but shoving through the airport, my mind on other things, I didn’t expect to see the unicorn on the back of a Boston jacket, a reminder of the event.  It made me stop what I was doing.

On this day, as George Sheehan once said, “…the heroes are out..”

There are thousands of races run every year, all over the country.  Fun runs, hundred- milers, and countless marathons.  In each of these someone is pushing themselves to be more than they were, to plumb the depths of their own will, to see glimpse what else is possible.  The Boston, like all of those other races, is a stage for heroism.

Right now as I write this, over thirty thousand runners are making their way to Hopkinton.  They are nervous, filled with energy, some laughing with friends, some focused inward.  All are filled with a ferocious anticipation.  In a few hours they will see if how they have prepared themselves matches what is asked of them.

In each of our days there are all manner of challenges.  We face them armed with experience, optimism, humor, prayer, whatever resources we have.  When it seems the circumstances demand more than what we have, we dig deeper, search for what is possible.  Often in that process we look for inspiration from others who have overcome challenges; our heroes.  Some days are harder than others to find them. 

I just put on my Boston jacket.  I don’t normally wear it. Actually, I don’t know when I last had it on but this morning I’m wearing it.  And smiling.

Yesterday I heard an interview with a woman who was running her first Boston.  She was given a bib, a spot in the race, by the BAA to acknowledge that she had been injured in the bombing two years ago.  She was not a runner, she was a spectator.  She never dreamed she would run a marathon, let alone the Boston.

And then the bomb exploded and thrust her into a different trajectory. She recovered from her injuries, and slowly, painfully, she began the journey to Hopkinton.  She is on her way there this morning, and in few hours she will line up behind the blue and gold line and take the first steps toward Boston.  Her name is Michelle. She said:

“And for me, I kind of wanted to do something I never would've done before being injured. And I - this is something I definitely never would've done. So I think symbolically for me it's important. I went through over a half dozen surgeries. And when I think about that and then look down at my legs running, it's powerful. And it's - I'm not the best runner, I'm not the strongest runner, but I just want to cross that finish line. Because also I'm an American, and I'll be damned if I'm going to be knocked down and not get back up.”

By the time most of you read this, Michelle and thirty thousand others will be running east toward Boylston Ave in downtown Boston.  There is another blue and gold line there, one that has always symbolized what is possible. For those that run across it, it is victory over pain, over struggle, over the urge to give up, to accept less than what is possible.  Now, more than ever, it is a place of courage.  It is a place of heroism.

“I have found my hero and he is me.”  George Sheehan.

I don’t normally run on Mondays, but this morning will be different.  I’ll write a few words less, and take the time instead to join my fellow runners, in spirit at least.  I will slip out of what is normal and routine and for just a few moments breathe in the same air as my heroes.

Hope this finds you not doing the normal,

David

Copyright © 2015 David Smith