I was standing in line for the bathroom at the Dunkin' Donuts by Boston College this morning, after a 15-mile run along the course route in Newton. A woman approached me and, recognizing my 2013 Boston Marathon jacket, asked, "So, did you finish?" This isn't the first time this question's been asked of me. A few weeks ago I attended a DFMC team meeting and met a couple of people, each of which posed the question within seconds of shaking my hand. It seems that everyone I talk to about the 2013 Boston Marathon has a burning desire to know the answer to that question, and I'm really tired of answering it.
In my first blog post of the season, I mentioned that my decision to run again in 2014 wasn't an easy one, and there are a number of obvious reasons:
1) Training during the winter can be tough. Yes, I'll take 20-degree temps and snow any day over the hellish heat and humidity I experienced last summer training for New York. But make no mistake, it can be a bit of a grind.
2) Fundraising takes a lot of time and effort. I had been hoping to scratch some things off my To-Do list this winter, but that hasn't happened, and fundraising-related activities are one reason why.
3) Last year's experience was a traumatic one.
But I keep coming back to this "did you finish" question, as it embodies a couple of issues that I've been thinking a lot about lately...
For one thing, I really, really don't want to relive my experience of April 15th, 2013. Yes, I finished that race, but as I get closer to this year's, I feel like people will continue to ask me about last year. To this day, I sometimes have a difficult time thinking or talking about the experience, and while I know that there will be significant undertones to this April's event, I want it to be like any other Boston Marathon: unique in its specialness for no other reason than its tradition, the spectacle, and the glory found on Boylston. That's what my race was about in 2013, and so it will be again this year.
The other is that my answer to that question alienates me from a large number of others, including many friends. With other participants, my answer is always, "yes, did you?" The answers from those I met at the DFMC meeting, as well as the Dunkin' Donuts lady: "no." When I left Dunks and headed back up the hill to my car, I passed my friend Lisa running in the opposite direction, who saw me as I passed and ran back to give me a big hug and wished me well on the end of my run. Upon reaching the top of the hill, I saw my other friend Carey-- more hugs, more well-wishing. Both Lisa and Carey ran in last year's race, and were stopped short of their finishes. Yes, I finished, but the race ended prematurely for them.
I guess I just don't want there to even be a question, so let's stop asking it, please? If you see me wearing my 2013 jacket, or hear that I'm running this year and learn that it's my second Boston Marathon, ask me if I'm excited. Ask how my training's going. Ask me about my fundraising activities. Ask me if I know anyone else running. Ask me who's going to come out to cheer me on.
The tendonitis in my knee continues to slowly improve, and I'm feeling pretty good in my long runs again. My friend Jack is also running in this year's race and it's really nice to be training with him again. Today was awesome - so many runners out getting in their long runs in the hills before the latest storm started dumping snow on our region again. Kristen and I made some amazing chocolates last week, with much-appreciated help from our friend Laura, raising another $500+ towards my goal of $10,000 for DFMC.
Things are good, and while there are still a lot of miles to log, dollars to raise, and likely snowstorms in my near future, I'm starting to really look forward to running the 2014 Boston Marathon, with so many of my friends.
I'm also excited about finishing the race, but not nearly as much as I am about congratulating Lisa, Carey, and my other friends on their finishes.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Monday, February 3, 2014
Eat Chocolate
When I was originally considering joining the DFMC team for last year's Boston Marathon, Kristen and I quickly realized that we could probably raise a fair amount of money by preparing and selling baked goods and other dessert items. Given Kristen's passion for this sort of thing, not to mention her talent, it has come as no surprise that many people just naturally assume that I'm spending my time writing all of these scintillating blog posts and occasionally harassing people for money via email and Facebook, while she slaves away in the kitchen.
In actuality, I've spent at least as much time working on the dessert packages as Kristen has over these past two fundraising seasons. And while I'm the primary author of this blog, Kristen's most certainly provided input on each and every post. We chose to work on all of this, together, and as such, she deserves as much credit as I do for the $14,000 raised for DFMC thus far. Maybe one of these days I'll convince her to train for the Marathon, too, and we'll run down Boylston towards the finish line together.
In the meantime, we've still got a lot of money to raise to reach the $10,000 goal set for the 2014 season. While many people love cookies, cakes and such, we're all about chocolate (and ice cream, but we don't eat that every day). So this Valentine's Day, we're happy to make chocolates for you to share with your loved ones.
Pick-up dates: Thursday, February 13th or Friday, February 14th
In actuality, I've spent at least as much time working on the dessert packages as Kristen has over these past two fundraising seasons. And while I'm the primary author of this blog, Kristen's most certainly provided input on each and every post. We chose to work on all of this, together, and as such, she deserves as much credit as I do for the $14,000 raised for DFMC thus far. Maybe one of these days I'll convince her to train for the Marathon, too, and we'll run down Boylston towards the finish line together.
In the meantime, we've still got a lot of money to raise to reach the $10,000 goal set for the 2014 season. While many people love cookies, cakes and such, we're all about chocolate (and ice cream, but we don't eat that every day). So this Valentine's Day, we're happy to make chocolates for you to share with your loved ones.
Suggested donation: $50.
Item
|
Description
|
|---|---|
Assorted Chocolates
| A collection of Valentine's Day chocolates. |
Pick-up dates: Thursday, February 13th or Friday, February 14th
Order deadline: Saturday, February 8th
To place an order: Send an email to jeffruns4dfmc@gmail.com with details about what you'd like to purchase and when you'll need it. Payment can be made upon pick-up, with a check made out to Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge. Alternatively, you can submit your donation online:
Monday, January 20, 2014
Ninety Seconds
I'm sure I am not unique in saying that I have a to-do list that never ends. Lately, whenever I open it up there's one item that is always staring back at me: "Order Blinds." I added this one many months ago after a cord broke, rendering one window perpetually covered.
It doesn't take long to order blinds. I've actually already measured the window frame, ordered and received color samples (twice), and decided on a color. I've received about five different coupon codes since I ordered the first set of samples and watched each of them expire. I had a few days off around New Years, and thought, I should order those blinds while I have time off before I go back to work. It's January 20th and I have yet to receive the blinds--because I still haven't ordered them. It would literally take me about ninety seconds to find my measurements, fill out the online form and click submit, but somehow I have not found the time to do it.
I'm not lazy, and I'm not procrastinating. I am simply always choosing to prioritize other things above the ordering of blinds. For instance, I've been kicking some serious ass in Star Wars Angry Birds over the past few weeks (thanking my 4-year old nephew for introducing me to that!). Wasting time? Perhaps, but given the number of hours every day I spend working, training, preparing food, cleaning up, taking care of the dog, doing laundry, running errands, and answering emails, I don't necessarily consider a half hour of video game-playing while I ice my knee to be a waste of time, and I'd even argue that it's without question a higher priority than ordering blinds.
I sometimes think about how difficult life can feel in terms of finding a good balance between the various things that take up your time and energy. You need to balance your time between your friends, loved ones, co-workers, pets, community, and yourself. Your mind needs a balance of stimulation and rest. Your body needs a balance of activity and recovery. You need to make time to do your chores, and also pursue your interests and passions. More often than not I find myself too far on one side of things. I'm either overwhelmed by social activities or feeling like I'm not being a good enough friend. I'm more often than not over-stimulated than bored. I push my late-thirties body as hard as I did in my late twenties (probably harder, or at least in a healthier way).
The first few weeks of January are always an opportunity for people to revisit their priorities and consider how to pursue their goals. I, for one, have once again come to the conclusion that this year, I need to strive for balance. I did a pretty good job this weekend-- splitting time between friends, my wife, and myself, doing chores and racking up tons of Angry Birds points, training and resting my body. Here's hoping I can keep it up, and that you, my loyal readers, are able to do the same in whatever your resolutions might be.
These first few weeks of the year are also a great time to strike some things off your to-do lists, especially for those of us in New England dealing with weekends of bad weather. So if you're taking the time to read this and have had "Donate to Jeff's DFMC campaign" on your to-do list for awhile, please take the next ninety seconds to make your contribution, as I just did for several of my friends also running for various charities in the 2014 Boston Marathon.
Meanwhile, I'm going to go order those blinds...
Thanks, and stay tuned for some Valentine's Day dessert offerings.
It doesn't take long to order blinds. I've actually already measured the window frame, ordered and received color samples (twice), and decided on a color. I've received about five different coupon codes since I ordered the first set of samples and watched each of them expire. I had a few days off around New Years, and thought, I should order those blinds while I have time off before I go back to work. It's January 20th and I have yet to receive the blinds--because I still haven't ordered them. It would literally take me about ninety seconds to find my measurements, fill out the online form and click submit, but somehow I have not found the time to do it.
I'm not lazy, and I'm not procrastinating. I am simply always choosing to prioritize other things above the ordering of blinds. For instance, I've been kicking some serious ass in Star Wars Angry Birds over the past few weeks (thanking my 4-year old nephew for introducing me to that!). Wasting time? Perhaps, but given the number of hours every day I spend working, training, preparing food, cleaning up, taking care of the dog, doing laundry, running errands, and answering emails, I don't necessarily consider a half hour of video game-playing while I ice my knee to be a waste of time, and I'd even argue that it's without question a higher priority than ordering blinds.
I sometimes think about how difficult life can feel in terms of finding a good balance between the various things that take up your time and energy. You need to balance your time between your friends, loved ones, co-workers, pets, community, and yourself. Your mind needs a balance of stimulation and rest. Your body needs a balance of activity and recovery. You need to make time to do your chores, and also pursue your interests and passions. More often than not I find myself too far on one side of things. I'm either overwhelmed by social activities or feeling like I'm not being a good enough friend. I'm more often than not over-stimulated than bored. I push my late-thirties body as hard as I did in my late twenties (probably harder, or at least in a healthier way).
The first few weeks of January are always an opportunity for people to revisit their priorities and consider how to pursue their goals. I, for one, have once again come to the conclusion that this year, I need to strive for balance. I did a pretty good job this weekend-- splitting time between friends, my wife, and myself, doing chores and racking up tons of Angry Birds points, training and resting my body. Here's hoping I can keep it up, and that you, my loyal readers, are able to do the same in whatever your resolutions might be.
These first few weeks of the year are also a great time to strike some things off your to-do lists, especially for those of us in New England dealing with weekends of bad weather. So if you're taking the time to read this and have had "Donate to Jeff's DFMC campaign" on your to-do list for awhile, please take the next ninety seconds to make your contribution, as I just did for several of my friends also running for various charities in the 2014 Boston Marathon.
Meanwhile, I'm going to go order those blinds...
Thanks, and stay tuned for some Valentine's Day dessert offerings.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Holiday Bake Sale: December 2013
My first month of fundraising was a successful one! Kristen and I took the day off work this past Wednesday in order to fulfill our Thanksgiving orders of mini-pies and cheesecakes. These packages turned out great, and we even sampled them during our own Thanksgiving dinner with Kristen's family :)
As of today, I've raised over $1300 towards my goal of $10,000. Still a long way to go, but hey, I haven't even started training for the race yet, so there's still a lot of time.
I have barely had enough time to send out all of my thank-you's and here we are, a week into December! So for anyone who is looking for a holiday package, you'll find details at the bottom of this post. But before we start thinking about dessert again, I want to remind you of why your contributions to my campaign are so important.
Last year, I wrote a few blog posts in which I made mention of someone I knew who had received a cancer diagnosis: my grandfather (prostate), father (prostate and melanoma), myself (basil cell), and a few friends of mine from high school (including Michael Robertson, who shared his story of surviving stage IV colorectal cancer on the White House Blog earlier this week). I decided I'm long overdue to write about my mom.
Eight years ago, my mother was diagnosed with stage III breast cancer, a few weeks before my brother Eric's wedding. That summer she had a lumpectomy, followed by 8 rounds of chemotherapy. After that, it was radiation, 5 days a week, 33 trips in total. Today, she still has two more years of hormone therapy planned.
The chemo made my mom really sick, and she lost her hair. Her eyebrows, eyelashes, and fingernails will never be the same as they were before the therapy, and she will live the remainder of her life with a weakened heart. I won't bother to enumerate all of the other side effects, and couldn't even begin to describe the emotional impacts. Battling breast cancer sucks.
Two years after my mom's diagnosis, her sister received one. Their mother, Grandpa Dave's wife Velma, is also a survivor. I'm extremely thankful that my mother, my aunt, and my grandmother are all still alive today. But this is not due to a stroke of luck-- their survival was largely due to effective drug therapies which have kept their cancers in remission.
Estrogen is an essential hormone involved in normal breast cell development, and it's believed that a lifelong exposure to estrogen can increase breast cancer risk. As such, many breast cancer patients are prescribed drugs like Tamoxofin (which my aunt took) and Anastrozole (which my mom still takes) that inhibit the enzyme responsible for synthesizing estrogen. These drugs have been shown to significantly reduce the risk of recurrence and thereby have contributed to improved survival rates over the past few decades.
However, the level of effectiveness of these drugs depends on how resistant the patient may be (or become) to them, and the mechanical reasons for their successes and failures has not been wholly understood. In 2002-2003, Dr. Miles Brown of the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute was a key author in several papers (such as this one) describing how individual genes which encode our estrogen receptors may be correlated to drug resistance. With a better understanding of the pathways involved in estrogen synthesis and the genetic markers behind them, it's expected that this research will lead to new drugs and treatments which will continue to improve survival rates. Dr. Brown's work was made possible, in part, by funding from the Barr Program.
There is not yet a cure for cancer, but with recurrence risk approaching zero, a diagnosis may feel more like a scary and painful inconvenience, rather than a death sentence. Eventually, someone you know will receive a cancer diagnosis, and the chances of his or her survival will only improve with further research, which requires funding.
And hey, if you want something in return for your contribution, how 'bout some holiday desserts? Any of the packages below would make a great gift for family and friends, all proceeds benefitting the Barr Program.
Pick-up dates: Monday, December 23rd or Tuesday, December 24th
Order deadline: Wednesday, December 18th
To place an order: Send an email to jeffruns4dfmc@gmail.com with details about what you'd like to purchase and when you'll need it. Payment can be made upon pick-up, with a check made out to Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge. Alternatively, you can submit your donation online:
As of today, I've raised over $1300 towards my goal of $10,000. Still a long way to go, but hey, I haven't even started training for the race yet, so there's still a lot of time.
I have barely had enough time to send out all of my thank-you's and here we are, a week into December! So for anyone who is looking for a holiday package, you'll find details at the bottom of this post. But before we start thinking about dessert again, I want to remind you of why your contributions to my campaign are so important.
Last year, I wrote a few blog posts in which I made mention of someone I knew who had received a cancer diagnosis: my grandfather (prostate), father (prostate and melanoma), myself (basil cell), and a few friends of mine from high school (including Michael Robertson, who shared his story of surviving stage IV colorectal cancer on the White House Blog earlier this week). I decided I'm long overdue to write about my mom.
Eight years ago, my mother was diagnosed with stage III breast cancer, a few weeks before my brother Eric's wedding. That summer she had a lumpectomy, followed by 8 rounds of chemotherapy. After that, it was radiation, 5 days a week, 33 trips in total. Today, she still has two more years of hormone therapy planned.
The chemo made my mom really sick, and she lost her hair. Her eyebrows, eyelashes, and fingernails will never be the same as they were before the therapy, and she will live the remainder of her life with a weakened heart. I won't bother to enumerate all of the other side effects, and couldn't even begin to describe the emotional impacts. Battling breast cancer sucks.
Two years after my mom's diagnosis, her sister received one. Their mother, Grandpa Dave's wife Velma, is also a survivor. I'm extremely thankful that my mother, my aunt, and my grandmother are all still alive today. But this is not due to a stroke of luck-- their survival was largely due to effective drug therapies which have kept their cancers in remission.
Estrogen is an essential hormone involved in normal breast cell development, and it's believed that a lifelong exposure to estrogen can increase breast cancer risk. As such, many breast cancer patients are prescribed drugs like Tamoxofin (which my aunt took) and Anastrozole (which my mom still takes) that inhibit the enzyme responsible for synthesizing estrogen. These drugs have been shown to significantly reduce the risk of recurrence and thereby have contributed to improved survival rates over the past few decades.
However, the level of effectiveness of these drugs depends on how resistant the patient may be (or become) to them, and the mechanical reasons for their successes and failures has not been wholly understood. In 2002-2003, Dr. Miles Brown of the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute was a key author in several papers (such as this one) describing how individual genes which encode our estrogen receptors may be correlated to drug resistance. With a better understanding of the pathways involved in estrogen synthesis and the genetic markers behind them, it's expected that this research will lead to new drugs and treatments which will continue to improve survival rates. Dr. Brown's work was made possible, in part, by funding from the Barr Program.
There is not yet a cure for cancer, but with recurrence risk approaching zero, a diagnosis may feel more like a scary and painful inconvenience, rather than a death sentence. Eventually, someone you know will receive a cancer diagnosis, and the chances of his or her survival will only improve with further research, which requires funding.
And hey, if you want something in return for your contribution, how 'bout some holiday desserts? Any of the packages below would make a great gift for family and friends, all proceeds benefitting the Barr Program.
Suggested donation for each item below: $50.
| Item | Description |
|---|---|
| Candy Box | A sampler including:
|
| Cookie Box | A sampler including:
|
| Cookie Mix Jars | Three quart-sized jars filled with all of the dry ingredients needed to make the following cookies (instructions included):
|
| Breakfast Basket | The Home for the Holidays breakfast basket returns! This year's basket includes:
|
Pick-up dates: Monday, December 23rd or Tuesday, December 24th
Order deadline: Wednesday, December 18th
To place an order: Send an email to jeffruns4dfmc@gmail.com with details about what you'd like to purchase and when you'll need it. Payment can be made upon pick-up, with a check made out to Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge. Alternatively, you can submit your donation online:
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Ready, again
Last Sunday was perfect. Okay, maybe it was a bit cold on Staten Island at 6:00 in the morning, but I certainly wasn't going to complain. A few hours later, I was running across the Verrazano Bridge with Geoffrey Mutai, Priscah Jeptoo, Meb Keflezighi, and the rest of the first wave of runners in the largest marathon in history. I executed my race plan flawlessly, finishing in 03:28:17, a personal record at this distance by more than five minutes.
A few days later, I received a letter in the mail indicating that the $9,177 I raised with the 2013 Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge team contributed to a grand team total of $4,753,873.68, benefitting the Claudia Adams Barr Program in Innovative Basic Cancer Research.
I feel really good about these accomplishments, and at the moment, am very excited to announce that I'll once again have the opportunity to run with DFMC in the 2014 Boston Marathon.
This has, however, been an extremely difficult post to write. The truth is that I have had mixed feelings about participating in next year's race, and a difficult time articulating why. I've avoided thinking too much about the events of April 15th, 2013 and the days that followed, and I think in some ways I've worried that next year's race will be too focused on the horrible things that happened, even if discussed in an optimistic context.
While I may have more to say on the matter later, in the meantime I'll say this: acts of violence toward others, disease, and natural disasters are a part of the world we live in. But so are cheering crowds of people, smiling boys and girls looking for high-fives along the side of the road, and hugs from loved ones for those most in need. There are good things in this world, and at a marathon you don't have to look too far to find them. I feel humbled and honored to be given the opportunity to experience it, and want to be an inspiring reminder to people that it exists.
And so I'll be donning my DFMC singlet again with pride in April. Between now and then, I'll be doing my best to influence change in one way I'm able: by raising money for cancer research and treatment. Thanks to the extreme generosity I've witnessed from all of you, I've set this year's goal at $10,000. Please help me hit it by making a donation!
As with last year, one way in which I hope to raise money is by selling baked goods. Kristen and I are happy to donate time, flour, butter and sugar if it will bring in some donations, so please consider one of the following for this Thanksgiving season:
Pick-up dates: Wednesday, November 27th or Thursday morning, November 28th
Order deadline: Saturday, November 23rd
To place an order: Send an email to jeffruns4dfmc@gmail.com with details about what you'd like to purchase and when you'll need it. Payment can be made upon pick-up, with a check made out to Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge.
Thank you in advance for all of your support and generosity.
A few days later, I received a letter in the mail indicating that the $9,177 I raised with the 2013 Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge team contributed to a grand team total of $4,753,873.68, benefitting the Claudia Adams Barr Program in Innovative Basic Cancer Research.
I feel really good about these accomplishments, and at the moment, am very excited to announce that I'll once again have the opportunity to run with DFMC in the 2014 Boston Marathon.
This has, however, been an extremely difficult post to write. The truth is that I have had mixed feelings about participating in next year's race, and a difficult time articulating why. I've avoided thinking too much about the events of April 15th, 2013 and the days that followed, and I think in some ways I've worried that next year's race will be too focused on the horrible things that happened, even if discussed in an optimistic context.
While I may have more to say on the matter later, in the meantime I'll say this: acts of violence toward others, disease, and natural disasters are a part of the world we live in. But so are cheering crowds of people, smiling boys and girls looking for high-fives along the side of the road, and hugs from loved ones for those most in need. There are good things in this world, and at a marathon you don't have to look too far to find them. I feel humbled and honored to be given the opportunity to experience it, and want to be an inspiring reminder to people that it exists.
And so I'll be donning my DFMC singlet again with pride in April. Between now and then, I'll be doing my best to influence change in one way I'm able: by raising money for cancer research and treatment. Thanks to the extreme generosity I've witnessed from all of you, I've set this year's goal at $10,000. Please help me hit it by making a donation!
As with last year, one way in which I hope to raise money is by selling baked goods. Kristen and I are happy to donate time, flour, butter and sugar if it will bring in some donations, so please consider one of the following for this Thanksgiving season:
| Item | Description | Suggested Donation |
|---|---|---|
| Mini Cheesecake Sampler | This sampler box contains 4 three-inch cheesecakes, one of each of the following flavors (2-3 servings per pastry). Black and White: New York-style vanilla cheesecake with chocolate ganache and chocolate cookie crust Berries and Cream: New York-style vanilla cheesecake with strawberry swirl and graham cracker crust Pecan Praline: Vanilla and praline cheesecake with gingersnap-pecan crust Pumpkin Spice: Pumpkin spice cheesecake with gingersnap crust | $50 |
| Mini Pie Sampler | This sampler box contains 4 three-inch pies/tarts, one of each of the following flavors (2-3 servings per pastry): Classic Apple Pie: Tender, flaky crust loaded with spiced apples Bourbon Maple Pumpkin Pie: A twist on the Thanksgiving classic Pecan Pie Tart: Scrumptious and buttery tart shell loaded with sticky-sweet pecans Chocolate Tart: A rich and elegant delight for the chocolate lovers at your table | $50 |
| Breakfast Basket | Back by popular demand!
| $50 |
Pick-up dates: Wednesday, November 27th or Thursday morning, November 28th
Order deadline: Saturday, November 23rd
To place an order: Send an email to jeffruns4dfmc@gmail.com with details about what you'd like to purchase and when you'll need it. Payment can be made upon pick-up, with a check made out to Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge.
Thank you in advance for all of your support and generosity.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Boston Proud
Today, I went for a run.
I left my office around lunchtime and ran to Vassar Street. As I passed, I weaved between a few people to touch the benches marking the memorial for slain MIT police officer Sean Collier, and a few minutes later I was standing in front of the MIT police station and shared a moment of silence with a number of officers and other people from the MIT community.
From there, I cut over to Memorial Drive, not far from the Shell station where the Tsarnaev brothers let the owner of the carjacked Mercedes go free. I crossed the Mass Ave bridge and turned left on Commonwealth. Instead of making the right on Hereford I continued down Comm and thought about the 5000+ runners who were forced to walk down that long street, cold, tired and scared. I turned right on Berkeley and stood right next to where I was last Monday afternoon when I heard explosions, and rested my hands on the barricade set up around the memorial for Martin Richard, Krystle Campbell and Lingzi Lu. Like so many people who have visited the site over the past week, I stared at the ghostly Boylston Street crime scene which is still devoid of cars or people. I have no pictures to share because I'd much rather remember the street full of people cheering.
After taking it all in, I turned in the other direction and continued running down Boylston in the middle of the road (attracting lots of attention wearing a yellow 2013 Boston Marathon shirt), through the Public Garden, up Charles Street, and across the Longfellow Bridge back into Cambridge. At 2:50pm this afternoon, I shared another moment of silence with the entire city.
The idea that the events of the past week were "close to home" for me is an understatement. I was three blocks away from the explosions. A few days later, I found out that Sydney Corcoran, the girl who was pictured in an iconic photo on the front pages of the Boston Globe and the New York Times on Tuesday, is the niece of a fellow DFMC runner. Sydney was at the finish line with her mother, Celeste, who lost both legs. Please support their recovery fund.
Sean Collier lived in Somerville. Tamerlan Tsarnaev's apartment is a 10-minute walk from my home. On Friday, my town wasn't on the list of those bordering Watertown for which Governor Patrick issued a "shelter in place" request, but the City of Somerville did call its residents to request that we, too, adhere to the lockdown order. My eyes were glued to the news from 6am until 9pm, waiting anxiously for news that Dzhokhar Tsarnaev had been apprehended.
The past week has been filled with extreme sadness and anxiety, but also pride and amazement. In my last post, I spoke of what makes Patriots Day in Boston so great, and somehow felt the same sense of collective perseverance, celebration and love since that day. Everyone rallied around victims, their families, first responders, city officials, law enforcement, as well as the running community. Nobody summed it up better than David Ortiz when he exclaimed "This is our f*cking city, and nobody is going to dictate our freedom. Stay strong." Not even the FCC could deny Big Papi's emotional response.
I fear that if I try to further elaborate on these feelings, it would sound clichéd and perhaps melodramatic to some, so I'll just say: I love Boston.
Sure, there were idiots out there like Arkansas State Rep Nate Bell taking the opportunity to tweet pro-NRA rhetoric, but for the most part I felt like the nation was behind Boston. Nothing breaks down party lines quite like a natural disaster or terrorist attack-- and hey, the Yankees played Sweet Caroline and the Chicago Tribune's sports page paid tribute to Boston. It's just a shame that the conclusion of this chapter will eventually serve to add fuel to the fire on topics like gun control, capitol punishment, and immigration-- but not for, say, civil rights and education, despite the ignorant attacks on Muslims and suggestions that we should nuke the Czech Republic (failed geography, did we?).
It will take me, and the rest of Boston, some time to recover from the Marathon. I'm still sad. I feel pity for Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, but am happy he is being removed from society. I don't want to hear about his trial, and I refuse to read any commentary on how the City of Boston could have better handled the situation. I do care about what happens to the victims and their families, and look forward to hearing about the stories of their triumphs. I am motivated to harness feelings of compassion for other people, in the hopes that my actions can make a difference for someone else. Holding my medal has brought smiles to the people I've shown it to, and their sense of awe in my accomplishment has started to make me feel good about running in the 2013 Boston Marathon. I'm also excited about my next race (Massachusetts Reach-the-Beach Relay, next month), and am planning to enter the lottery for the 2013 New York City Marathon.
In finishing up what will be my last planned post on this blog, I'm left thinking about my Grandpa Dave. I can certainly imagine him making some insightful comments about the events of the past week. But I also know that he wouldn't let his feelings about terrorism cloud his love of the world around him. If he had been here this past week, he would have been amazed to hear how much the 2013 DFMC team raised (>$4M). I can hear him talking about the amazing spectacle of the Boston Marathon, how everyone in this beautiful city has come together for 117 years to celebrate it. And after I finished the race, he would have grabbed my shoulder and said, "Way to go, guy!"
I left my office around lunchtime and ran to Vassar Street. As I passed, I weaved between a few people to touch the benches marking the memorial for slain MIT police officer Sean Collier, and a few minutes later I was standing in front of the MIT police station and shared a moment of silence with a number of officers and other people from the MIT community.
From there, I cut over to Memorial Drive, not far from the Shell station where the Tsarnaev brothers let the owner of the carjacked Mercedes go free. I crossed the Mass Ave bridge and turned left on Commonwealth. Instead of making the right on Hereford I continued down Comm and thought about the 5000+ runners who were forced to walk down that long street, cold, tired and scared. I turned right on Berkeley and stood right next to where I was last Monday afternoon when I heard explosions, and rested my hands on the barricade set up around the memorial for Martin Richard, Krystle Campbell and Lingzi Lu. Like so many people who have visited the site over the past week, I stared at the ghostly Boylston Street crime scene which is still devoid of cars or people. I have no pictures to share because I'd much rather remember the street full of people cheering.
After taking it all in, I turned in the other direction and continued running down Boylston in the middle of the road (attracting lots of attention wearing a yellow 2013 Boston Marathon shirt), through the Public Garden, up Charles Street, and across the Longfellow Bridge back into Cambridge. At 2:50pm this afternoon, I shared another moment of silence with the entire city.
The idea that the events of the past week were "close to home" for me is an understatement. I was three blocks away from the explosions. A few days later, I found out that Sydney Corcoran, the girl who was pictured in an iconic photo on the front pages of the Boston Globe and the New York Times on Tuesday, is the niece of a fellow DFMC runner. Sydney was at the finish line with her mother, Celeste, who lost both legs. Please support their recovery fund.
Sean Collier lived in Somerville. Tamerlan Tsarnaev's apartment is a 10-minute walk from my home. On Friday, my town wasn't on the list of those bordering Watertown for which Governor Patrick issued a "shelter in place" request, but the City of Somerville did call its residents to request that we, too, adhere to the lockdown order. My eyes were glued to the news from 6am until 9pm, waiting anxiously for news that Dzhokhar Tsarnaev had been apprehended.
The past week has been filled with extreme sadness and anxiety, but also pride and amazement. In my last post, I spoke of what makes Patriots Day in Boston so great, and somehow felt the same sense of collective perseverance, celebration and love since that day. Everyone rallied around victims, their families, first responders, city officials, law enforcement, as well as the running community. Nobody summed it up better than David Ortiz when he exclaimed "This is our f*cking city, and nobody is going to dictate our freedom. Stay strong." Not even the FCC could deny Big Papi's emotional response.
I fear that if I try to further elaborate on these feelings, it would sound clichéd and perhaps melodramatic to some, so I'll just say: I love Boston.
Sure, there were idiots out there like Arkansas State Rep Nate Bell taking the opportunity to tweet pro-NRA rhetoric, but for the most part I felt like the nation was behind Boston. Nothing breaks down party lines quite like a natural disaster or terrorist attack-- and hey, the Yankees played Sweet Caroline and the Chicago Tribune's sports page paid tribute to Boston. It's just a shame that the conclusion of this chapter will eventually serve to add fuel to the fire on topics like gun control, capitol punishment, and immigration-- but not for, say, civil rights and education, despite the ignorant attacks on Muslims and suggestions that we should nuke the Czech Republic (failed geography, did we?).
It will take me, and the rest of Boston, some time to recover from the Marathon. I'm still sad. I feel pity for Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, but am happy he is being removed from society. I don't want to hear about his trial, and I refuse to read any commentary on how the City of Boston could have better handled the situation. I do care about what happens to the victims and their families, and look forward to hearing about the stories of their triumphs. I am motivated to harness feelings of compassion for other people, in the hopes that my actions can make a difference for someone else. Holding my medal has brought smiles to the people I've shown it to, and their sense of awe in my accomplishment has started to make me feel good about running in the 2013 Boston Marathon. I'm also excited about my next race (Massachusetts Reach-the-Beach Relay, next month), and am planning to enter the lottery for the 2013 New York City Marathon.
In finishing up what will be my last planned post on this blog, I'm left thinking about my Grandpa Dave. I can certainly imagine him making some insightful comments about the events of the past week. But I also know that he wouldn't let his feelings about terrorism cloud his love of the world around him. If he had been here this past week, he would have been amazed to hear how much the 2013 DFMC team raised (>$4M). I can hear him talking about the amazing spectacle of the Boston Marathon, how everyone in this beautiful city has come together for 117 years to celebrate it. And after I finished the race, he would have grabbed my shoulder and said, "Way to go, guy!"
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
My 2013 Boston Marathon
Like so many other people, I feel a need to sit down and write out my thoughts on the events of the past 48 hours here in Boston. Many have taken to writing with resolve, pointing out that those bastards that did this are messing with the wrong city. Others have attempted to convey the meaning behind the Marathon for people outside of Boston, with expressions of anger and frustration at the fact that the Marathon will never be the same again (which my friend Meghan does at the end of a great description of why Patriots Day is so special).
I'm not ready to talk about how the good guys always win no matter what the bad guys do, nor can I say that I won't let these horrible acts ruin the feelings about my great accomplishments of these past few months. In fact, I'm convinced that I'll always look back on this past weekend as one of the best, and worst, of my life. I did, however, promise to maintain this blog throughout my 2013 Boston Marathon journey in order to share my experience with friends and family who have done such an amazing job of supporting me. So, let's back up a few days...
From the moment I stopped working on Friday, my excitement levels started to go through the roof. My parents arrived that evening, and they were excited as well. After a leisurely breakfast on Saturday morning, we headed down to Back Bay to pick up my number and check out the Fitness Expo. The weather was a bit cool, which was fine by me given the extreme heat of last year's race. As my parents later recounted, it's hard to convey the energy in this city during this weekend without being here to experience it. Over the years I've lived here, I've come to realize that Patriots Day, also known as Marathon Monday, is one of the best days of the year to be in Boston, and the days leading up to it are equally as enjoyable.
The main event on Sunday was the DFMC Pasta Party, which was a truly touching event. There were 1400 people in attendance, including Kristen and I, our respective parents, and a number of others I've had the privilege of meeting over the past few months. I felt very proud to be recognized as a "Pacesetter," one of a small percentage of the 550 runners who raised over $8000. One of the speakers made a comment about how, despite the tragic nature of the cause we were all there to support, everyone in the room was happy. A cancer diagnosis leaves people feeling hopeless and powerless, and despite the fact that most everyone in the room has felt that way at some point, Sunday night we were coming together as a group of people who had been empowered and given an opportunity to provide hope. And because of that connection, he was willing to bet that everyone in the room would look back on that night as one of the best in his or her lifetime.
Monday morning, I was up at 4:40am and Kristen dropped me off in Back Bay to catch the bus out to Hopkinton. The bus ride felt very long, especially in consideration of the fact that we'd all be running back. After several hours hanging out at the Dana-Farber refuge, we headed to our corrals in town and waited for the Wave 3 gun. It was very crowded and full of excitement, as was the first few miles. I felt pretty good all the way to Wellesley at which point I saw Kristen's mom on the sidelines. The "Scream Tunnel" was one of my favorite parts of the whole race. It's amazing how many people are along the road cheering everyone on for 26.2 miles, but I have to say, hearing the line of Wellesley girls screaming at the top of their lungs was truly exhilarating and really lifted me up as I started the second half of the race. Thanks, ladies!
I saw my parents and Kristen at mile 17, and my legs started to cramp up a bit shortly after that-- just in time for the dreaded Newton Hills, which were every bit as awful as people described. I'd run them before, even at the end of my 22-mile training run, but my pace still slowed considerably for the remainder of the race. I saw a number of other friends throughout Newton, Brookline and Boston, magically appearing on the sideline screaming my name, along with hundreds of anonymous people cheering "Go Dana-Farber" upon seeing my singlet. My friend Andrew ran with me for a bit at about mile 23, which was much appreciated, not only because I was in a lot of pain at that point, but also for the humor experienced with people screaming "Go Jeans Guy!" at him, given his choice of running attire. Some of my co-workers were at mile 24 with a big sign which I very much appreciated.
The last two miles were a bit slow-going, but the emotions of the day started to hit home
coming into Kenmore Square. I saw my friend Christian yelling at me just as I went under the Mass Ave overpass, and then made the turn on Hereford. I spotted Kristen at the top of the street with my parents and waved to them as I made the turn onto Boylston-- this moment was every bit as incredible as I'd always knew it would be. I crossed the finish line in quite a bit of pain, stopped and talked to Jan Ross and Jack Fultz from Dana-Farber for a few minutes, and then proceeded toward the array of the mylar blanket-enshrouded runners ahead of me. Having the medal placed around my neck was without a doubt one of the best moments of my life. I finally, slowly proceeded towards Berkeley Street, where I'd pick up my bag from the school bus I had last seen in Hopkinton.
Along with several other Dana-Farber runners, we moved up Berkeley Street to find the DFMC volunteers who were there to usher us back to the Marriott Copley. I heard a loud explosion, which was a bit jarring but not all that unlike the celebratory cannons fired near the Charles River during 4th of July celebrations. A few seconds later, a second explosion. At this point the other runners and I began to realize that something was not right, as policemen began running back towards Boylston. Shortly thereafter we were forced to move aside to let police and ambulances through, moving with a sense of urgency. My poor Dana-Farber escort, a high school girl who was trying to calmly talk to me about how the race went, helped me carry my stuff while I got out my cell phone and tried to reach Kristen and my parents. A pair of fellow Dana-Farber runners near me were hugging, one sobbing while talking into his cell phone, while I couldn't dial out on mine.
I heard people saying "bomb" and "people hurt" and "near Hereford and Boylston" -- which, if accurate, probably meant that my family was okay since they would have moved away from that location. My escort and I had to turn around and move in the opposite direction as police closed off Clarendon, and ultimately looped around to enter Copley mall, all the while I was unable to reach my family in any way. I made my way back to the DFMC Recovery Zone at the hotel, and as I passed the hotel bar, I saw the TV showing the finish line cheering stands abandoned in a smokey haze, so of course I started to worry that my family had decided to take a detour to get a closer look at the finish line before coming to meet me.
My fear was mounting but I was too tired to feel very much emotion at that point. I was changing my clothes and finally started getting text messages and voicemails-- friends of mine wondering if I was okay, but nothing from my parents or Kristen. Finally I was able to send a text, to which Kristen responded, indicating that they, too, were in the hotel and were safe. Our reunion was a tearful one, but the origins of those tears were a mix of good and bad emotions that I still haven't gotten over.
About an hour later, police frantically came through the entrances of the hotel and began screaming at people to move. Stuck in an elevator bay with many other confused people we were told to "go back up to our rooms," which, of course, we didn't have. We were asked to leave the building, which we did, and walked through the South End to the nearest Orange Line station, which allowed us to get out of the city and were picked up in Charlestown by my upstairs neighbor Dave (thanks Dave).
Like most people in Boston and across the country, the past 48 hours have been difficult. Fortunately, nobody I know was in the blast zone but sadly, family members of at least one DFMC runner were seriously injured in the attack. My emotions have been all over the map and difficult to process. It's different from past accounts of terrorism for me... over the years my heart has dropped upon hearing the news of the Oklahoma City bombing, 9/11, the London Underground bombing, the Beltway sniper attacks, not to mention Columbine, Virginia Tech, and Sandy Hook, and countless other attacks. As with those incidents, nobody I know was killed or injured, but yesterday and today, I am stuck in a deep feeling of loss and mourning.
Of course, the "what-ifs" are scary... my parents, Kristen and I talked about that a lot. My heart also goes out to the people who have lost life and limb. But my grief is primarily for the Boston Marathon itself, the runners, the spectators, the City of Boston, and for me. You see, I love those things -- and differently than what most people mean when they say "I love my car" or "I love chocolate." These things are a special part of my life and a huge part of me. Every step from Hopkinton to Back Bay was made memorable by the people around me and along the sidelines. I've dreamed for years what that turn onto Boylston would feel like, and those feelings were shot down by these heinous acts. Worse, that dream was ruined for the thousands of people who perhaps got within site of Boylston or who were even on the street itself, and may never get another chance to experience it.
Over the past two days, I've clung to my official B.A.A. Boston Marathon jacket but have felt self-conscious wearing it outside. Strangers have called out to me things like "I'm glad you're safe" which is a nice sentiment but not what I'd been hoping to hear in the days following this race. Exclamations of "congratulations" and "I'm proud of you" from friends and family have undertones of the same message I've heard from strangers. I feel a part of my has been ripped apart.
I know that this might be where I start losing some of you. How can I grieve over lost feelings of accomplishment and lackluster celebration while people are grieving over their killed or injured loved ones? I'm guessing that most runners understand, as do people who have attended the Boston Marathon and anyone who has lived here for an extended period of time. I believe that a shared sense of pride in human struggle and perseverance are a part of what make Patriots Day, and this city in general, so special. I'm sad because those bombs were meant to inflict damage, not just to those in the immediate vicinity, but to everyone who comes together the third Monday in April to, as my friend Meghan put it, "celebrate people." Those bombs were meant to damage the human spirit, and that's something that I can't quite wrap my mind around. Right now, I'm mourning our collective loss and attempting to convince myself that we will move past this, like humanity has moved past so many other tragedies over the course of history.
And we will. The Boston Marathon will, surely, never be the same, but no story is perfect. It, like the Olympics, will continue to be a celebrated and incredible spectacle in the nation and the world's eyes, despite terrorism. We'll stop and remember the victims and commemorate the anniversaries, and for some period of time we'll probably have to adhere to reactive, vestigial security measures that can never be 100% effective in thwarting a future attack, but this is unfortunately the world we live in. And eventually, the 2013, 117th Boston Marathon will just be a year with a dark mark on it in what is otherwise an amazing tradition.
Several people have asked me over the past few years whether or not I'll do this again. Fundraise for Dana-Farber again? Hopefully. Run another marathon? Definitely. Run the Boston Marathon again? You can count on it.
Finally, while I'm struggling with my feelings about how my experience has come to a conclusion, I don't want to overlook a big reason why I pursued it to begin with. So far, I've raised over $8000 for the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. I couldn't have done this without the generous donations made by so many friends and family (THANK YOU!).
If you'd like to donate, you still can:
I'm not ready to talk about how the good guys always win no matter what the bad guys do, nor can I say that I won't let these horrible acts ruin the feelings about my great accomplishments of these past few months. In fact, I'm convinced that I'll always look back on this past weekend as one of the best, and worst, of my life. I did, however, promise to maintain this blog throughout my 2013 Boston Marathon journey in order to share my experience with friends and family who have done such an amazing job of supporting me. So, let's back up a few days...
The main event on Sunday was the DFMC Pasta Party, which was a truly touching event. There were 1400 people in attendance, including Kristen and I, our respective parents, and a number of others I've had the privilege of meeting over the past few months. I felt very proud to be recognized as a "Pacesetter," one of a small percentage of the 550 runners who raised over $8000. One of the speakers made a comment about how, despite the tragic nature of the cause we were all there to support, everyone in the room was happy. A cancer diagnosis leaves people feeling hopeless and powerless, and despite the fact that most everyone in the room has felt that way at some point, Sunday night we were coming together as a group of people who had been empowered and given an opportunity to provide hope. And because of that connection, he was willing to bet that everyone in the room would look back on that night as one of the best in his or her lifetime.
Monday morning, I was up at 4:40am and Kristen dropped me off in Back Bay to catch the bus out to Hopkinton. The bus ride felt very long, especially in consideration of the fact that we'd all be running back. After several hours hanging out at the Dana-Farber refuge, we headed to our corrals in town and waited for the Wave 3 gun. It was very crowded and full of excitement, as was the first few miles. I felt pretty good all the way to Wellesley at which point I saw Kristen's mom on the sidelines. The "Scream Tunnel" was one of my favorite parts of the whole race. It's amazing how many people are along the road cheering everyone on for 26.2 miles, but I have to say, hearing the line of Wellesley girls screaming at the top of their lungs was truly exhilarating and really lifted me up as I started the second half of the race. Thanks, ladies!
I saw my parents and Kristen at mile 17, and my legs started to cramp up a bit shortly after that-- just in time for the dreaded Newton Hills, which were every bit as awful as people described. I'd run them before, even at the end of my 22-mile training run, but my pace still slowed considerably for the remainder of the race. I saw a number of other friends throughout Newton, Brookline and Boston, magically appearing on the sideline screaming my name, along with hundreds of anonymous people cheering "Go Dana-Farber" upon seeing my singlet. My friend Andrew ran with me for a bit at about mile 23, which was much appreciated, not only because I was in a lot of pain at that point, but also for the humor experienced with people screaming "Go Jeans Guy!" at him, given his choice of running attire. Some of my co-workers were at mile 24 with a big sign which I very much appreciated.
The last two miles were a bit slow-going, but the emotions of the day started to hit home coming into Kenmore Square. I saw my friend Christian yelling at me just as I went under the Mass Ave overpass, and then made the turn on Hereford. I spotted Kristen at the top of the street with my parents and waved to them as I made the turn onto Boylston-- this moment was every bit as incredible as I'd always knew it would be. I crossed the finish line in quite a bit of pain, stopped and talked to Jan Ross and Jack Fultz from Dana-Farber for a few minutes, and then proceeded toward the array of the mylar blanket-enshrouded runners ahead of me. Having the medal placed around my neck was without a doubt one of the best moments of my life. I finally, slowly proceeded towards Berkeley Street, where I'd pick up my bag from the school bus I had last seen in Hopkinton.
Along with several other Dana-Farber runners, we moved up Berkeley Street to find the DFMC volunteers who were there to usher us back to the Marriott Copley. I heard a loud explosion, which was a bit jarring but not all that unlike the celebratory cannons fired near the Charles River during 4th of July celebrations. A few seconds later, a second explosion. At this point the other runners and I began to realize that something was not right, as policemen began running back towards Boylston. Shortly thereafter we were forced to move aside to let police and ambulances through, moving with a sense of urgency. My poor Dana-Farber escort, a high school girl who was trying to calmly talk to me about how the race went, helped me carry my stuff while I got out my cell phone and tried to reach Kristen and my parents. A pair of fellow Dana-Farber runners near me were hugging, one sobbing while talking into his cell phone, while I couldn't dial out on mine.
I heard people saying "bomb" and "people hurt" and "near Hereford and Boylston" -- which, if accurate, probably meant that my family was okay since they would have moved away from that location. My escort and I had to turn around and move in the opposite direction as police closed off Clarendon, and ultimately looped around to enter Copley mall, all the while I was unable to reach my family in any way. I made my way back to the DFMC Recovery Zone at the hotel, and as I passed the hotel bar, I saw the TV showing the finish line cheering stands abandoned in a smokey haze, so of course I started to worry that my family had decided to take a detour to get a closer look at the finish line before coming to meet me.
My fear was mounting but I was too tired to feel very much emotion at that point. I was changing my clothes and finally started getting text messages and voicemails-- friends of mine wondering if I was okay, but nothing from my parents or Kristen. Finally I was able to send a text, to which Kristen responded, indicating that they, too, were in the hotel and were safe. Our reunion was a tearful one, but the origins of those tears were a mix of good and bad emotions that I still haven't gotten over.
About an hour later, police frantically came through the entrances of the hotel and began screaming at people to move. Stuck in an elevator bay with many other confused people we were told to "go back up to our rooms," which, of course, we didn't have. We were asked to leave the building, which we did, and walked through the South End to the nearest Orange Line station, which allowed us to get out of the city and were picked up in Charlestown by my upstairs neighbor Dave (thanks Dave).
Like most people in Boston and across the country, the past 48 hours have been difficult. Fortunately, nobody I know was in the blast zone but sadly, family members of at least one DFMC runner were seriously injured in the attack. My emotions have been all over the map and difficult to process. It's different from past accounts of terrorism for me... over the years my heart has dropped upon hearing the news of the Oklahoma City bombing, 9/11, the London Underground bombing, the Beltway sniper attacks, not to mention Columbine, Virginia Tech, and Sandy Hook, and countless other attacks. As with those incidents, nobody I know was killed or injured, but yesterday and today, I am stuck in a deep feeling of loss and mourning.
Of course, the "what-ifs" are scary... my parents, Kristen and I talked about that a lot. My heart also goes out to the people who have lost life and limb. But my grief is primarily for the Boston Marathon itself, the runners, the spectators, the City of Boston, and for me. You see, I love those things -- and differently than what most people mean when they say "I love my car" or "I love chocolate." These things are a special part of my life and a huge part of me. Every step from Hopkinton to Back Bay was made memorable by the people around me and along the sidelines. I've dreamed for years what that turn onto Boylston would feel like, and those feelings were shot down by these heinous acts. Worse, that dream was ruined for the thousands of people who perhaps got within site of Boylston or who were even on the street itself, and may never get another chance to experience it.
Over the past two days, I've clung to my official B.A.A. Boston Marathon jacket but have felt self-conscious wearing it outside. Strangers have called out to me things like "I'm glad you're safe" which is a nice sentiment but not what I'd been hoping to hear in the days following this race. Exclamations of "congratulations" and "I'm proud of you" from friends and family have undertones of the same message I've heard from strangers. I feel a part of my has been ripped apart.
I know that this might be where I start losing some of you. How can I grieve over lost feelings of accomplishment and lackluster celebration while people are grieving over their killed or injured loved ones? I'm guessing that most runners understand, as do people who have attended the Boston Marathon and anyone who has lived here for an extended period of time. I believe that a shared sense of pride in human struggle and perseverance are a part of what make Patriots Day, and this city in general, so special. I'm sad because those bombs were meant to inflict damage, not just to those in the immediate vicinity, but to everyone who comes together the third Monday in April to, as my friend Meghan put it, "celebrate people." Those bombs were meant to damage the human spirit, and that's something that I can't quite wrap my mind around. Right now, I'm mourning our collective loss and attempting to convince myself that we will move past this, like humanity has moved past so many other tragedies over the course of history.
And we will. The Boston Marathon will, surely, never be the same, but no story is perfect. It, like the Olympics, will continue to be a celebrated and incredible spectacle in the nation and the world's eyes, despite terrorism. We'll stop and remember the victims and commemorate the anniversaries, and for some period of time we'll probably have to adhere to reactive, vestigial security measures that can never be 100% effective in thwarting a future attack, but this is unfortunately the world we live in. And eventually, the 2013, 117th Boston Marathon will just be a year with a dark mark on it in what is otherwise an amazing tradition.
Several people have asked me over the past few years whether or not I'll do this again. Fundraise for Dana-Farber again? Hopefully. Run another marathon? Definitely. Run the Boston Marathon again? You can count on it.
Finally, while I'm struggling with my feelings about how my experience has come to a conclusion, I don't want to overlook a big reason why I pursued it to begin with. So far, I've raised over $8000 for the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. I couldn't have done this without the generous donations made by so many friends and family (THANK YOU!).
If you'd like to donate, you still can:
You may also make a donation to help those affected by Monday's tragic event, at One Fund Boston, the American Red Cross, the Salvation Army, or Boston Children's Hospital.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)