Several missed calls and a text. "Need to ask you about Boston." Boston? There's not much to tell. I went to law school there, back in the day. Learned to drive like a maniac. Fell in love. Became a runner. All old news. Why was he suddenly asking me about Boston? I responded with a text: "??????" He called. I always talk on the phone in the bathroom at home, but I try to avoid it at work. People might wonder why I am not peeing alone.
I answered with an annoyed whisper. My brother has had years of practice when it comes to ignoring my bitchiness. He wanted to know if our friends, the ones who welcome all of us into their family to celebrate holidays, were in Boston watching their son run the marathon. There had been several explosions. My mind raced. A Monday in April. Patriot's Day. A state holiday in Massachusetts. The day of the Boston Marathon. Of course our friends would be there. If there was a marathon, their son would be running, and they would be watching.
Frantically, I tried reaching them. I reached my daughter, who had already tried reaching their daughter. While we were on the phone, she finally heard back. They were all okay. Thankfully, her brother is fast, had crossed the finish line more than an hour before the blasts. He and his parents were on their way back to his apartment, on the subway, when it all happened, blissfully ignorant of the chaos at street level. It reminded me of the day in September so many years ago, the beautiful sunny day that had turned to shit, when New York came under attack and we could not locate my mom. She had been on the subway, probably not far from the World Trade Center, but blissfully ignorant of the chaos above, until she emerged several miles away and saw the tip of Manhattan smoking.
Back in 1983, when I stood in the still weak but very welcome New England sun watching my first marathon, my life was about to change. Impressed by the sheer determination (not to mention the fat free physiques) of the runners passing by, I decided not only that I would become a runner, but that one day I would run a marathon. The Boston Marathon, preferably. And I did become a runner. For years, I ran almost every day, no matter what the weather, and it saved me. Saved me from complete uncertainty, from a nagging ennui, and from a years long struggle with eating disorders. Maybe running didn't save me, but it helped. A lot.
For years, running was my life line. I wrote lectures for work in my head, I conquered bulimia (or maybe I substituted one purge for another, but still), I resolved pesky issues that seemed to defy resolution when I was standing still.I have stopped running these days. Aching middle aged joints have made it difficult. Not being able to walk for days after a relatively short run has made me seek out more gentle forms of exercise, and I will probably never run that marathon. I will have to pass that torch to my daughters, and, possibly this year, to my ex-husband (which, I admit, will really piss me off)!
My friends' son discovered running when he was in high school. Running has saved him, too, or at least helped a lot. Running, he became somebody. He had always been somebody, but not so much in his own mind. Running helped him figure out who he is and it has propelled him forward. He is happy and thriving, and still running. Even more than running changed my life, running changed my friends' son's life. I wonder whether this Boston Marathon will change his running. It probably will, at least in some way.
It will change him and it will change all of us, just as 9/11 did, and just as all events that turn a good thing into a bad thing tend to do. Without warning, our illusions are as shattered as the charred limbs that littered the streets of Back Bay, and we are all left, for a moment, not knowing how to move forward. The lucky ones will just learn, again, to put one foot in front of the other. For others, it will be a bit more difficult.
But by next year, when the weak but welcome New England sun shines down on Boston on Patriot's Day, the runners and the dreamers and the survivors will be ready to move forward, because that's what we do.
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