At first it didn't seem like it was that big a deal. Windows weren't shattered, buildings didn't fall. Runners still crossed the finish line stopping their watches. Then it began to sink in. The first responders arrived. Guns were drawn. And I saw the clock... 4:09
The last time I crossed a marathon finish line and saw the clock, it too said 4:09.
I've chased the holy grail of a BQ .
I want my family at the finish.
I want them to share my elation.
To revel in my accomplishment.
I've cussed and cursed and shrugged off my futile attempts at running a marathon which would lead to to me flying down Boylston Street. And yesterday, I couldn't stop sobbing as I held my wife in my arms . So relieved to be standing safe at home.
It is said the person that starts a marathon is not the same person that finishes it.
After April 15th 2013 none of us are the same. Our celebration of life has been violated. Our innocence lost.
Now qualifying for Boston will have a different meaning.