The Boston Marathon Bombings
It breaks my heart to consider the Boston Marathon bombings.
The Boston Marathon is a day that should be filled with triumph, joy, and fulfillment. In place of that sweet goodness there is shock, disbelief and dismay. Hot anger and deep sadness surge through me for that tiny percentage of mankind that purposefully causes terror. Hurt. Death.
Boylston Street filled with heroes after the bombs went off; even runners at the end of their race stopped to help in the chaos of smoke and screaming. My eyes were riveted to the television screen all afternoon, watching video clips of what happened. Bloodied faces, tears, ambulances, emergency medics, wheelchairs, gurneys. People running for their lives. I wanted to take back the day, return to the start line and change one thing to alter the outcome.
The running community, the families and friends of the running community, and anyone else connected to this world famous race have spent the last 24 hours riveted to the news and connecting with each other, hoping for the best news for those injured, silently urging the police to find whoever is responsible for this tragedy. Children. Who kills children?
It breaks my heart.