Monday, April 15, 2013


I decided late Sunday night that I wouldn't bother setting my alarm to wake up super early Monday to watch the Boston Marathon online, but my body had other plans. I was awake at 6:20 am PST. I tried to go back to sleep before realizing my efforts were futile and I just needed to get up and watch.

Eloise crept out of bed moments later and snuggled up to me on the couch. We cheered for Shalane and Kara, but were proud of all of the elite runners racing. We talked about what strong, amazing runners they all were. It was beautiful to watch, knowing how hard each of those runners worked to earn a chance to run that day. 

As Eloise grew tired of laying on the couch watching, we re-located to the little table, where she proceeded to paint my toenails for me, the race broadcasting on the laptop right next to us. 

As the coverage wound down, we moved on with our day. My husband came home at about 12:30 PST and asked if I had heard the news about Boston. He didn't want to tell me anything in front of the girls, so I grabbed my phone and went to Twitter to read about the explosions.

It couldn't be true, could it? How could this happen on such an amazing day? I went about my afternoon, checking in on Twitter, searching for more information, an explanation, a confirmation that no one was killed and it was just an accident. Of course, that never came. 

An 8 year old child was killed in the blast. I can only presume that this child was waiting at the finish line for his parent to finish the race. Or maybe he was a spectator. Either way, the idea of an 8 year old being killed at the finish line of a race is a horrendous thought that hits far too close to home. 

Monday was a gorgeous day in Seattle. It was supposed to be a rest day for me, but it needed to be a run day. I laced up my sneakers, and set out to #runforboston. No watch, no ipod, just my thoughts and the sunshine.

Two blocks from my house I tripped on a piece of sidewalk that I have run over dozens of times. I went flying, as if sliding for home plate in a baseball game. It was probably quite a spectacular spectacle. Two knees bloodied, two palms scraped up, a battered elbow. I dusted myself off, and kept running. A couple of blocks later I realized blood was running down my leg and I should stop for help. Luckily a local bike shop let me use their bathroom and offered up a first aid kit and I was ready to go again. 

When I got home Eloise dug up her doctor's kit and worked on my knees for me. She loves taking care of people. See the painted toes? And the ducky band-aids? 

You may notice that the right leg was scraped up above the knee. I was so flat on the ground I thought for a second that I put holes in the stomach of my shirt. 

I don't know exactly why, but it just was a great run, I guess. Despite the heavy heart, despite the road rash, I was able to connect with my run again. I carried Boston with me. 

This was as close as I could come to wearing blue and yellow. My feet really matched my shorts, which made me smile.

Will keep Boston in my thoughts for a long time. 


  1. Sounds like a good run, scraped knees and all. It is inspiring to see runners out there running and refusing to let this crush the runner spirit

    1. Pretty hard to crush the spirit of a runner, that is true.


Thank you for taking the time to leave a comment!