I have been sitting around feeling sorry for myself. And yet in the light of current events I feel silly and selfish for my angst.
I said I wasn't going to write about Boston, but I changed my mind.
Boston. A highly competitive marathon. The ultimate challenge. An enormous goal. Runners who have trained endlessly, loved ones who have came out to support friends and families as they accomplish the impossible. Good will. Courage. Strength. Community.
A bomb. Two bombs.
Young lives terminated in seconds. Limbs, dreams and faith lost. Runners who will never travel on their own two feet. Families who will never hold their loved ones again. People who have lost their sense of safety and security.
And today, though my run hurt, I give thanks for every second of it. For the wind I felt through my hair. For the smiles as I passed fellow runners on their daily circle of Lake Merritt. For the strength I felt in my calves, the crisp air in my lungs and the rapid beat of my heart. I hope to run my race on May 5, yet if I don't, I know that I will run again. I have that privilege.
Bombers probably picked the Boston Marathon because there would be a crowd and damage could be done. Yet I believe many of us find significance in the fact that it impacted a proud moment for not only individuals and families but for a community, a city and a nation. That bomb hit at our heart and for good reason.
While this moment in history is profoundly tragic, it has given me pause and reason for gratitude.
I am one lucky lady.