Interlude 2

So yesterday someone planted two homemade bombs near the finish line of the Boston Marathon. They exploded, and a lot of people were injured. At time of writing, three people have passed away as a result of this attack.

I

Like you may know, I'm not a SRS RUNNER. I've read about ultramarathons and I love the idea of trail races, but I have bowed shins and running is painful. Running is hard. I like running and my legs don't some times. I ice my legs and wear compression shin sleeves after every run, and do what I can to forget the pain. Out of mind, out of... uh. Anyway, I push it out. I focus on other stuff. I push through the pain when I run. But.

I'm hurting today. And that's cheesy and campy and I'm sorry. I don't know anyone who was at the Boston Marathon. Not a soul. I couldn't tell you the name of anyone within 50 miles. But. I'm hurt. I watched the news yesterday, just watching pictures of this usually totally awesome event being shattered. I saw pictures that haunt me. And I burned. My legs burned. My arms burned. My heart burned. I wanted to go for a run, and punch things, and yell. I had and have anger. Who would do this? Who would dare?

It's just grisly. The injuries. The people injured. The targets. Anger.

Apologies for the stream of consciousness.

I don't feel like this is an attack on running, or Boston, or the Boston Marathon. It was an attack on humanity. I'll keep running. I'll release my anger. I will remember the people lost and the people hanging on. I'll remember those with injuries, physical and mental.

My pain is nothing.