When our monthly "Runner's World" magazine arrives, I eagerly turn to my favorite section, "I'm a Runner." It's a one-page "soft" piece that features famous or notable people and what drives them to run. Some admit to running to stay fit, others say it's to keep their sanity, but the majority, artists and creative types included, have no real answer. It's just something that they do. A part of their day that they simply can't skip.
I run for a different reason each time. Some days it's what my training plan calls for. Other days it's because the weather is beautiful and surely God would want me to take advantage of fresh air and sunshine. Sometimes, there's no "reason" at all. I just lace up my sneakers, blast my Top 40 pop music and set out. Those are the best days. I've never regretted a run. I always regret not running.
I used to consider myself a jogger. I'm not sure what warrants the label of "runner" but I've been doing it consistently and long enough now that I think I've earned the promotion. I've raced countless 5k and 10k races, 11 half marathons and more training runs than I can count. Like life, it's a process. Some days are a cake walk, others are literally an uphill climb.
For a runner, the finish line of a big race is true exaltation. Even if you've raced poorly, it is still an incredible feeling to know what your body has accomplished. Your muscles pushed harder than you thought possible and propelled you forward footstep by footstep. You had the mental fortitude to stick with it to the very end. I don't race to win or to receive a medal. I race for that feeling of connecting with my own power. It's exhilarating.
I've also been that spectator at the finish line, cheering on a loved one, rooting them to finish strong. I've made posters to silently chant, "You can do this!" To be in the crowd of well wishers is a feeling of community, of mutually outpouring support and love to those who have endured training and competition. Sometimes the best part is cheering on a complete stranger who looks like they need a little push to make it.
Having experienced all of this first hand is why the bombings at the Boston Marathon are so personal to me. I am that runner who was knocked off their feet by the explosion. I am that runner who veered off course to take refuge in a store. I am that spectator who stopped mid-chant to take cover. I am that family member who couldn't get cell service to find out if my loved one was okay on the race course. I'm a runner and that was me.
How dare these people take something so innocent as a test of athleticism and fortitude and make it a display of hatred. How dare they take the joy out of something so pure.
Oddly, in two weeks, I'm set to run the OKC Half Marathon, an event held yearly to honor the 168 people who died in the bombing of the OKC Murrah Federal Building in 1995, a domestic act of terrorism. I learned a popular phrase while living in Baku, "inshallah," which means, "God willing." Locals used the saying with most everything. "See you tomorrow" was answered with "Inshallah." The reply to "Will you be here next week?" was "Inshallah." I find it poignant in today's world. Will I run the half marathon as planned? Inshallah.
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