Unsung heros

Runners hug your loved ones. Runners weren't the target of the terrorist that bombed the finish of the Boston Marathon. It was the running community at large, the support cast, the mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, grandparents, first responders and volunteers. It was the innocent ones. Everyone who knows a runner or supports one in their quest to get to Boston or any local race knows they are the one's waiting at the finish line.

Reality is a kick in the gut. That was my overwhelming feeling almost all day on Monday after I'd heard about the bombs. I worried about the runners I knew who were running, I worried about the spectators. I failed to think about how the loved ones, supporters, and other runners felt about the bombing. They must have been feeling what I had ten fold.

Some of the posts and remarks I've seen really make me wonder. Most non-runners get the Boston marathon. They're the one's who called, texted or posted on social media wondering about the runners and spectators. Some people still just don't get it. A bomb is the opposite of a marathon.

Traded some emails with my running buddies from Atlanta on Monday morning about the good old days when we were all chasing our Boston dreams. My Boston marathon has been run. But every Monday on Patriots day I'm usually stalking runners I know running the current years marathon. This was the 117th year of the Boston marathon.

Still like to wear my Boston marathon jacket to at least one race a year. Seeing someone in a Boston jacket was always one of those carrots that prodded me to get my qualifying time. I think it's only fitting that I return the favor along the sideline of the local marathon.

Dad at the Rocket City Marathon