I woke up earlier than expected, pleased to get to watch the marathon. I was inspired. I screamed for Shalane to make a last push.
Watching the elites in the home stretch, I found myself looking at the storefronts on Boylston. I was trying to remember if they were the same ones I frequented for four years as an undergraduate at the New England Conservatory of Music, one mile away. I don’t think we had that Trader Joe’s.
I cried when the pushrim winner blazed over the finish line. I cried again when Rita Jeptoo’s stoic expression relaxed into proud tears as her national anthem played.
I began to imagine what it will feel like to cross the finish line of my first marathon and spent the next couple hours with a goofy grin.
The news broke on Twitter and then more tears.
Love to everyone who was harmed.
Love to everyone whose phenomenal accomplishment was stolen.
Love to everyone who helped.