4:09:44. That is the time on the clock in the photos and videos just after the first blast. The clock is significant to me. It means that I and most of my running and walking buddies would still be on the course.
My focus at that point in the race is getting it done. I know only one way to the finish line and that is via the race course. Today I and my friends would have had to stop and await instructions on how to get back to our family, friends and fans waiting for us ........ at the finish line.
At the finish line. Where the bombs were detonated.
Where my husband and the families of my running and walking buddies would have been waiting for us. They cheer wildly for those who finish before us anxiously searching for our colors or bibs. Today they would not see us. Today our friends and family would have been innocent bystanders likely in the way of the explosion and its aftermath.
My husband, Dave, has often told me and reminded me today, of how much he gets out of watching the joy on the faces of the participants as they approach and cross the finish line. Joy on the faces of all finishers but particularly those at the back of the pack. He follows my training and knows how hard we work just to get to the starting line and appreciates the smiles when we finish. Today, someone's friends and family members were denied that picture. Some of them may have been injured or worse.
I am just sick over this. I know it's not just about the runners but it is because I am a runner that today's events affect me so. I see the replays of the explosions and every time my heart lurches and I want to cry. I see the man in the orange shirt whose legs give way underneath him as the first blast goes off. It makes me want to cry and if I wasn't so angry I probably would.
Instead I'm going to finish my training with renewed commitment to making it my best FINISH ever.