This is not the triumphant return to blogging that I'd hoped for, but it seemed like the easiest way to communicate with a large group of people.
We're fine. We didn't go to The Marathon this year. Aaron was at work. Leo and I were safe at home in Somerville. I didn't even know it had happened until Aaron called me for our afternoon check in.
I've only ever been to one marathon. When Aaron's brother, Sean, ran the New York Marathon a few years ago, we went down there with his parents to cheer him on. For those of you who have never watched a marathon, you should. It's a truly unique spectator experience. First of all, the vast majority of people you're cheering on aren't professional athletes. They're ordinary people--salesmen and students and doctors and grandmothers--who've set out to complete an extraordinary challenge. Second, you're close to the runners. Close enough to see the names their first names pinned to their shirts. Close enough to see the confidence of the people who do this often. Close enough to see who's struggling. Because of these two things, something extraordinary happens: the people on the sidelines cheer their brains out for perfect strangers. While we waited to spot the yellow pompom on top of Sean's St. Ed's hat, we spent hours cheering for everyone who came by. Keep going, Katie. You got this, yellow shoes. Almost there, Sam.
I don't know what it's like to be on the 18th mile, but the runners I know have confirmed that it's just about as rough as you would imagine. You hurt with every step. You're tired beyond anything you can imagine. Maybe you're not sure you can go on. And then someone in the crowd calls out your name. And you keep running.
The Marathon is a celebration of everyone who keeps running and everyone who cheers them on. We weren't there this year, but we sure as hell will be next year.
We're fine. We didn't go to The Marathon this year. Aaron was at work. Leo and I were safe at home in Somerville. I didn't even know it had happened until Aaron called me for our afternoon check in.
I've only ever been to one marathon. When Aaron's brother, Sean, ran the New York Marathon a few years ago, we went down there with his parents to cheer him on. For those of you who have never watched a marathon, you should. It's a truly unique spectator experience. First of all, the vast majority of people you're cheering on aren't professional athletes. They're ordinary people--salesmen and students and doctors and grandmothers--who've set out to complete an extraordinary challenge. Second, you're close to the runners. Close enough to see the names their first names pinned to their shirts. Close enough to see the confidence of the people who do this often. Close enough to see who's struggling. Because of these two things, something extraordinary happens: the people on the sidelines cheer their brains out for perfect strangers. While we waited to spot the yellow pompom on top of Sean's St. Ed's hat, we spent hours cheering for everyone who came by. Keep going, Katie. You got this, yellow shoes. Almost there, Sam.
I don't know what it's like to be on the 18th mile, but the runners I know have confirmed that it's just about as rough as you would imagine. You hurt with every step. You're tired beyond anything you can imagine. Maybe you're not sure you can go on. And then someone in the crowd calls out your name. And you keep running.
The Marathon is a celebration of everyone who keeps running and everyone who cheers them on. We weren't there this year, but we sure as hell will be next year.
