Every Bostonian loves Marathon Monday. It's a fact.
When I was in college, we'd get up early to watch the marathon, marching down Boylston Street in search of which ever bar opened first. It would be packed, a room full of non-runners, enjoying burgers, fries and cold beer as we tried to imagine who in their right mind would run 26.2 miles willingly?
A few hours later something magical happened - year after year, as the first runners began to make their way into the city and up towards the finish line, the entire bar would pour onto the street just to glimpse this incredible physical accomplishment and to cheer on the tired, aching runners. It was what the marathon was all about and it was astonishing to see an entire city come together and shine with pride. Far too often I was moved to tears watching the thousands of runners from around the world pass that finish line. Years later when I ran my own first marathon I would dream of what it would be like to qualify for Boston and someday run the race in my own city.
Today, on a TV thousands of miles away, I watched those same streets, bars and finish line turn tragically into an horrific scene of sadness. I watched the familiar crowds that I used to be a part of, flee with fear and my heart broke. It broke for the friends I learned were there and who suffered terrible injuries and it broke for a day that to me has always represented the best of what the human spirit can accomplish. Tonight my heart goes out to Boston...