A moment for Boston, and the world while we’re at it

There was a time when I aspired to run a marathon in Boston. It was around the time I had just begun to gain confidence in my ability to go the distance in my running. Despite all the splinters and the post-run sores, running gave me such a wonderful release. I would be on an adrenaline high hours after the run. The feeling of running down an open road is unparalleled: the sky above you, a seemingly endless expanse of land before you, the wind on your face… It’s a little piece of freedom we very rarely get to enjoy leading such busy lives. And then there’s crossing the finish-line, which always feels like an accomplishment no matter what distance one runs. I don’t think anyone would contradict this, until today. I have no words to describe the shock, sadness, and finally, the anger that I feel about what happened in Boston.

It’s so difficult to reconcile the glory of finishing a marathon– what would have been a moment of personal triumph; where months, or even years, of training and hard work is supposed to pay off– to the bloody images that are circulating in the media. The whole sentiment of ‘crossing the finish-line’ has been completely blasphemed. So many people were hurt. And the worst part is, there will never be any acceptable reason or explanation as to why someone does a thing like this.

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