I am one of those people who gets a little carried away when it calls for rah-rah-cheering, crazy patriotism, die-hard sports finales, country music fests, well you get the point. That's why, 6 years ago, before Steve and I were married, when I attended my first Boston Marathon, I was sold. I thought it such a bizarre idea to watch a Marathon, I mean, it almost seemed shameful to stand on the sidelines and observe these hometown heroes do their thing, not to mention that the standing involves crazy obnoxious amounts of singing, shouting their names, flags and numbers, all while sipping iced-cold beverages and eating homemade fruit salad and flapjacks. The thing is my hubby spent his forming years on heartbreak hill and quickly won me over. Every year I am absolutely wowed by these wonders of our race. Their stamina, heart, vigor and stories. I have oh so many goals to realize before I depart this Earth, but every after-Marathon-Tuesday, I dream to also have one of those plastic sheets and medals draped over my body, to have my little family scurry to see me in as many places along Comm Ave as possible, to experience the camaraderie of such a victory. I am not sure if this is a goal I can or will achieve, but I am taken there to dream once or twice a year, and certainly am happy to share it, no, give it away to all those who so deserve it. I was lost in the moment... lost... but I snapped a couple of my photos on my 'day' camera and wanted to share them with you today...
Here you see the two Kenyan winners: Mutai and Kilel. Such an honor to have been at arm's length from them.
A few other notable heros. There is nothing like watching the wheelchair race. No words can explain their strength and dignity. No words.
Ryan Hall came in fourth, and got the fastest ever time for an American in Boston.
Samara joined us in the joy and spirit of the day.
And some final moments that made me smile... (at least the ones where I had my camera out...)
We walked from heartbreak hill to Copley and saw the finish line. Among many moments that sent chills up and down my soul was seeing one man, in orange and pink tie-dye, collapse to the concrete, just 500 feet from the end of 26.2 miles. His gaze was one of delirium, overwhelmed exhaustion, emptiness. This inhuman task of inhuman proportions seemed just a few steps too much. Behind the security lines, people gasped, willed him to his feet, cried out every word of encouragement and hopefulness we could. But still, he lay there. Time stopped, but yet the digital clock dangling somewhere in between Crate & Barrel and Papyrus ticked on. All of a sudden, another tie-dyed shirt appeared at his side, bent over his aching body, the colors swirled into one. One man, seconds from his victory, had turned around, reversed from the majestic finish line, and come back for a fellow voyager, believing in the message of a sea of hundreds of thousands and their brotherhood, and not just himself. At first they could not rise, he could not carry this man, and our hearts wallowed in empathy, but with the southwest wind gusting its glory, and the power of so much around him, the two men arose, wobbly and in a place far from Boston, at last making their way to the clock. There I was, just one face, with two innocent babies in my arms, but I could not stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. How gracious it is to witness these moments of humanity and life. To all of the runners, my friends, my neighbors, my countrymen, you have made your mark.
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Here you see the two Kenyan winners: Mutai and Kilel. Such an honor to have been at arm's length from them.
A few other notable heros. There is nothing like watching the wheelchair race. No words can explain their strength and dignity. No words.
Ryan Hall came in fourth, and got the fastest ever time for an American in Boston.
Samara joined us in the joy and spirit of the day.
And some final moments that made me smile... (at least the ones where I had my camera out...)
We walked from heartbreak hill to Copley and saw the finish line. Among many moments that sent chills up and down my soul was seeing one man, in orange and pink tie-dye, collapse to the concrete, just 500 feet from the end of 26.2 miles. His gaze was one of delirium, overwhelmed exhaustion, emptiness. This inhuman task of inhuman proportions seemed just a few steps too much. Behind the security lines, people gasped, willed him to his feet, cried out every word of encouragement and hopefulness we could. But still, he lay there. Time stopped, but yet the digital clock dangling somewhere in between Crate & Barrel and Papyrus ticked on. All of a sudden, another tie-dyed shirt appeared at his side, bent over his aching body, the colors swirled into one. One man, seconds from his victory, had turned around, reversed from the majestic finish line, and come back for a fellow voyager, believing in the message of a sea of hundreds of thousands and their brotherhood, and not just himself. At first they could not rise, he could not carry this man, and our hearts wallowed in empathy, but with the southwest wind gusting its glory, and the power of so much around him, the two men arose, wobbly and in a place far from Boston, at last making their way to the clock. There I was, just one face, with two innocent babies in my arms, but I could not stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. How gracious it is to witness these moments of humanity and life. To all of the runners, my friends, my neighbors, my countrymen, you have made your mark.
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