Reaction on the Boston Marathon

There are supposed to be fireworks at the end of races like The Boston Marathon--not deadly explosions.

As my coworker read the breaking news to a group of us in the office, I put my head down and continued to write the treatment that I was working on. It wasn't that I didn't want to be informed--I wasn't ready to be sad.

Sadness, after tragedy, is often addictive. After Colorado; Newtown; Sandy;  and other large events that have resulted in death, I often find myself refreshing the Twitter stream relentlessly, clicking from news organization to news organization, and texting friends about their thoughts. All I want to do is turn away--but I can't. So when I finally tuned into what was going on in Boston, an hour after it occurred, my obsession with the story quickly manifested. I wanted answers. I wanted to know who, what, when, where, why, HOW. I wanted to know everything.

And rather than feel sadness, I suddenly found myself feeling angry. This wasn't an attack on our country, no it couldn't be. There are over 90 other countries represented in a race like The Boston Marathon. This was senseless--terrifying--and reckless.

As someone who has run a lot of races, my anger too stemmed from the fact that this could have been any race in any city.

On Sunday morning, I ran my first race in nearly 9 months on the JFK runway--a 5k. I even got a few friends to come run it with me--one who hadn't ran a race before. As we approached the 5k, I told her how excited I was that it was her first--that the community feeling of running a 5k, or any race, is what keeps me coming back.  People are supportive--People feel a sense of community.

And what I love most about running in races is that it's not a judgmental sport. People of all ages run--people of all run levels run--and people from all over the world run--without being judged. The spectators stand by--cheering, relentless--holding signs that make you laugh as you pass by, giving you high fives, motivating you until you cross the finish line. And unless it's the Olympics or unless you're a top runner battling it out for the top time, then no one is cheering against you either. It may not be a team sport but it brings on a team of people who want to see success. It brings people together--if even for a short bit of time. That's the fun of any sporting event--the community that is drawn in. To see that disrupted, to see our spectators hurt--our runners--our fellow Americans--and even those who travel from near and far to take part in a race that has such magnitude as the Boston Marathon gives me chills and is beyond disheartening.

As more and more information is released, my heart begins to sink more. As I see the photos of the carnage, I am reminded of photos I've seen of battle scenes.  People are without legs--three lives have been lost--and hundreds are battling what could be life threatening injuries in multiple hospitals across the city of Boston.

An 8 year old boy lost his life by simply watching a race--a race that perhaps he one day wanted to participate in, or that his family may have been participating in yesterday.


As I try to suppress my anger, I think of what I can do--what we can do in order to support Boston at a time like this.

The answer is to continue loving. To continue loving with all our hearts--showing our neighbor who may not always seem to love us back--so much love that they can't avoid showing love too.

There is too much good in this world to let the bad rot it out.

To all those who took the start line yesterday--and who stood by, relentlessly cheering them on to the finish, my heart--my thoughts--and my prayers are with you.

In the next few weeks, I will be looking toward a marathon to run in either October or November. I recently told a friend that I would never think of doing a marathon--that it wasn't in my cards. But it is in my cards, because I have the means to do it. There are people who lost the ability to run another marathon--or even their first after the explosives went off yesterday--so I want to run in memory of / out of respect for them them. If anyone has any suggestions or who would like to join me, please reach out. Even if it means walking all 26 miles. This race is the answer to the anger--to the hate--to the sadness. This race is for them.

Libs on the Reel

We are all Remembering

Written on 9/11/2012: Posted on 9/12/2012

I live in a city that has been built off of decadent dreams and determination; a city that has seen dim days and darkness; and a city that has dug deeply. I live in the greatest city in the world. I wasn’t here when the lights went down on Broadway, or when a bomb rustled underground—or when the towers fell—But I am here now—and I can tell you—There’s NO place quite like New York City.

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It’s a quiet morning in the Big Apple—a somber one. I walk out of the subway station at Union Square. I walk south. En route to an early morning coffee date, I spot the Freedom Tower proudly standing over downtown New York. I close my eyes. I smile. I inhale. I hold my breath. I exhale. I open my eyes. It’s still there. And so is New York City’s heartbeat.

Eleven years ago, today, the heart of this city went into arrest—and the big apple—the state—and the country mourned the loss of thousands of people as two of the tallest buildings in the United States came crumbling to the ground after two planes crashed directly into them during morning rush hour.

I look to my left, and I see three young girls, books in tow, heading to class. These young girls, who can be no older than sophomores in college, were in elementary school when the 9/11 attacks took place. They could have had parents in the buildings—they could have lived across the country—they could have been banned from watching the tele in school (I was). But they are here now.

I look at my phone. 7:50am. I was heading into school. I was getting ready for a Code of Conduct Meeting. I’d been to New York City less than a handful of times. But I am here now.

I check my Facebook—friends who lost friends—friends who lost family members post. A former co-worker reposts his video of the tragedy—and people across the world are Instagramming memorial photos. Followers and those I follow are Tweeting their tributes. I note emails from friends who have moved away from this city—friends that spent many years here before moving away. Friends that experienced the terror of the time—that watched the buildings come down. Their souls are all here even if they are physically far away.

I watch as people walk their dogs past me. They are older. I see a man in his fifties—a woman in her forties—another man—and a woman staring at 1 World Trade from her seat outside a coffee shop. These people could have been here – these people could have worked in one of the buildings– they could have seen the completion in the 1970’s—they could have bragged about living in the city with the tallest towers in the world. These people are breathing. They are living. They are remembering. We are all remembering.

It’s now night and I watch as two children dance under the Washington Square Park arch. They weren’t alive when the towers came down, when the future idea of war for our soldiers suddenly became the present; when people cried and mourned. These children may not have been thoughts, even,  but they are here now—in a community that strives to live on despite the past.

No matter where we were—what age we were---or are now—what connection we had—being here—in this city today—connects us all. This beautiful, brilliant city that 8 million call home…this beautiful, brilliant city that breathes despite the dust—

This city that’s heart beats despite that dreary morning.

To those who lost their families—their friends—their colleagues—their loved ones—in any of the 9/11 attacks or post 9/11 attacks--my heart is with you. Forever and Always. We Remember.