Mustering Bravery After Boston

I'm in DC, where I have been since the very early morning train brought me here yesterday for two days of meetings and events.

I passed through Penn Station. I rode Amtrak. I met in Federal buildings. I ate in public restaurants. I took a long, fast run. I slept in a hotel and am now sitting in the same hotel's lobby answering emails and finalizing conference planning until my next event. The next event—the last before I head back to New York City and my sleeping family—is an exclusive reception and dinner with non-profit, government, and business leaders. 

I lived through 9/11. And two days ago, the finish line of world's most prestigious running event—an event I participated in three years ago—was bombed, tearing apart people and lives. Today, between meetings, I'm catching snippets of news about poison in letters addressed to our nation's leaders. I'm hearing about pressure cooker lids. And a dead child.

My own phone has been ringing unchecked for three days, calls and texts and emails from worried family and friends, uncertain whether or not I ran Boston. Because of the clock at the finish line I know with some certainty—as much as I can know about my finish time in any 26.2 mile run—that if I had run my pace would have put me there, just through the finish line, medal and mylar blanket in place, heading to baggage. 

I consider myself a resilient person. This week just getting on the southbound 4:40am train the morning after took courage. Not having been in Boston, last night's hard run along the Potomac felt strong. 

Two days later, however, I don't want to drink wine with important people in our nation's capital. I want to pull the quilts over my head. And I am reeling at just how very fucked up a very few people in this world are.

I know I will run marathons again including Boston. I know I will continue, for the foreseeable future, to live in a very large east coast city.  And in a little while I will don my heels and my small black dress and hop in a cab.

But in this moment this day requires more bravery than I feel able to muster.