With a mile left in the marathon, the aching body gears up for one last final battle. The tired legs are making faster strides again while a smile eases its way on one’s lips, trying to forget the pain of the last 25 miles.
While more and more spectators sideline the streets to applaud everyone’s efforts, the runners start a countdown: one more turn, one more look at the watch, one more straightaway – then the finish line appears. Hands are raised, tears are shed, and lifetime goals are reached.
And at the last second, an explosion is heard. Dreams turn into nightmares.
Monday, the marathon received a new definition in Boston. For years it mattered how fast a runner crossed the finish line. It was about world records and personal bests. Yesterday, however, one’s marathon time decided life or death.
The average time of last year’s marathon was 4:09 hours, exactly the same time the explosions went off. The average runner was the one supposed to be most affected. Those are the people who dream to run in the Boston Marathon.
They put in months and years of practice to qualify. Not only on the sunny and warm days, but also on days below freezing, with several miles of headwind. For all of the 26,839 runners, it was worth giving up free time before and after work. Running is sacrificing.
Seeing them being injured on TV, just inches short of their goal, hurts.
But running a marathon is also a group effort. Family members support their runners for years, sacrificing valuable family time. Yesterday these family members were sitting on the bleachers to see their beloved ones finish.
Seeing them dying on TV, seconds after they have applauded their loved one, is unbearable.
Yesterday ruined the marathon as a sport. It was always about challenging yourself and getting closer to the finish line with every step you take. It was about taking in the experience of the last mile and enjoying the atmosphere.
Now, it will be not thinking about all the horrendous pictures when running the longest Olympic event. Not only in Boston but also in New York, London, Berlin and any other city hosting a race.
When I finished my last two half marathons, I raised my arms and shouted out my excitement. The next time, however, I will only be glad that every step taken towards the finish line didn’t kill me.
Finish lines will never be the same again.
am794811@ohiou.edu
