When I had the chance to participate in the 26.4.26 Schools 4 Schools Relay to honor the victims of Sandy Hook, I signed up without hesitation. My school formed 2 teams pretty quickly, and we came together yesterday to run for those that couldn't. And to try to turn something so horrid into something positive, unified against violence and evil. Terror did not stop me from participating yesterday, it compelled me to keep going.
As I began the long, steady climb in my leg of the race, the hill seemed insurmountable. I could tell that the blood sugar was rising instead of dropping, despite my diligence in holding it steady in the 4 hours prior to the start. My muscles slowed, my breath became more labored. I dipped my head down to focus, and my eye caught the name I had pinned to my shirt prior to the race. "Grace McDonnell." The struggle I was having in that moment with my body, with my diabetes, seemed so insignificant. I kept running because Grace, and too many others, cannot. I kept going. One blip in my blood sugars is not going to ruin my day, is not going to stop me from finishing the race, and certainly was not going to get in the way of what we all set out to do that day: run for the good and innocence in those sweet babies, and the educators who fought to help them.
On the way home from the relay, I thought about the 5.6 miles I will be running on the 28th, honoring Chief Maloney. So many came together last year in the wake of such a loss to this community. There are no words to really express the emotions I felt as I crossed that finish line last year. Outpouring of love, from all over. Evil cannot stop us. It must compel us to counter. To fight back, and outweigh it immeasurably.
All day today, as I was hearing the results of some of the local marathoners, catching glimpses of the race on some of the TV's at school, I was envious. Envious of the fortitude, endurance, and resiliency. My mind started to make the connection to my diabetes. Apply the characteristics of being a runner to diabetes. Of course! No secret formula, no hidden key. Just don't give in. I started to pen my blog entry in my head in the car on the way home, even going so far as to pledge to train first for a half-marathon within a year, and then to run Boston by the time I am 40. I came home with Jack, sat down to check Facebook, and found the ominous messages in my newsfeed. I turned on the tv to find confusion, fear, and devastation on streets so familiar. Where families and friends came to cheer on loved ones who trained for this moment at the finish line, only litter and blood remained.
Later, seeing footage of the immediate aftermath, fortitude of a different type shined through the horrible images. National guardsmen tearing down barriers to get to victims, first responders rushing in, civilians pushing people in wheelchairs. This city is amazing. Endearingly stubborn and proud, they take care of their own, and whoever else may be visiting. Because even if you only visit, you become personally connected to this city.
Fortitude, endurance, and resiliency will prevail. This city will not let fear win. I will not crumble the next time Jack asks, "Who will take care of us when you die?" I will counter. I will take your cowardice, and raise you the good in myself and everyone I know. See you in 2018, Boston.
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