One week ago today I flew to Boston to meet my sons, Kevin and Keith, and Lonna, Kevin’s girlfriend. And although it was Easter Weekend, that wasn’t the reason for our gathering.
Kevin had qualified for the 121st running of the Boston Marathon, and the rest of us were his support team. We’d done this three years ago – the year after the bombings – and it was the most emotionally charged public experience I’ve ever had. One of the mottos that year was, “Take back the finish line!” Another was “Boston strong!”
This year’s event, the day after Easter, was no less impressive. Thirty thousand runners took the starting line in various “waves” in Hopkinton and raced through another seven towns and cities to finish in downtown Boston in front of the public library. I believe every one of them, plus the half million spectators who lined the route, felt a psychic connection to 2013 (the year of the bombing) and 2014 (the first year after).
Runners came from ninety-nine countries to participate. The number of countries represented by spectators wasn’t recorded, but obviously this was an event of international attention. We cheered Kevin on at Heartbreak Hill in unseasonable heat and had our own race to the finish line to be there when he arrived. He beat us.
All week I ignored my emails, didn’t blog, and forgot about the news. What was happening to Bill O’Reilly? North Korea? Ivanka and Jared? It just didn’t matter.
It was the best week since 45 took office.