Mission: Impossible

I've got to say something about it, even though I feel like I don't have the right words.  Horrible.  Tragic.  Sickening.  Maddening.  Scary.  Motivating.  Unifying.  Gut-wrenching.  Nothing new, I know.  I was thinking that I needed to know more details about the who, how, and why before I could write about it, but then I realized that I kind-of already have those answers.

Who?  A coward.  Someone sick, and I mean that in the most literal way.  Probably, he (in my head, he's definitely a he, not a she or a they) isn't the most hateful person you would ever meet.  He's never picketed outside of a sporting goods store or worn a sandwich board condemning runners at a race.  He's probably never even been in a fight.  I doubt he pointed fingers at the race directors or wrote letters or made angry phone calls to protest the running of the marathon.  He's too cowardly for all of those things, I think.  Instead, he stewed and seethed and plotted against the physical representation of  his nemeses- power, strength, stamina, hard work, accomplishment, joy and unity.  The goodness that is evident when watching runners at a marathon, he can't find within himself.  He has probably never had people- strangers or loved ones- cheer for him.  He has probably never had to dig deep within his soul to find the strength to overcome pain, fatigue, and mental anguish to finish what is impossible for the majority of people on the planet.  And he made the rest of us suffer for his inadequacies.

How?  If someone offered me money, I'm quite certain that I could make a bomb.  (Please read the rest of my blog for context clues, Big Brother and airport security folks, and know that I wouldn't do it).  There are how-to videos on you tube, right?  Or is that just on how to cook meth?  I couldn't tell you right now, this minute, how to do it, but I think anyone with enough desire and time could do it.  I hate hearing these words, and I am a tiny bit disgusted with myself for typing them, but here goes: it could have been so much worse.  For the people injured, the families of those killed, I apologize, and I grieve.  But I think we can all agree that if the bomber had been more experienced or had been more determined to wreak havoc, he could have killed and hurt a whole lot more people.

Why?  Whatever the reason, it can't possibly make sense to us normal, healthy, sane individuals.  I won't say 'nonstop', but I've been thinking about this for a good portion of every hour since 3:ish on Monday, and I simply cannot come up with anything that would justify, even slightly, this action.  Was he trying to make a statement?  Well, nobody is going to agree with his point of view, now.  Was it political?  If so, it's seems counter-intuitive to protest against certain laws, regulations, or political figures with law-breaking actions that couldn't possible change anything for the better.  He accomplished hurt, pain, and destruction.  If I were to venture a guess, I would think that's pretty close to the definition of terrorism.  All of the "why" goes back to the "who".  He's sick, and his incapacity for normal human feelings has led him to terrorize.

For once, an all-over-facebook, fairly-sappy-messaged image that I felt the need to share.

I'm more proud than ever to be a runner.  Becoming a runner changed my life, and I'm far from able to qualify for the Boston Marathon.  I can say with confidence that as a community, runners are stronger, more unified, and tougher now than before.  And we were all pretty stinkin' strong, unified, and tough on Sunday, April 14.  We'll remember the victims whose lives were cut short, and we'll do all that we can to help their families, and the injured, to recover.  He scared us, yes.  Saddened us, to the core.  But stopped us?  Impossible.