I run because I can.
I run until my legs and lungs burn.
I run until my soul-thirst is quenched.
I run in the rain; in the warmth; in the light; and sometimes in the dark.
I run until my mind says stop, and then I go another mile.
On Wednesday morning, I ran for Boston. I ran for those that can't run anymore. I ran until my legs and lungs were burning and my footsteps were pounding in my ears and the tears were streaming down my cheeks. I ran fast and furious and prayed and searched the depths of my soul and the corners of my mind, but no answers came. Sometimes, running is my answer.
To be a runner is a gift; one that can so obviously be taken away.
I will keep running races, but I will view the finish lines with a different perspective.
I will remember to be good and kind and hopeful and helpful.
And I will never forget what happened on the 15th day of April in Boston.