My grandfather was an editor for the Flint Journal and wrote a weekly Sunday column. Some time ago members of my family took a sort of "Greatest Hits" collection of his columns and made them into a book. The most poignant of these articles was written a mere week after the death of my mother, his daughter, at age 25. In it, Grandpa attempts to answer the questions badgering his mind. Some of these are very similar to the questions rattling around many a mind in the wake of tragedy. They all boil down to one word: why? Why would someone plant bombs at the finish line of THE marathon? Why would they want to hurt so many innocent people? And, why would they wait until the 4 hour mark, when most finishers earned their race entries by raising thousands of dollars for charity? I do not care about the WHO. I want to see justice done and it made so that they cannot hurt anyone again. However, I do not need to see who they are. Nor do I feel the need to see more footage of that poor man in orange falling to the ground after apparently getting hit by shrapnel or pictures of the streets running with blood. I want to know why.
More than just the why, I want to know how and what. How could someone feel that this is what they needed to do? What drove them to this point? What could have been done to prevent it?
Tempered with my questions comes anger. People always ask why I run. Why wake up at 5 am on my off day to go run for 20 miles. I know I will spend the rest of the weekend limping around. Why pay $100 to run around downtown San Antonio, when I can do it any night for the price of parking? Why spend more money on running shoes than all other parts of my wardrobe combined? Beyond the camaraderie of runners, commonality with my brothers, and better PT scores, the answer is simple. Challenge. It is the most honest way to find out who I am. Me. Not SSgt Boyce as the military calls me. Not Chris as my family and friends call me. Not even Gordo as my wife calls me. Me. As only God and I know me. "Only God Can Judge Me" is a popular mantra (and tattoo) espoused by many people. I do not agree with this. Because, before that final judgement, I have to judge me. Every morning I look myself in the mirror, as bleary eyed as I may be. There is nothing more revealing than an 18 mile run by yourself on country roads. I have written before how every doubt, fear, regret, and failure comes to bear during this time on the road. And you put them behind you with every plodding step. Am I the man that gives up and turns back home when my feet are a little sore or there is a big hill? Or, am I the man that pushes on and fights through the tough times? How dare you try and take this from me. Not only me, but the millions of other runners out on the roads fighting the same battles. How dare you try and scare us away from something we use to better ourselves. How dare you try and associate one of the greatest moments in life with a feeling of sheer terror. Crossing the finish line at a marathon is one of the greatest senses of accomplishments in life. I very nearly cried at the finish line of my first half marathon. My brothers and wife were screaming my name as I struggled towards the finish line of my first full marathon. How dare you try and take that moment of togetherness and elation from us. What right do you have? Moreover, what did any of us do to you? What did that eight year old boy do to deserve your wrath?
As I spoke with a friend this morning about yesterday I vented with some of these questions. I asked the What. What do we do now? How do we stop this from happening again? How do we prevent someone from setting off bombs or shooting up a school or going on a stabbing rampage? How do we stop a short, fat man-child who seemingly wants to kill thousands, if not millions, of people just for attention? The reply I received was "nothing, there is nothing we can do."
I cannot accept this answer. If I cannot do anything, then I am powerless. If I am powerless, then I am without hope. If there is no hope, then I might as well call it quits. I cannot live this way. I will not. My dad always had a picture up in his workshop that I now keep posted in my workstation.
That brings me to "what now." What can I do? I do not pretend to be a sage, a guru, or the writer that my grandfather was. I am just simply a guy trying to figure out how to make his way through life. There has to be a better answer than posting #prayforboston on Twitter. Or wearing a race shirt while doing a #runforboston today. I will admit to both of those things.
Others have decided to donate money and blood to support the victims of this crisis. These are tremendous reactive measures. What about proactive? My way, and this may seem corny or cheesy to some, is to make my world better for all those in it. The mantra of "Do good - however and whenever you can." Comes to mind. I cannot simply hold my family or friends close. I need to improve the quality of life for all those that I encounter. Joe Rogan joked that all that Kim Jong Un needs is a big hug. In a way, that could lessen some of these problems. By creating a more positive environment around me, I would be looking to improve others' outlook on life. I don't know. Maybe that's not the answer. Until I find a better one, it's going to be what I do.
My grandpa answered the "Why Mary?" questions with positivity. He said that all around him he saw many loving, positive connections. Many of these connections, healings, and re-connections would not have happened unprovoked. That seemed to be the positive nugget that he found. What else could he do? He could not simply give up. The follow-up article came a year later, accompanied with a photo of me at 15 months old. Grandpa wrote of being caught off guard by emotion while watching Amadeus. Those tears and raw emotion were always just beneath the surface. I know that this will be the same for the victims of these attacks. However, he closed with saying that I was the legacy that he had to look forward to. Why do I run? To make sure I'm man enough to be that legacy. What it shows is his looking to the future. While we will never be able to forget the past, we must be ever pressing forward.
My heart truly goes out to the victims and their families. Boston is a city of resilient people. I look forward to my first visit there this fall. I have no doubt that it will be a city as strong as ever. Maybe a little more cautious, and with a new layer of remembrance, but strong just the same. I guarantee you that the Boston Marathon will be even harder to gain entry to next year. That shows the spirit of not only the city, but the running community.
I'll leave you with a song by Dropkick Murphy's that perhaps is exactly the example that the entire city needs to follow.
"It's another murderous right
Another left hook from hell
A bloody war on the boardwalk
And the kid from Lowell rises to the bell"
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