We left Perrysburg at 7 a.m. and headed down to our rendezvous point of Blacklick Woods Park in Reynoldsburg, Ohio. By tracking updates on Facebook and the One Run For Boston Web site, we knew the relay was stated to be 50 minutes behind schedule, so we were enjoying a leisurely drive south ... until we realized that there was an error in the stage timing. The organizers had built in too much time for the stage ahead of us, giving about 2 hours for Todd Wells to run 10.5 miles. That meant, at our current driving speed, we would have arrived about 30 minutes after the runner had been waiting for us at the park. I thought I was going to pass out in the van -- so much careful planning thrown out the window. Organizer Kate Treleavan then called my phone and told me to not panic; she would ring Todd and let him know we may be delayed. Well, who can panic when hearing such a beautiful British accent? As luck (and a heavy right foot, courtesy of M) would have it, we made it just fine, before Todd arrived.
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| V, Officer Triplett, and M pose before the relay leg. |
Todd Wells brought in the GPS-tracking baton (whose name is Miles), and we posed for some quick pics before heading out.
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| V, M, and Coach B take Miles from Todd Wells, who completed a hot and fast 10.5 miles. |
The day was hot and the shade was non-existent. Officer Triplett trailed us during the run, speeding ahead to stop traffic at intersections and assuring our safe passage. The temperature index soared into the 90s, and you could see the heat shimmering on the pavement.
Our route covered a 7-mile incline, which I'm glad I didn't realize before we started. There were no remarkable landmarks, barring a creepy pet cemetery and the headquarters for the Ohio Department of Agriculture and the State Fire Marshal, so we had plenty of time to think about why we were out there.
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| A neat mural in Reynoldsburg, taken while on the run. |
The miles ticked by, and before we knew it, Etna and High Point Park were in sight. M and I cranked it up a notch to make the last mile an 8:30, with a strong kick to Sam Ridenour, who was taking the next 10-mile leg.
We caught our breath, made introductions, gratefully accepted water from the Reynoldsburg Police Department, posed for pictures with local media, and made the exchange. Sam set off, and our role in moving Miles closer to Boston was over.
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| Our time with Miles came to and end, and we handed off to Sam Ridenour. |
We run to remember. We run to heal. We run to support those who are hurting. We run to recover. We run to show solidarity. We run to show we are not afraid. We run because we are strong. We run because we can and now others cannot. We run because we are Boston Strong, America Strong, World Strong, Human Being Strong.
Note that I say "we run" not "I run." Though running is at its very core a solitary pursuit, the community of runners is vast and diverse, and when stitched together for a common cause this community proves a fabric so strong that not even men with evil intent can fray it.
We run with our legs at different speeds, but a same runners' spirit can be found beating in each of our hearts, regardless of how our pace, PR, and preferred distance vary. This intangible spirit, this hard-to-define, but easy-to-recognize quality is part of what unites us as runners. It's that feeling you get when you 'just know' someone is a fellow runner. No matter what a runner's individual journey is, we've all had the same hard-to-take first steps; difficult, gut-wrenching runs (take that as literally as you'd like), triumphant, 'I could have run forever' finishes; and heart-breaking 'just missed it' endings. It doesn't matter if you are 12-minute trotter or a sub-5 dasher -- somewhere along the way these things have happened to you. And it's partly that shared experience that binds us together into this sense of community, even if you don't know the person running next to you from Eve.
That's why, for me, even though I was not in Boston when the bombings happened, I felt shaken to my core upon hearing the news, knowing that I could easily put myself in the shoes of those who were present. I think anyone who runs or who supports a runner would tell you they feel the same way. That's why I knew I had to do what I could to support those affected by the tragedy by running the One Run For Boston cross-country relay. The truth is, though, while I was helping provide aid by donating and taking part, this experience also helped me heal further as well. ORFB provided a way for a community of like-minded runners to connect via the relay's Web site and through Facebook and Twitter. Not only were routes planned and pick-up and drop-off times confirmed, but friendships were forged as well. We got to know each other, hear each others' stories, learn why we were running, have a few laughs about pairs of tiny red running shorts, declare each other to be badasses when deserved, and even set up some open calls for ORFB alumni to come visit each other whenever we find ourselves in the city of a fellow runner (if only the relay had passed through Hawaii...).
Yes, bombs went off, but those bombers did not accomplish what they truly intended. We do not live in fear. We are stronger and more connected than ever. We are united as a running community, and I actually think we are nicer and more willing to reach out and help each other. Maybe ironically, their legacy will not be one of mere destruction. Rather, this act of violence has served as a catalyst to unite us, amplifying the runners' spirit that beats within all of our hearts. The heart that beats within all of us is turning tragedy into triumph. The pace of that beat is everyone's personal best.
Be kind to yourself. Be kind to each other. -- V.
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