One Run For Boston -- Why We're Running This Once-In-A-Lifetime Relay Event

In this uncertain world, there is one constant that you can count on this summer. You might be at a cookout, swimming, at work, watching a drive-in movie, or even sleeping. No matter what you are doing, at any time between now and June 30, you can stop and say to yourself, "Right now, at this very  minute, one of more than a thousand runners is making his or her way across the United States clutching a lighted torch that says 'One Run For Boston.' " 

The design concept of the baton, created by UK artist Jon Parlby, is based on a lily flower, representing a symbol of strength, hope, and solidarity for the One Run runners and Boston.

 On June 6, One Run For Boston, the first-ever cross-country relay, began near Los Angeles. The brainchild of three Brits, the nonstop relay is scheduled to conclude June 30 at the Boston Marathon finish line. The relay covers more than  3,000 miles and is raising money for those most affected by the April 15 bombings at the Boston Marathon. The relay spans 14 states, and runners from the United States and beyond are running day and night to get the baton to the finish line. There are 319 stages, and each stage varies in length from as few as 5 miles to about 12. The stages can consist of one solo runner, a smaller cadre of up to 25 runners, or be a big group stage in which up to 500 runners can participate at once. It is up to each runner to decide, plan, and navigate the exact route they will take between the specified start and finish points for their stage.  

I'm pleased, honored, and humbled to let you know that the Sole Sisters and Coach B are in charge of Ohio Stage 237 -- E. Livingston Ave. outside of Columbus to Etna, Ohio. We have a 7.5 mile stretch that we have to map out and not screw up.  I can tell you now that I did have a mild freak-out session when I learned that the person who was originally taking command of our stage had dropped out, leaving me to plan the path -- from nearly three hours away. I've never been to Reynoldsburg/Pataskala, Ohio, yet here I am studying maps and charts and satellite images to make sure our little part of the 3,000 miles doesn't cause the whole relay to be thrown off track. As of right now, 22 other people are welcome to come and join us (after you donate your $50 relay fee) -- we are scheduled to step off at 9:45 a.m. on June 25. The location is near the Parkview Presbyterian Church in Reynoldsburg, Ohio (6969 E. Livingston Ave.). If you'd like join us, either leave a message in the comment section if you need more information, or just sign up for our stage at onerunforboston.org and we'll see you there.

The bombings at the Boston Marathon finish line affected me deeply, and more viscerally than any other tragic news story has since Sept. 11, 2001. I have been involved in newspaper journalism since my college days, starting around 1998. Usually, I can withstand the daily barrage of fatal car accidents, missing child cases, domestic violence incidents, and overseas terror attacks that I have to read about every single day. I guess you could say I've become hardened to it, as both a defense mechanism and as a result of overexposure. This, for me, was quite different. Coach B and I had woken up early on Marathon Monday to watch the start of the marathon, eat breakfast in bed, and take in the spectacle of the elite men and women running at their unearthly speeds. 

Rita Jeptoo and Lelisa Desisa Benti were the women's and men's champions of the 2013 Boston Marathon, finishing well ahead of the bombings.

At this time, the Glass City Marathon was about two weeks away, and Sole Sister M and I were still dreaming about qualifying for Boston 2014. For me, it was a quiet goal and I hadn't told anyone outside of our small training circle. But I dreamt of it, and was wishing for it, and every step I took was in the hopes that I would be good enough to make my qualifying time at GCM. That Marathon Monday, Coach B and I watched the conclusion of the men's and women's elites, then went back to sleep so we would be rested for work that night. I woke up around 1 or so, then hopped in the shower. When I came out, I turned on CNN like I usually do to get caught up on the news world. I heard the report of explosions before I saw them. At first I thought it was probably some car bomb in Iraq or something similar, which I'm unfortunately pretty inured to. And then I looked at the TV. And saw -- wait a second, that looks like a race course; that looks like a scene I am intimately familiar with. That looks like a finish line. I had the flash of realization: that is no desert outpost -- that is BOSTON.  That is what I'm working for, that is my goal, I was just watching this earlier this morning -- Oh, my God, what is happening here? 

I started crying, and I honestly couldn't stop. My runner friends and I texted back and forth: Have you seen what's happening? Do we know anyone there? What happened? Who's responsible? How many are hurt? People have died? Oh, my God. Just hours later, I was in the newsroom, facing reading and laying out stories about the bombing and selecting photos to illustrate all that had happened on Boylston Street. It was honestly one of the hardest days I've ever had at work -- mercifully at one point my boss saw how upset I was and sent me outside for air so I could try to gather myself.  It was like that to some degree every day up to and beyond that Friday when the bombing suspect was finally apprehended, which gave some measure of closure though the thought of both the victims still hospitalized and the fact that this storied running tradition was marred by a senseless act of violence was enough to make my blood boil. 

If there was one thing I was dead certain of, it was that these terrorists had picked the wrong subset of people to target. If you  think a runner, especially a distance runner, is going to be intimidated or back down, I'm sorry but you are very, very wrong.  Just a few days out from our marathon, we dried our tears. We redoubled our efforts. We dedicated our running to those who no longer could. We felt a fire in our bellies. We raised money. We raised awareness. We toed the start line at the Glass City Marathon. We swallowed down the lump in our throats during the moment of silence. We celebrated the starting gun. We ran our asses off. We hugged at the finish line. We screamed out with joy that we were going to Boston, baby.  

There aren't many things you can be sure of in this world, but there are two I am counting on right now. One, there will be a runner from now until June 30 making his or her way to Boston -- making a triumph out of a tragedy. And two, that third Monday in April, you will count me in Hopkinton among the thousands massed at small Massachusetts town -- ready to reclaim a storied marathon that is poised to come back, Boston Stronger. 

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to each other. -- V.