I got home last night and was on edge. The Boston Marathon bombing had disturbed me more than it probably should have. I mean, c’mon, I wasn’t there. I wasn’t anywhere near Boston. But in my mind — well, in my mind I was.
I kept thinking about finishing the Marine Corps Marathon in 2010. The last .2 was up a hill into Arlington Cemetery. The finish was lined with thousands of friends and family members cheering on their loved ones. Just like yesterday in Boston. I thought of my family, with their signs. And then I saw the bomb go off.
It’s the curse of an active imagination.
I’m running the Marine Corps Marathon again this fall. My wife asked me when I walked through the door, “You nervous?”
“Yeah,” I said. I can’t lie to her. She always knows when I do.
I put my stuff down on the kitchen table and said, “But I stand a better chance of dying from running a marathon than some bastard blowing me up.”
She nodded in agreement. She has seen me run.
“And, we’ll be surrounded by about 10,000 Marines.” I smiled, trying to find comfort in my joke. It didn’t work.
But as I fell asleep last night, I remembered, life is a risk. That’s what makes the reward so great.
Trudat.