So, here's the thing.  The folks who run the BCS Marathon (in Bryan College Station) had this idea that today runners should wear blue and gold (the colors of the Boston Athletic Association that hosts the Boston Marathon) and do what runners do--run.  There's this story and their facebook page here. So I grabbed my blue shirt and did what runners do--I ran.  I ran 4.09 miles, because that was the number on the clock when the bomb went off.

I'm under no delusions that I changed the world out there by staggering through 4+ miles (very slowly, I might add, 12 minute miles, sheesh).  The world is still a generally decent place full of generally decent people with a few scattered assholes who are just hell bent on shitting on everything good and decent because that's what assholes do.  No money was raised.  No hearts were healed.  No bodies were mended.  No fuckwad terrorists were caught.  It could be fairly interpreted as a meaningless, empty, symbolic gesture devoid of any real meaning or substance.

But something did happen today.

Runners went out and did what runners do--they ran.  They lived their lives.  They picked 'em up and put 'em down.  One after another.  Again and again.  It's what runners do.  And no terrorist can take that away.

Not.  Ever.

And we also wore blue.  In a kind of show of solidarity that said instantly "yea, we're with you, Boston.  You may not have been allowed to finish, but here's a few more miles for your runners."  (And, according to the BAA twitter feed there's a replica finish line for runners to cross when they come to pick up their bag, so there's that.)

But there's more.

The thing about this that pisses me off most, I think, is that it wasn't just a bomb in an office tower or bus stop or hotel lobby.  Don't get me wrong, that sucks, too.  But this was different.  This is like that uncle who gets drunk and ruins your wedding.  Or a hurricane that destroys the chapel where you were going to get married next week, except the hurricane is a dick with a bomb and the chapel is the finish line of the Boston-fucking-Marathon and the wedding is you crossing that finish line.

It wasn't just another day.  It was a day that these people trained for over the course of MONTHS.  They had to qualify for this race, so they had to train and prepare for THAT one first.  Then they had to train and prepare for this one.  It's a big commitment.  Their families were there waiting for them or rooting them on remotely.  And then some fucker comes and blows up a pressure cooker and just takes all that away from them.
Well, fuck him.  He can't take that away.  I'm with you, Boston.  Here's an extra 4 miles for your runners.  And, God willing, if I ever figure out how to drag my fat ass through a race fast enough to qualify I'll come up there and be with you in person.  No fucking terrorist will take that from us.  None.