The Boston Marathon is not just a race, a day the Red Sox don the blue and yellow jerseys or a memorial. It’s a celebration of the Boston community.
It’s been 11 years since the tragedy of the Boston Marathon Bombing. That’s roughly 4,015 days, more than 1,782 Sox Games and 288.3 Boston Marathon miles.
But the support for those we lost has not died out — and neither has Boston’s pride.
In the week leading up to this year’s race, there was a buzz in the air. The weather was getting warmer, the barriers started to be constructed, tourist shops switched out the Harvard crewnecks for blue and yellow hoodies and more and more people began to fill the city.
This year was the 128th race of the “most prestigious marathon in the world,” and people came from near and far to run or watch it.
As a hostess in Seaport, the fancy waterside restaurant where I work is no stranger to travelers on business. Professional dinners fill the books every day of the week, but that Monday was just runners wearing their medals.
Almost every reservation had a note saying “marathon celebration” with local and international numbers holding their table. Other hosts sat parties who traveled from England to run the race, only to fly across the pond later that night.
An entire vacation just to run Boston’s historical race.
The most memorable conversation I had was with an older gentleman eating with his kids while they celebrated his 50th birthday, which he kicked off with an easy 26.2 miles that morning on the Massachusetts streets.
People wore their medals with pride because why wouldn’t they? It’s an accomplishment they can brag about for life and an achievement so much more special when worn in the city.
A “congratulations” rang from everyone on staff as the doors to the restaurant opened, and guests irrelevant to their reservation said kind and impressed words as runners hobbled to their tables, ready for a full meal after their legs were worn out from their run.
The owner of the restaurant cheered on the competitors from the sidelines and retold her story of sitting next to family members of someone who had lost their life back in 2013 that morning, who had their children running the race in memory.
If that story didn’t bring a tear to my eye in the middle of my shift I don’t know what would have.
While driving back to Boston from my hometown Monday morning, my grandfather took in the skyline from the highway and said that he could not believe it had been over a decade since the bombing because it felt like yesterday. Even though nine-year-old me did not fully realize what the news stories on the TV meant 11 years ago, nodding in agreement was the only answer because it hadn’t felt like that long ago at all.
With documentaries and movies out now, it’s easy to spot the passage of time, but with the unity of the city during the last couple of weeks, the wound still feels fresh in the sense that the celebration of those lost will never age.
Where else will you see an entire city stand at the barricades to watch strangers run the streets, decked out in yellow and blue? Even if a person didn’t know someone who was running, the race was fresh in their mind, and if they had someone running, that’s the only name pounding in their heart.
As a runner, the city warming brought the Boston Common back on the personal running route. And with marathon Monday approaching, the blue and yellow baseball cap came out of the closet as well.
While doing laps around the Common and Gardens, there was a special feeling in the air that was not quite there last fall before Boston chilled, and after a while that feeling was clear; unity.
Unity rang in the air. It was with every step in each runner’s jog, in every past marathon jacket that was worn on the street and in every breath each person took during that final stretch.
It’s a hard feeling to explain to someone outside the city, but Boston comes together to make up for what was lost and always remembered, and this marathon was no different.
