Believing  Boston  Strong  After  the  deadly  tragedy  that  occurred  at  last  year’s  Boston  Marathon,  a  single  phrase  —  “Boston  Strong”  —  captured  the  reaction  of  the  City.  

That  spirit  was  one  of  the  reasons  I  decided  to  run  Boston  this  year.  I  wanted  to  be  part  of  the  restoration.  

Last  week  as  I  thought  about  my  upcoming  travel  I  came  across  a  well-­‐written  opinion  piece  arguing  that  street  vendors,  commercial  advertising,  and  politicians  had  hijacked  and  overused  that  “Boston  Strong.”  Consequently,  it  no  longer  had  meaning.  

Arriving  at  the  Boston  Airport  for  the  Marathon  and  driving  across  the  city,  I  saw  plenty  of  evidence  to  support  the  writer’s  cynicism.  “Boston  Strong”  was  everywhere:  caps,  T-­‐shirts,  billboards,  and  banners  on  the  sides  of  buildings.    

 

“Ah  yes,”  I  thought  with  the  superiority  of  the  jaded  observer’s  perspective,  “overused.”    

The  next  day  a  single  event  caused  a  major  crack  in  the  safe  shell  of  my  doubting  frame  of  reference.  We  walked  down  Boyleston  Street  to  view  the  finish  line.  I  couldn’t  help  but  notice  the  locations  where  the  bombs  had  gone  off.  Soon  we  stood  in  front  of  the  makeshift  memorial  where  four  people  lost  their  lives  and  many  others  were  grievously  injured.  Somehow,  in  the  midst  of  all  the  confusing  noise  of  the  crowded  street,  there  was  a  reverent  silence  at  the  memorial.  Being  there  —  visualizing  what  we’d  seen  in  pictures  and  videos  —  it  became  somberly  real.  People  were  killed  here.  Others  were  permanently  maimed  and  scarred.  Senseless  violence.  Of  course,  it  had  to  change  how  the  people  of  Boston  thought  about  their  world  and  themselves.  

 

More  cracks  developed  as  I  considered  the  spontaneous  comments  by  individuals  at  the  small  café  where  we  had  breakfast  that  morning.  “Are  you  here  to  run  the  Marathon?”  Receiving  affirmation  of  our  intent,  we  repeatedly  heard:  “Thank  you.”  

After  breakfast  we  went  to  Easter  Services  in  a  small,  150-­‐year-­‐old  church.  Again,  individual  “thank  you’s”  were  repeatedly  stated  as  people  learned  we  had  come  to  run  the  Marathon.  We  were  even  marched  to  the  front  of  the  church  to  receive  corporate  “thank  you’s”  and  good  wishes.  

The  ever-­‐present  volunteers,  law  enforcement,  and  military  personnel  were  equally  gracious  and  appreciative.  Again  and  again,  “Thank  you  for  being  here.”      

Our  hosts  added  further  confirmation.  Failing  to  find  a  hotel  at  a  reasonable  price,  we  reluctantly  agreed  to  accept  the  offer  to  stay  with  some  people  we’d  never  even  met  —  someone  a  friend  knew.  Who  invites  five  strange  men  into  their  house  for  a  weekend?  And,  who  then  treats  them  with  extraordinary  hospitality?  Answer:  people  eager  to  make  a  statement  about  themselves  and  their  community.    

All  doubt  was  removed  on  the  course.  I’ve  run  Boston  twice  before  so  I  was  expecting  the  enthusiastic,  continuous  crowd  (consider  the  concept  of  running  the  roughly  26  miles  from  “downtown  Vail”  to  “downtown  Tucson”  with  people  lining  the  road  cheering  for  you  the  entire  way).  This  year  was  different.  It  was  the  Boston  Marathon  Crowd  on  steroids.  Many  more  people.  Much  more  noise.    

The  enthusiasm  of  the  crowd  was  defiant  in  nature.    

 

No  one  was  going  to  stop  them.  This  was  their  city  and  their  event.  They  were  there  to  claim  their  identity.  They  were  making  noise.  And,  they  were  looking  for  excuses  to  make  more  noise.    

The  crowd  noise  was  like  the  roar  of  a  jet  engine.  And,  when  given  cause,  the  crescendo  of  the  roar  swelled.  At  one  point  I  ran  past  Dick  Hoyt,  the  man  who  has  pushed  his  son  through  multiple  marathons.  As  the  crowd  along  the  road  became  aware  of  who  he  was,  they  cut  loose.  Running  past  Dick  and  his  son  was  like  running  through  a  bubble  of  hyper  sound.  

.  

I  had  printed  my  name  on  the  front  of  my  shirt.  Boston  crowds  are  great  at  calling  out  your  name  with  words  of  encouragement.  It  is  a  wonderful  way  to  get  needed  motivation  as  the  miles  pound  on  the  spirit.  This  year  it  was  almost  too  much.  At  first  I  yelled  back  or  pumped  my  fist  as  people  enthusiastically  encouraged  me  by  name.  By  mile  17  my  response  had  become  a  simple  “thumbs  up.”  The  last  few  miles  I  stuck  to  the  center  of  the  road  with  my  eyes  straight  ahead.  I  had  simply  run  out  of  energy  to  acknowledge  the  personal  cheers.  

 

Causes  for  inspiration  abounded.  There  were  multiple  blind  runners  circled  by  others  who  guided  and  protected  them.  The  same  was  true  for  an  autistic  runner.  And,  then  there  were  the  runners  gliding  along  on  one  or  two  curved  pieces  of  carbon  fiber  —  including  several  who  lost  their  legs  at  the  event  just  a  year  ago.  

Riding  the  subway  after  the  Marathon,  a  young  couple  sat  across  from  us.  Again,  we  were  thanked  for  being  there.  Congratulations  followed.  Then,  a  personal  question  strangers  do  not  often  ask  each  other  came:  “Were  you  afraid?”    

“No,  not  really.”  After  all  there  were  law  enforcement  and  military  personnel  stationed  everywhere  along  the  course.  And,  they  were  clearly  on  full  alert.  It  seemed  there  were  always  several  police  helicopters  hovering  overhead  and  four  large  and  intimidating  National  Guard  Helicopters  regularly  swept  the  course.  Even  an  irrational  person  would  have  to  sense  this  would  be  the  wrong  time  and  place  to  perpetrate  evil.    

Then  a  confession  came  from  the  strangers.  “We  were  afraid  to  come.”  “We  thought  the  larger  the  crowd  the  more  tempting  it  would  be.”  And  then,  “We  came  because  we  thought  it  was  our  responsibility.”    

Ah,  the  beauty  of  intentional  behavior.    

And,  the  beauty  of  believing.    

What  is  good  and  true  is  not  diminished  by  misapplication.    

It  remains  good  and  true.  

Boston  is  Strong.