Why I love Boston

We first came to Boston in 2009 to run the marathon. We were impressed by the city, awed and overwhelmed by the race itself, but mostly taken with the Bostonian's hospitality, generosity and friendliness.
Where Vancouver is a city that veritably shuns runners because once in a blue moon they impede traffic (with scads of notice), Boston is a city that loves, cherishes and embraces its prestigious marathon history.
I remember crying for the first kilometre in 2009, awed by the support and positive energy of the spectators and the smiling, tireless volunteers. Who were these people, I thought, and why do they care so much.
We returned last year, with me as a spectator due to injury, but Michael ran and, when the call went out that the runners needed help in weather closing in on ninety degrees, people handed out water, turned on hoses in front of their own houses to help out. Being part of the crowd last year was an amazing experience of sheer joy, encouragement and community both on a local and global level.
Today's run wasn't great for me. I think of the ten I've run it was my second worst. I didn't train enough and I was having significant stomach issues. I didn't really care, though, I was just happy to be back. I gave high fives like they were going out of style. I thanked every volunteer that gave me water or Gatorade, as well as the kid that gave me a Freezie.
I also walked more than I was happy with, and I can't tell you what these spectators did to get me moving again. They screamed and cheered and encouraged me until I had no choice but to laugh and start running again, painful though it was.
Going through the chute I thanked the volunteers for being there as they gave me food, water, a blanket and handed me my checked bag. Even volunteers that I simply made eye contact with congratulated me. The people in Boston are epic.
I finally found Michael who was borderline hypothermic again, and just as we started to head out a huge explosion rocked us. I said "what the hell was that?" and Michael said it sounded like a cannon, which made no sense at the finish line. Then he suggested perhaps it was a generator.
Then we saw the plume of smoke and were rocked by the second explosion at which point I said it was clearly time to go. People were confused and questioning, and it would take a while for it to become apparent that it was a bomb but, and though all my rational thought said it wasn't that, my subconscious knew those two, incredibly loud blasts replete with a smoke cloud at the finish line was what no one wanted to believe could happen on such a beautiful, buoyant day filled with accomplishment and unfettered encouragement.
I have been privileged to visit this fair city three times in my life, and to be a part of the marathon in a couple different capacities.
It breaks my heart, totally, that some sick individual or group would wreak such horror upon such compassionate, empathetic and supportive people. My thoughts go out to the dozens of people in hospital currently with serious injuries. To the families of the three people that died because of this hateful and cowardly act.
And my heart hurts to think how this will change the happy, beautific smiles of the spectators and volunteers next year. The very people that today supported, encouraged and cheered for us.
It takes a special city to show up around half a million strong, ten deep in places, over a 26.2 mile stretch of road to cheer for people they may not even know. To hand out water and orange slices, free beer and even Freezies. And that's why I know they can take this in stride.
Dig deep, Boston.
You got this.