25.5 miles closer to a cure: Part 3 - Unfinished

Part 1 - Marathon Monday
Part 2 - We Need to Stop Running

The Boston Marathon was finished. 

And yet I felt so unfinished. 

We walked into our hotel room, immediately removed our running shoes and then slowly walked down the hall to Ryan's parent's room. As they opened the door for us, we saw Kate and Leah, wearing their Boston Baked Team Leah Bean shirts, grinning at us. We held them tight and I said another prayer of gratitude that my family was safe and sound. I am so grateful for LaMar and Lynnette and the great care they took of Kate and Leah that day.

Over the next few hours, Ryan and I saw on the TV what LaMar, Lynnette and our girls had experienced firsthand. The explosions were enormous and the images I saw on screen were horrifying. The VIP passes given to us the day before had most likely saved their lives. They were on the front row of the west end of the bleachers on the corner of Boylston and Exeter, just 50 yards from where the first bomb went off. We have found pictures from the news where we can see LaMar in his red coat in the chaotic aftermath. 

The events that happened that afternoon are something I won't soon forget. And the last thing I would ever want to do is make light of a very grave situation. Some lives were lost. Others were forever altered. People will be dealing with the aftermath of these explosions physically and mentally for a long time. And yet as I look back on the past week, realizing that we saw the very worst of humanity in those acts, I also know that I saw the very best of humanity. I saw an entire city pull together. I saw strangers embracing, comforting, helping. I saw them offering their food, phones and homes to passersby. And so, just after this horrendous act, after witnessing so much bad, I witnessed a lot of good. 

And it was so, so good. 

I was never able to cross the finish line of the Boston Marathon. Many people have asked how I feel about that. And to answer honestly: I'm mad. I really, truly am just mad at those cowards. I was mad at them before they had faces and names and I'm mad at them now. I, along with thousands of other runners, trained for months. I ran in negative temperatures. I grew icicles on my eyelashes. I ran up hills and down hills and up hills and down hills. I stretched and iced and rolled and rested. And I ran and I ran and I ran and I ran. I didn't do all of that to run the first 25.5 miles of a marathon. I did it to run the final 0.7. To cross the finish line.

I did it to make those final two turns onto Hereford and Boylston streets and to see the face of my six year old daughter sitting in the bleachers cheering for me.

And that is a sight that was stolen from me. So I'm mad. 

But I also know that I did it to raise much needed funds for Rett syndrome research. I did it for Leah. I did it for everyone who struggles with Rett syndrome every day of their lives. I ran because they can't. And in that, I was successful. 

I'm not sure what will happen now. If I get the opportunity to run next year, I will take it. Because I didn't train to almost finish the Boston Marathon. Just like researchers aren't spending their lives almost finding a cure. Just like Leah isn't spending her days being almost awesome.

I will do it. And so will they. And she already is.

I'm just not finished yet...