This Week, This Day

I never really went to sleep last night. I heard sirens. More sirens. Something was wrong. I checked the news: a shooting at MIT. I texted JJ and B. My heart hurt. It was too much. This week was too much. All too much.

There were more sirens last night. And the whirring of helicopters flying low. Each time I woke up, I checked the news only to find a bizarre and brutal scenario unfolding. By 5am, I was wide awake and engaged. I waited for the rest of the world to wake up and to realize what had happened. To see the world's reactions, to see all universities and the MBTA close, and to see the Facebook status updates as everyone became aware ... well, it only served to reinforce that we were living in an alternate reality.

Today was unprecedented. It was the closest I expect to ever be to living in a state of military law. I didn't know how to spend my time. I overdosed on all forms of media... watching a live stream of CNN, refreshing Twitter, texting, watching Netflix, typing in a nearly 12 hour long gchat conversation. None of it worked; none of it helped.

The "shelter in place" rule was lifted around 6pm. I took a shower and thought about what it would be like to go out. But then, an hour later -- something started to happen. The police identified the suspect's location and started to move in. I put my mascara on and put "Dirty Water" on repeat. I'm sure my neighbors got sick of the song, but I didn't have the heart to turn it off.

At the bar, we ordered beer and stared up at the TV. The news was slow to update and I refreshed Twitter constantly, hoping that it was just a matter of time and hoping that the suspect was still alive. Not dead or alive, only alive. Suddenly, I saw a tweet: "Suspect in custody." I turned to the other three and said: "Suspect in custody. They got him." A minute later, the headline flashed up on the TV. And, as we all predicted, the bar broke out in applause.  Every bar in Boston must have been filled with the sound of applause.

I walked home tonight. For April, it's a balmy night. I'm wearing shorts and flip flops and I stopped to buy an ice cream bar. Relief and ice cream taste really good together. The street is peaceful and, at least for this one night and at this one moment, so is Boston. As I unlocked my front door, one of my neighbors called out to me: "Good night!" It really is.

I'm going to go to bed soon. I'm going to read a little. And tonight I'm going to sleep.

I'm gonna tell you a story, I'm gonna tell you about my town

When I applied to college, I applied to five schools. Four were in Massachusetts; two were in Boston. I went to school in Boston. When I graduated, I stayed. When I moved away, I came back. You could argue that I never really left.

My life-changing and life-defining experiences have all been here. I’ve fallen in love here. I broke an ankle and had my heart broken here. My first job, my first apartment, and my first race were here. I ran the Boston Marathon, one half marathon, three 10Ks, and two five mile races here. I learned to run here. I learned who I am and who I want to be here.

I love everything that Dennis Lehane ever wrote. I love every dumb impersonation of a Boston accent. I love the way the sun rises over Rowes’ Wharf and the way the sun sets over the Charles River.

Every time I drive into Boston from the north, south, east, or west, my heart is full. Every time my train pulls into South Station or my plane lands at Logan, my heart is full. A warm summer night in the stands at Fenway or a walk through Faneuil Hall on a winter’s afternoon so cold that my cheekbones hurt…. My heart is full.

I called M after the bombings. I wept. I don’t remember much of our conversation. But I will forever remember one thing M said: “Oh, your beautiful city.” Boston is my beautiful city. And my heart couldn’t hold all of the hurt that I felt and still feel.

Some people have a high school sweetheart, that perfect first love that never went away. I have Boston.

This is all to say: Don’t screw with my town.

The Day After

What can we even say or write or do about yesterday? Boston was hurt. And we were all hurt.

I ran the Boston Marathon a few years ago. It is, to date, one of my most personally defining experiences. When I heard about the explosions, my heart broke in a million pieces. For Boston, this city I've called home for so long. For all of those who went down. For every spectator, every family member and every friend who felt fear and terror and panic. For every single runner. Especially for the runners.

The bombs took something away from all of us. The Boston Marathon is Boston at its best. And it is human nature at its best. A marathon is the triumph of the human spirit, of human nature. A marathon is triumphant and victorious and celebratory and wondrous. The bombs cut right at the heart of everything that is Boston and everything that is a marathon.

I got up this morning and thought maybe it had been a bad dream. And then I remembered. So I ran. I ran through Boston Common, nodding at other runners and avoiding media vans. I ran down to the Financial District, where there were no other runners. I ran and I cried.

And then I took a shower, put on a Red Sox t-shirt and my Boston Marathon windbreaker, and went to work.

Lessons Learned Today

Steak and eggs really do make brunch better. 

Using a whole bag of chocolate chips really does make cookie batter better.

Drinking cranberry vodka with four Russians really does make Sunday night better.

Oh... and napping makes everything better.