I've never actually run or been to the Boston Marathon, instead opting to watch it on TV. But I've been along the Marathon Route countless times in my life. I've been to several Red Sox games, which are held nearby. I think about how fortunate I am that I wasn't in the wrong place in the wrong time.
I don't understand what kind of coward would do this. What are you trying to prove? There are many people in the world that I don't like. But what does detonating explosives and killing innocent people do to solve that?
It's always tragic when there are casualties, so part of me feels awful saying that I feel like it's a miracle that only three people this far have died (particularly when one of the victims is 8 years old, so awful). This certainly doesn't compare to Sept. 11, when thousands of people died and American history was forever changed. But because it happened in Massachusetts, this hits me hard.
This hasn't been my greatest blog, if for no other reason than I'm still in a state of shock and am more compiling random thoughts than trying to write something cohesive. And when my friend Rebecca called me and asked if I wanted to head out to Buffalo Wild Wings tonight to grab some wings and watch sports, I needed to take her up on it. I needed an escape. I needed to stop watching the news reports, which I'd been doing for five hours straight. President Obama said, "Boston is a tough and resilient town, so are it's people." And I had to throw on my Boston Bruins jersey, even though the Bruins game was canceled tonight, to wear to Buffalo Wild Wings as a tribute to a wounded city.
Boston, you're my home.