“Were you there the year of the bombs?”
That’s usually the first question I get when someone learns that I run the Boston Marathon every year.
Yes, I was in Boston on Patriots’ Day in 2013.
That horrible day is not how I think of Boston. To me, the Boston Marathon is like a Mecca, calling me and others who love distance running to gather and feel the kinship of running and test ourselves on the famed Hills of Newton. It is the oldest and greatest race of them all, a magical event.
But if most people think first of those terrible explosions when they hear something about the Boston Marathon, I understand.