Yesterday I got very lucky. Missed the bombs on Boylston Street by maybe ten minutes, after a friend crossed the finish line and those of us cheering him on left Boylston Street to meet him at the reunion area on St. James. We were just arriving at the Back Bay T station when we heard the first blast. My boyfriend commented on it, but we just assumed it was construction noise and didn’t learn otherwise until we got off the train in Cambridge.
Now a day later, the city is still in shock and very sad, but the feeling that seems to dominate is pride. We are proud of the Boston PD, medics and random marathon spectators who ran, not away from the blasts, but toward them, to help the injured. We are proud of how quickly officials stopped the race and diverted runners from the scene. We are proud of the emergency medical teams expecting to cater to exhausted and injured runners, who were able to quickly switch gears to deal with amputated and shredded limbs. We are proud of the many local families who stepped up to offer meals and beds to visitors whose hotels were shuttered or who were unable to travel home. And we are proud of those who have already committed to run the marathon next year, to show that we won’t allow terror to rule our lives.
We love you, Boston!