I am on a runner’s high from all the love I experienced, shared and witnessed at the Boston Marathon. The most famous race in the world brought together talented runners and their fans. I was beyond proud to cheer on my Dad as he slayed another marathon and lived his dream of conquering the challenging Boston course.
My love for running comes from my Dad’s passion for the sport. For as long as I can remember, my Dad has been obsessed with hitting the pavement. Growing up, he would often go for long runs with my neighbor and attend weekly runs with his YMCA crew. When I matured into a young lady, I tried the activity and… well, didn’t love it. Running for me was painful. I was slow and uncomfortable. The only reasons I even bothered with it were to lose weight and please my Dad. However, my Dad was born to run.
My Dad pleasantly recalled that he was always the fastest kid in the neighborhood. About 10 years ago, my Dad ran his first marathon that runs through New York and Canada – the only race to take place in two countries. My Mom and I rooted for him at the finish line, where he immediately fell over as soon as he crossed. I remember rubbing his legs for blood flow and how his skin was as white as Canadian snow. It was scary, but he managed to limp to the car and eat some poutine.
Since then, he has grown into a truly phenomenal runner. It’s funny how society tells us to grow old and tired, while my Dad has grown old and energetic. His zest for life and determination to keep going are the traits I admire most and hope to inherit. On Marathon Monday, he crushed the course with his commitment, optimism and straight up physical greatness. When I saw him turn the corner to finish the damn thing, his legs were like angel wings. He was so fast!
The Boston Marathon is a one-day organic community of love. I cheered for the family members of those around me. I high-fived the marathon warriors as they pushed for the finish line. I saw runners stop their journey to help others finish theirs. I witnessed people that attacked the race, despite their physical limitations. I teared up when I saw an older woman with bad-ass pink hair stop to kiss her husband who snapped about a hundred pictures of her in action. The Boston Marathon runners are my superheroes, champions and stars. They showed me that everyday people, with hard work, can transform into untouchable gladiators.
My love for the sport, like a marathon, has been long and unpredictable. In college, I began to finally enjoy the practice because it allowed me to just be. Since then, running has made me feel strong and limitless. When I am having a bad day, I lace up my sneakers and my mood instantly lifts. I have learned it’s hard to feel bad about yourself when your body is pumping and gliding you through the beautiful streets of Brooklyn.
The Boston Marathon reminded me that no matter what pace or distance, we were all born to run.
This is the real me: what I love, what makes me happy and what makes me buzz.