There have been more than 2,000 terrorist attacks in the United States between 1970 and 2011.
Only two percent of these attacks have caused more than 10 casualties, but it’s the psychological effects that make them so difficult for recovery.
We mourn for days, for weeks and in some cases for years because we simply can’t imagine innocent people getting hurt. We can’t imagine it happening in our backyards, and we can’t fathom the idea of it happening to ourselves or to our loved ones.
The Boston Marathon bombings last Monday and the ensuing citywide manhunt spectacle on Friday expose our obvious fear of the world’s current political landscape. Folks from California to Florida were fearful for their lives, 3,000 miles away. Why? Because we never know when or where it will happen, we just know that it will.
Marathons and Fourth of July parades will soon lose their openness and innocence because we are afraid. We are afraid of what could happen. We are afraid of what will happen. Nonetheless, America will keep running — not on Dunkin’ but on our ambition for a safe, peaceful world, free of unexpected, unwarranted atrocities. Messing with runners was a bad mistake.
I’ve always compared distance running with surfing. Some may not even consider us athletes — we may seem laid back and easygoing — but the truth is, we work hard each and every day for little return, recognition or fame. Very few can make a living running or surfing, but we work, day in and day out, for the chance to catch that one wave, that one chance to show everyone what we’ve been working for.
The chosen few rise to the occasion and succeed, but the odds are against the many. An injury, a lack of sleep, poor diet or a bit of nervousness can make or break a race; but for those running in the Boston Marathon last Monday, it was out of their control.
For the 26,000 participants — 26,000 stories of qualifying, competing and beating “heartbreak hill” — they are tainted forever.
For Saco native Rob Gomez, who accomplished the second best Maine male performance ever, he’ll always remember this day, not his 32nd-place finish.
And for the father who finished to find his son running out for a hug, he’ll never forget that was the last one they would ever share. Too often we are forgetful of why we run, especially those of us who train with the main assumption that winning is everything. If you think about it, it’s an absurd pastime to be exhausting yourself relentlessly for no reason; but these acts of cruelty remind us the real purpose of running isn’t to win a race, maybe there’s more to it than just that.
Running has always been a test of the human heart and forever it will be.
The first responders, police forces, EMTs and citizens of affected areas — they will run next year. Those who ran and witnessed the chaotic events — they will run again. There will be much pride in wearing that yellow jacket because if there’s one place where violence doesn’t belong, it’s a marathon. There has always been more honor in outrunning a man than killing him.
In the words of Samwise Gamgee:
“Sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How [can] the world go back to the way it was when so much bad [has] happened? But in the end it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer…There’s some good in this world. And it’s worth fighting for.”
Don’t be afraid. We will heal, we will seek retribution and we will keep on running.
Logan Nee is a third-year economics and political science student.