I deeply respect runners. I can’t go more than say, 10 feet without totally winding myself, coughing and sputtering, red faced and sweating, staggering to my own imaginary finish line.
It must be incredible to actually complete a marathon. To challenge your body to go that far, like Pheidippides, running on, to what might feel like your last breath, and for a few today, terribly was. I may never do it, but I will always admire and envy the incredible spirit it takes to do such a thing.
I awoke this morning in Melbourne to the tragic events in Boston, and I am sickened and shocked and concerned, yet also moved by all the beautiful Bostonians banding together to help house and comfort those in need. It’s remarkable how human beings, normally closed up unto ourselves in our own private solar systems of need and greed, will suddenly open up homes, sofa beds and kitchens when terror looms large.
I see my old friend Patton Oswalt’s words over the internet, and I remember when he lived a block from me, and I could walk, not run over for drugs or coffee anytime, and here he offers solace once again, from all the way across the sea.
All my love to Boston, to the runners, the watchers, the fans in the stands, and for all of us here in the world, trying to understand.