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One of the things that is so surreal about this for me relates to my past. My first job out of college was driving a truck delivering water for a company called Belmont Springs. I ran a route for a year and eventually moved into a couple of different management jobs before leaving the company and doing other stuff. At the time I was there, Belmont Springs provided all the water for the water stops and finish line of the Boston Marathon. For three years, I was in charge of coordinating the water at the finish line of the race.
I'd spend all day right in that area where the bombs exploded, either in the stands watching the elites come in, checking on the medical tent to make sure they had what they needed, filling the thousands of cups with volunteers and stacking them on a row oa tables in the middle of the street, or (admittedly) sneaking into the Westin across the road for a nice lunch and to rub elbows with some of the glitzy people that were at the race. It was the only thing I ever missed about that job. There is no way to describe what the city of Boston is like on Marathon day. The Sox play at 11am every year, the race is going on, the Bruins usually play that night. Bars are open early, Spring is finally breaking, the streets are filled with people, the smells of food, and it is one of the few times I ever really understood what it was like when people said a city felt "alive". It just did. It was fun and it was a day to celebrate people doing great things and pushing themselves to complete goals, raise money, click off an item on the bucket list, or just do something to say that they did it. It was about watching Dick Hoyt push his son across the finish line, worrying about if we'd have enough water on years where it was hot, keeping tabs on the drivers who were "captains" at the stations to make sure they weren't off chasing girls. Just a day I always loved.
I am bummed that this is going to be a mark on the historical record of this great, international event. There is a strong sentiment here about how attending next year is the right thing to do and I firmly believe that. Screw these bastards, I'm going.
I have always kept these (I have a stack...lol) because they are reminders of good days. I still see those good days in them and those are memories I need today.
I'd spend all day right in that area where the bombs exploded, either in the stands watching the elites come in, checking on the medical tent to make sure they had what they needed, filling the thousands of cups with volunteers and stacking them on a row oa tables in the middle of the street, or (admittedly) sneaking into the Westin across the road for a nice lunch and to rub elbows with some of the glitzy people that were at the race. It was the only thing I ever missed about that job. There is no way to describe what the city of Boston is like on Marathon day. The Sox play at 11am every year, the race is going on, the Bruins usually play that night. Bars are open early, Spring is finally breaking, the streets are filled with people, the smells of food, and it is one of the few times I ever really understood what it was like when people said a city felt "alive". It just did. It was fun and it was a day to celebrate people doing great things and pushing themselves to complete goals, raise money, click off an item on the bucket list, or just do something to say that they did it. It was about watching Dick Hoyt push his son across the finish line, worrying about if we'd have enough water on years where it was hot, keeping tabs on the drivers who were "captains" at the stations to make sure they weren't off chasing girls. Just a day I always loved.
I am bummed that this is going to be a mark on the historical record of this great, international event. There is a strong sentiment here about how attending next year is the right thing to do and I firmly believe that. Screw these bastards, I'm going.
I have always kept these (I have a stack...lol) because they are reminders of good days. I still see those good days in them and those are memories I need today.
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