1st Birthday Letter

The Finish Line Cannot be Destroyed
by Eric Christensen
April 17, 2013
 
I doubt the Boston bomber understood the finish line at the Marathon.  To him, it was probably viewed as a place that would have crowds, news cameras and the nation’s attention - the awful convenience of location and time to try to shake our collective sense of safety.  As with most people bent on destruction, he underestimated the consequences.


The finish line means many things to runners.  It is not simply your place finish in a race, or how much you beat your last race’s time.  The finish line is an accomplishment line that carries a very personalized meaning for each of us who ran the race.  It can be a place of joy, gratitude, immense satisfaction, solace, or a fitting tribute to what has driven us to run that particular race.  Sharing the finish with your loved ones is symbolic of this participation in your training through their foregoing the weekend breakfasts with you, their encouragement when you lose focus, and their pride in your desire to better yourself.
 
You are not alone despite the solitary efforts required to finish the race.  From the thousands around you at the start who have also matched your passion and sacrifice to line up in the dark cold morning, the running mate you may be with throughout the race, or that wife, child, husband or friend waiting at the finish line.
 
I started running on a whim in middle age.  A group of classmates decided to sign up for a half marathon the year following our 30th High School Reunion.  We lived in various locations so we used email as a nice way to stay in touch, offer advice and encourage one another.  Through the preparation for this first race, I discovered the joys of running.  The first race led to a second, and so on.  I found that the 13.1 mile races forced me to be honest with my workouts, and that signing up with friends created an accountability of fun.  The joy was there with each race, as was the satisfaction of crossing the finish line.
 
The death of my 19 year old son Miles four years ago gave running and races new meaning.  Good amounts of concentration, sleep, diet and exercise were needed to manage the crushing grief.  Managing concentration and sleep were not possible by sheer will.  I knew I could make a daily effort to manage my diet and exercise that in turn would help me sleep and better my concentration.  My running became a source of salvation during this time.  The joy in running was gone and wouldn't return for more than a year.  I was often mentally exhausted after each run, but I knew I had to run to escape the gravity of grief pulling me deeper into my bed each morning.   My running mates Sean, Stacey, Samantha and Sam pulled me ahead and kept me accountable to first sign up then finish each race. 
 
The finish lines of the three half marathons I ran in the next year meant I was taking steps forward with grief.  I carried the memory of Miles with me in each workout, race and across finish lines.  The grief became more manageable through the running and I began to see each finish line as an act of defiance against what was at times an overwhelming desire to never leave my house.
 
So I know that this symbol the bomber tried to destroy – tried to make unsafe in our future – cannot be destroyed.  He killed, maimed and injured.  He changed forever the course of some families in terrible ways – as all terrorists do.  But he underestimated the will of the runners, the joy of their families to be at that finish, the willingness of the volunteers to celebrate their city.  The runners will be back in Boston and every city.  The lives lost and damaged acting as fuel to all of us who exercise as a means of defiance against time, entropy, fears, mediocrity, loss and the hundred other reasons that get us to put on a racing bib. 
 
Today, April 17, would have been Miles’ 23rd birthday.  The finish lines have never compensated for his loss – they have helped to make it manageable.  And the races have helped when I see other runners running in tribute to someone they have lost, some problem running has overcome, or as the quite celebration of their sacrifices.  I can only imagine their feelings at their finish lines.  These can never be taken from us by a bomber.
 
-Eric Christensen
 
I have left the bomber as an individual because that was what we knew when I wrote this note.
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