Blog of the Week: April 19

Tim Brennan's "Boston Marathon Results" was spot on. As a nation struggling to cope with new terrorist attacks and to live with the reality of their threat, perhaps we could stand to take some cues from runners—like those in Monday's race. How do we live? We find our pace. We don't get weighed down by anger. We encourage those around us, particularly those struggling. We dispense with excuses. And most importantly, we press on. We don't stop.

On Sunday, you can lace up your running shoes and stand with Boston right here locally. The 5K Charleston Run For Boston happens this Sunday, April 21, at 8 a.m. at Colonial Lake. The start will be at the corner of Broad Street and Ashley Avenue and will include a three-mile loop downtown. More information here, or follow organizer Adrienne Levy of Low Country Road Runners at @adriennelevy for updates. 

Like everyone else, I have some thoughts on the Boston Marathon bombings. 

I am a runner. Runners are different than a lot of athletes. We don't "shoot around" or "hit some balls" to get better. When athletes in other sports are being disciplined by coaches, the punishment may be to "go run." We do for pleasure what others do for pain. 

We do it, for the most part, without coaches, teammates, or facilities. When we run, we don't hurt anyone else. No blocks, picks, hits, or tackles. If anyone hurts, it is us. 

But mostly, when we run, with each step we leave things behind. Troubles at home. Excuses. And that second chocolate chip cookie. 

When we run, we don't run with regret. We have no room for the weight of anger. We don't run with hate. We might run with music. 

If we see another runner, we cheer them on with a nod and slight wave that says "I know what you're feeling. Ain't it great? Keep it up."

Runners represent good people. The ones who just keep running, or being good, for no other reason than that is who they are. Good people outnumber the bad. It was great to see how many good people were there to help others. 

Who can hate a runner?

Strangely, I really don't want to know the identity of the bomber(s). I'll trust they will get theirs through some justice. 

It would give me pleasure if the name of that animal were never released. I'd rather know the names of the runners. The names of those who lent a hand. The names of those taken away. The names of those who will never run again. 

I want to go out running today. Among nature. With music. Alone. I want to qualify for the Boston Marathon someday and be among all those good people. Now, more than ever.