I didn’t write anything specifically in response to the terrible events of a few weeks ago in Boston, mostly because I didn’t think I really had anything meaningful to add to the discussion.  Most of the things I could think of to say had already been said, and said better, elsewhere.  But Boston has been in my thoughts.  It’s not a city where I’ve spent much time, although my brother went to college there (at Boston University) and I’ve loved every too-brief visit I’ve made there.  I have many, many friends in Boston – just how many, I didn’t know, until my Facebook feed filled up with the reassuring “We’re okay!” messages after the bombing.  And I later found out that the sister of a dear friend, who ran in the marathon that day, was at the finish line when the explosions occurred.  She was unharmed and I know everyone who is acquainted with my friend and his family is incredibly relieved about that.

Kara of it’s a dog lick baby world, a running and parenting blog that I really enjoy, made a good point about the horror of the Boston marathon bombing, at least for anyone who runs: normally when you hear about these terrible tragedies, you think “I can’t imagine…” but what is truly horrifying about this bombing is that you can imagine it.

I’m a slow runner, and I will never, ever qualify for the Boston marathon – and I’m okay with that, because I just want to get out there, run, have a good time, and try to live a healthy lifestyle.  But even though I’ll almost certainly never complete this particular race, I’ve run in other races, including one major DC race that is popular and crowded enough to attract similar unwelcome attention.  I can honestly say that when I was running in that race (back in 2011), it never occurred to me that someone might attack the finish line.  I sort of thought I might faint at mile 8 and never actually see the finish line, but the idea of a tragedy of Boston marathon magnitude… nope, never entered my mind.  It sure will the next time I register for a big, popular race, though.

Last weekend, my sis-in-law and I lined up for the Healthy Strides Community 5K at Burke Lake Park in northern Virginia .  It was a tiny little community race – even tinier, probably, than it would otherwise have been because it was scheduled for the day before the Nike Women’s DC Half Marathon.  E’s goal was to run every step of the race.  My goal was to have fun and finish my first race as a mom with a smile on my face.  We both achieved our goals.

The race started at one of the picnic shelters and continued on shady park roads.  The 5K course was a simple out-and-back – a little hilly, but fun nonetheless, and with pretty lake and woodland views to distract the runners from their burnin’ lungs.  As I covered the course, I thought about how much I’ve missed this running community.  My last race was a freezing cold trail 5K over Valentine’s Day weekend in 2012; I spent the 3.1 miles wondering why I felt sick to my stomach and nearly collapsed at the finish line.  (Unbeknownst to me at the time, there was a microscopic little Peanut who had taken up residence and was making my stomach churn and my head swim throughout the race.)  I stopped running early in my pregnancy because it felt wrong, and later realized that it must have been my “mother’s intuition” speaking – and I was glad I had listened to that inner mama, when I was put on activity restrictions and then bed rest for pregnancy complications.

I’m not sorry I took that time off from running, because I needed to do it for Peanut, but I’m glad to be back now.  I missed the excited chatter at the start lines, the encouragement from fellow runners on the race courses, the volunteers who give up their weekend mornings to hand out water and shout things like “Good job, runners!” for hours, and especially, the burst of adrenaline and pride upon crossing the finish line (whether it’s a 3.1 or a 13.1).

I thought about Boston while I was running in this relaxed, low-key 5K.  I thought about the people who worked so hard, and logged so many miles, to get to the start line – and the finish line – that day.  My slow, plodding “icebreaker” 5K was for them.  I also thought about the journey I’ve personally taken over the past year – from pregnancy to delivery at 31 weeks, parenting in the NICU, and then finally getting some of the normal life I craved back.  I thought about the kind of mom I want to be – an active mom, who teaches her kids that it’s fun to get outside and move – and how this slow 5K was just the beginning of what I hope will be many, many years of demonstrating a healthy lifestyle for Peanut and her potential future siblings.  And I remembered how, when I was stuck on the couch trying unsuccessfully to hold Peanut in last summer, I yearned for the ability to do just this very thing: to go outside and put one foot in front of the other.

Yes, I really missed these people and this sport.  And I love that we’re all still here, still getting out there, still toeing the start lines and sprinting across finish lines.  A little community 5K in a northern Virginia park is no Boston marathon – no one would claim that it is – but when you’re standing at a start line, you feel solidarity with runners everywhere.  Fast, slow, beginner, advanced, new mom, old pro, we’re all friends and we’re all still here.  We’re in this thing together and we won’t be scared off.

I’m already looking out for my next race.