I'm shipping up to Boston. To find my wooden leg.
One month ago I was in Singapore. It was 3 in the morning and couldn't sleep. I opened randomly an Italian news website, and got the news.
A bomb at the Boston Marathon. At the arrival.
Who hasn't seen or run a marathon cannot understand. The arrival of a marathon is a sacred moment.
The father of Martin, one of the victims, probably had waken up at 5 am, four times a week, for the previous 6 months. Or maybe had sacrificed moments with his family. Everything to run for 42k 195m. To finish a 4h and something run. To see his son and his wife, proud of him.
The bombing did not just kill people. It was a terrorist attack. They attacked our world, the runners' world.
They told every Martin's father "do not run a marathon, do not bring your beloved ones with you".
My first thought was "we shall overcome". We shall overcome because we are soldiers.
The first marathon man was a soldier, announcing the defeat of the enemies. The war is over.
We, now, we are soldiers of peace. We announce our joy to the world. The relief of struggling, fighting, and reaching our goal.
Our joy is in the overcome of the pain. In the arrival which closes our journey. Our joy is in those who came to see us. Those who are just there and look at us like aliens.
I decided to run a marathon the day of the bombing. I'm going to Buffalo next weekend.
Today I'm in Boston. I had to come here and leave a flower. It's May 18, 2013, and I am visiting Boston to talk about my future.
My next future is the Buffalo marathon. Because we shall overcome.
