Counting the Omer: Day Seven, Celebrating Boston

My mother always used to play golf on her birthday. It was part of how she established whether she was still alive and how good her quality of life was. When she was younger it was always 18 holes and she walked the course. When my father was gone, it was nine holes, with or without a cart. Later she would drive a bucket, but she was still playing golf. Still later it was mini-golf with her granddaughter. If she couldn’t play golf…well, then…

For her, golf and her birthday were a touchstone. Even when she was in the hospital, she dreamed of golf. Heaven was a golf course and she beat my brother, an almost impossible task. So driven (pun intended) was she to play golf, that at her funeral, we actually threw a golf ball into the grave. Hey, she may need it there in heaven!

Today was the Boston Marathon. One year after the horrific bombings. I have been anticipating this day for a long time. It seems like an important anniversary, a yahrzeit. Anita Diamant, author of the Red Tent and founder of Mayyim Hayyim and someone I am proud to call friend said it so well. http://cognoscenti.wbur.org/2014/04/15/yahrzeit-anita-diamant

But why am I affected? I don’t even live in Boston anymore. Because Boston is my city. Because I have run Boston five times. I lived in Boston for 30 years. I love that city. I love that race. I haven’t run it since 1987. Life intervened. I broke a leg. I had a kid. I was in car accident. Rabbinical school and business travel was its own kind of marathon. No matter where I was in the world, every year I sat on the couch and said, “I just want to run one more.” Usually I linked it to just showing Sarah that I really could do it. Last year was no exception. I sat on my couch, watching the start, saying, “Just one more.” Sarah said, “Why not?” and we began to make plans to run a tune-up race, the Disney Princess Half Marathon. We have now done that. Couch potatoes no more.

Today our day began with a run/walk. Together. 2.6 miles. 10% of the Boston Marathon. Only then could we watch. We watched it all. We cried. We laughed. We tracked friends of ours who were running for themselves. Friends who were running for charity. Friends who were running in honor or in memory of those who were so devastated by last year’s race. We planned other races we would like to do, separately and together. We made deviled egg ducks to look like the sculpture Make Way for Ducklings.

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And we wore blue, me my Boston Strong t-shirt.

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The Boston Globe ran a story on Sunday about marathoning and healing from trauma.http://www.bostonglobe.com/opinion/columns/2014/04/19/along-marathon-route-trauma-runs-its-course/jd3yEaAHKASjC77k3EruWL/story.html  I found it right on the money. And as a five time Boston Marathoner and a trauma survivor, I know every step they describe.

And here is the important thing. Boston survived. It is back stronger (and more beautiful) than ever. I have survived. I am back stronger (and maybe more beautiful than ever). Like my mother and her golfing, Marathon Monday has become a day to reflect on my life. I am still here. I am still a runner. I am still alive. Thank you Boston–even from a distance. Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha’olam, shehechianu, v’ki’imanu, v’higianu lazman hazeh. Praised are You, Lord our G-d, (my G-d), Ruler of the Universe who has sustained us (and me), and enabled us (and me) to reach this milestone.