Radio Silence

None of my runners are in the Boston this year.

I never thought I’d be relieved to say that.


2 thoughts on “Radio Silence

    • It’s renting space in my head. Cheap and self-centered as it may sound, this makes it personal. Terror attacks have been with us for a while. I’m not a British national threatened by the IRA. I’m not an Israeli wondering if some Palestinian has a bomb strapped to her. I’m not a postal employee worrying about anthrax, I’m not a New Yorker, I would never have been allowed into the area that became the Pentagon fireground, I don’t fly on planes any more, I’m not an academic that the Unabomber thought of as the enemy. But this sick fuck or fucks set off bombs at the Queen of Races, and I’m not even a runner, I capsize and throw up if I try to actually run (vs. Speedwalk, which I will do as long as you like); still — people were competing, not against each other but against an iconic racecourse, just as I vie with big weights; as George Sheehan said:

      I was moving in a sea of lactic acid, lifting legs that no longer understood what made them move. My breathing came in short, inadequate gasps, but my body no longer cared… Man’s limits are not simply in his cells or even in his brain.

      These people. These are the saints of the religion of will over flesh, of flesh hammered into the instrument of Will. To assail them and their race is not only terrorism, it’s sacrilege; if it isn’t, in fact, always sacrilege to break human beings in this way.

      I cry at odd times.

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