The Boston Marathon and a PDX Bench 042222
From sex and family drama to work woes and hangovers, what's on your mind today? Day 53!
While I was on my short writing hiatus, a topic frequently on my mind was the Boston Marathon. Boston is a city I know and love, and this event holds a special place in my heart. Most of my family lives in Boston, my dad was born there and went to BU, and my close cousins ran the race half a dozen times in the 2010s. I’ve had the amazing honor of cheering them and other friends on from the sidelines a handful of times at Mile 10, Heartbreak Hill, and the infamous finish line. I’ve run on the course in fancy flats to give sweaty hugs to ex-boyfriends, and I’ve even been left with a baby at a bar around Mile 9 (another story for another time). For fairly obvious reasons this marathon means a hell of a lot to me. I SO hope next year I can go again, and it won’t seem like the challenging times we’re in now.
When the Boston Marathon Bombings happened, I was living in Portland, Oregon. I was sitting on a park bench outside my downtown office on the waterfront. I vividly remember dropping my tofu salad lunch while talking to my dad 3,000 miles away, and I felt more upset and disconnected from my family than I could have ever imagined. My friends and family were on Boylston Street that day, and just a year earlier, in the spot where the second bomb went off, my dad and family had cheered on my cousins as they finished the race. I felt helpless and lost, and it seemed no one in Portland could relate to the sadness I felt that awful day. I went back into work in a daze, unable to focus on anything except the latest news updates. Co-workers kept telling me to try and smile (as the office manager face). Impossible.
The picture (above) is one of my fondest memories of the Boston Marathon. My dear Uncle Steven (on the left) has passed, but I will never forget the after-party that day. He sat and talked with me and Mr. Snugs about New Orleans Jazz Fest. It was our next planned adventure after the marathon. Uncle Stevie was a guru to us, and he took the time to go through the JazzFest daily lineup online and guide us to what we should see, skip, and just do in the coming weeks in New Orleans. His daughter had just finished the freakin’ marathon, but he really made us feel like a priority. This was humbling to me, and incredibly loving. Here’s to Uncle Steven today and every single day.
What's on your mind today? Welcome to a space to reflect light on three things, and please share if you're comfortable doing so. Happy Friday, friends.
Such a beautiful post and tribute to your Uncle Steven. 🙏🌈 So important to spread your wings and see the world, but I was so relieved when you moved back to the Happy Valley. Here’s to Boston and Stevie!😍🌻💚
I have many fond memories of visiting Boston as a kid and going to dozens of great concerts there over the years, including Led Zeppelin and The Grateful Dead, both at The Boston Tea Party in 1969. Oh, sweet youth! I loved returning to Boston for the Marathon in more recent years, and I am forever blown away at the thought of my nieces running the 26.2 five times in the 2010s. Amazing! I am particularly struck by the nonchalance of your co-workers in Portland. Talk about empathy, those people, at least on the awful day, seemed to display none of it. But you've woven your Marathon stories together beautifully, with lots of heart and love for your Uncle Steven. Here's to Steven and to more happy days in the land of Boston Strong.