Yesterday found me happily reflecting back to a year ago, when I was driving in to work (miserably -- the only way I ever drove in to work), belatedly, bummedly realizing the marathon was taking place literally in my backyard, and I was going in to work so as to preserve a precious vacation day....
Fast forward to yesterday, in which I did some work at home, walked a block just in time to miss the lead male wheelchair marathoners, but in time to catch the rest of the wheelchair athletes and lead women and men, then to a cafe to work a little more (I sent my veterans' article in, y'all! it is progressing), back out for some awed marathon watching, back home for some more work. It's this life I love.
And the marathon only a block away ... things like this make me love my adopted home all the more. I can't watch the wheelchair athletes without nearly crying; they're so amazing. And the endless parade of running humanity as far as the eye can see in either direction is pretty mind blowing. It's the Boston Marathon. And it's in my backyard.
I also saw some packs of soldiers marching along the route with packs and full gear on. I found a soldier monitoring the edge of the course and asked him about it. He said they were doing ... um, think he said a "ruck march," something like that, where the soldiers march with 70-pound packs and full gear on. The first group I saw looked like slightly older soldiers, moving fast, a woman among them, and when I called out thanks to them, I got nods and thank-yous back. The second group looked younger, and in a little more pain. Thanks didn't get acknowledged there, whether because they didn't get it or weren't used to it or were too deep in their own worlds, I don't know.