Anger.

Boston. The image of Bill Iffrig being knocked down by the shockwave of the first blast -- I just kept crying because I was so worried about him. And my relief when I heard later that he was able to get up and walk across the finish line.

I kept worrying about what happened to the runners who hadn't gotten to the finish yet -- I had heard they were stopped, but didn't know where, etc. It was nice to read, this morning, that although they were stopped about half a mile from the finish, they were cared for by locals who rushed out with food, water, blankets, and clothing... and that they cared for each other in those frightening times.

I know quite a few people who were in Boston -- lots of people have their "I was there just the night before" sorts of stories. I wasn't there.

I have felt sorrow, confusion, and fear for the welfare of others. But now I just feel anger.

I'm angry because I don't know how Martin Richard's family can ever get over it.

I'm angry because I know how exhausting it is to run a marathon. And how happy you are at the finish. I'm angry because whoever did this took that away from my running brethren.

I'm angry because I love running races. And I love running races because I love running with others. Sure, sometimes I get grumpy at my fellow racers, those who perhaps are less gifted in their race etiquette (or spatial awareness...). But my endorphins essentially turn me into an "I love you man" sort of person by the end. I love being inspired by other people, their stories, their dedication. So I'm angry that someone messed with my people.

Someone asked Wil if he would consider running Boston -- or any major marathon in the future. In short -- of course. I would be honored to ever run Boston, but especially next year. And I will continue to race -- whenever and wherever I can. I'm not afraid. Not that I'm brave or anything like that. It's simple math -- chances are VERY SLIM anything like the attack in Boston will happen again, even slimmer that I would be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I will not stop running or racing. As long as I can move, I will race.

Don't let the bastards stop you from running.