The meaning of the marathon

I live on Heartbreak Hill, the last of four slopes infamous for making the Boston Marathon one of the most challenging in the world. Every year as a kid, I would turn the corner with my family, set down a picnic chair on the bustling sidewalk of Commonwealth Avenue and watch the race in awe. As far as the eye could see in both directions, thousands of spectators would sit for hours, handing out water and orange slices to the runners. It was as if, in exchange for demonstrating to us the fortitude of the human body and spirit, we offered the runners a promise to see them through to the end. With thousands of outstretched hands for miles, the crowd seemed to say: We will not let you fall. With runners of all ages, sizes and nationalities competing, the participants told us in return: Everyone is capable of greatness. Watching the runners pass by, I imagined it was the outstretched hands of a stranger, more than the water itself, that carried them up the last hill — and then through to the heart of Boston, my home.

No words can do justice to the grief of the victims and their families or the senselessness of the tragedy. These memories now feel wounded, as if struggling to preserve a distant, fading childhood wonder. It feels as if national tragedies are increasingly calling into question the nature of this world, and whether it is the same one I knew as a child.

And yet, there are heroes. The marathoners who ran directly from the finish line to Massachusetts General Hospital to donate blood, the responders who charged toward the blasts to save lives, the families who opened up their homes to stranded racers — all are testament to the fact that this race is defined by the outstretched hand of spectator to runner, not by the blast that tore the two apart.

Beyond even the heroism of these individuals is the foundation upon which they act, the systems that channel their courage into coordinated, meaningful efforts. The hundreds of policemen, EMTs, doctors and volunteers at the scene worked as part of a greater whole, one underpinned by training, technology, communication and centuries of medical science. These advancements, in turn, were born out of the disparate actions of countless individuals spanning space and time, from scientists to teachers to engineers. Together, linked by yesterday’s tragedy, these efforts spell out a single message: We do not accept hatred.

In this moment of grief, we should also remember those who live in areas not equipped to deliver this kind of response, and who suffer such terror far more frequently. In the absence of this foundation, over a hundred people might have died yesterday. Instead, shocked, grieving and devastated beyond words, the city of Boston raced to help those in danger, carried forward by outstretched hands, determined to give the victims back their lives.

The wonder of the Boston Marathon transcends the movement of feet on pavement, the collective achievement of the runners, the majesty of the race itself. Fundamentally, the marathon is about human connection — over our limitations, our efforts to overcome them and how the kindness of strangers can lift us along the way. Yesterday’s attack strove to shatter that symbol. Like a runner on Heartbreak Hill, stretched nearly to the point of breaking, we have no choice but to push onward, carried forward by the thousands who have gone before us, fighting for the millions who have yet to come.

Daniel Gastfriend is a Wilson School major from Newton, Mass. He can be reached at dgastfri@princeton.edu.