Boston.

Our first child is named after a famous cyclist. Most people don't know that, and really, I wouldn't have known that his name is shared with a famous cyclist if it weren't for my cycling obsessed hubby. But since he started it, I'd toyed with the idea of naming other kids after my fitness obsession. A couple names crossed my mind-- Miles. Brooks.

Boston.

A little less than a year ago, I started training for my first marathon. Eventually, the race ended up not happening due to an injury, but as I was logging 35 miles a week, the idea of running a marathon became less of a fantasy and seemed so tangible. So plausible. Something that would happen, rather than something that might happen. And it still will happen. And while I was daydreaming about that day, I fantasized about getting to coveted BQ.

And when I do get the BQ, I'll be there. Every child I have, a gift I give myself after is a half marathon. And I had already envisioned that the gift I'd give myself after my final pregnancy would be a marathon where I would get my BQ, and our entire family would go out to see me race.

My sister texted me this morning. "Don't run the Boston Marathon."

Yesterday, I felt so much anger. So much distress. Never in a million years would it even have crossed my mind to fear for the safety of my husband and children as they waited at a finish line to support me in something that is so dear to who I am. Yesterday changed that. It forever changed that.

But it won't stop me. Whoever did this will not be allowed to take anything more than what has already been taken.

My heart is in Boston today.