Before I wrote this column Monday evening, I had to go for a run.
I had been sitting at my desk all afternoon and evening reading reports about the explosions that killed at least two people and injured hundreds of others near the finish line at the Boston Marathon. I held back tears as I viewed images taken by photographers of the gruesome scene, the sidewalks covered in blood.
Initially, I thought it had to be a hoax.
Why would anyone do something like this at one of our oldest, most prestigious running events?
It was unthinkable.