A Letter to the Bomber(s) of the Boston Marathon

Dear Asshole(s),

First of all, please forgive the vitriolic tone of this letter.  But you see, Boston is to distance runners what Jerusalem is to Jews (and Christians and Muslims, for that matter) – it is our holy land.   And the finish line of the Boston marathon is our most sacred spot – it is our altar.  I do not take kindly to people bombing my altar.

So I’m sure you can see why I’m a little upset.  I’m upset for my friend Jay Holder who went to Boston to run the marathon and then celebrate, but instead of a post-race celebration, he had to go to work as a journalist to report on your dastardly act.  I’m upset for the winners Rita Jeptoo and Lelisa Desisa Benti whose incredible achievements will be overshadowed and forgotten by your evil deed.  But most of all, I’m upset, furious really, for the innocent victims that lost their lives, including 8-year-old Martin Richard, due to your insidious act of cowardice.

Just what were you hoping to accomplish?  Were you trying to frighten marathoners everywhere?  Hoping we would cower in fear?  Because let me tell you something, we’re a pretty tough and fearless lot.  I don’t know if you could attack a tougher, less fearful, group.  I know a runner who once stepped in a mound of fire ants and then busted his head open on an overpass and kept right on running, during a training run.  I have experienced or witnessed firsthand runners stung by hornets, attacked by birds of prey, surrounded by packs of pit bulls, hit by cars, blocked by 400-pound beasts obstructing their path, and much, much more, and in every case, the runners continued to run. We’ve run up and down mountains in the middle of the night, through rivers, across deserts, during blizzards and hail storms and 100+ degree heat, etc. etc. etc.  And you expect us to be afraid of the likes of you, some coward that hides behind garbage cans? Bomber, please.

Allow me to summarize: Fuck you.  We will not be deterred.  Next year, some 27,000 of my closest friends and I will triumphantly, fearlessly, run down Boylston Street, hopefully while you are simultaneously being gang-raped and shanked in the federal penitentiary.  I hope you can see the race live on television from your prison cell so you can see me flip you off as I cross the finish line.  Because we will be there and we will run and neither you nor any of your stupid, evil friends will stop us.  We will jog it out.  We will jog it the fuck out.

Sincerely,

Allen Strickland