Sad, but not silent.

When something like this happens, the tendency is for people to say, "I'm speechless," or "Nothing but thoughts and prayers for the injured," or "There are no words."

Oh. I have words. Lots of them.

Like many women my age, I have lots of responsibilities. I have a full-time job. I have two children who are involved in many activities. I have a husband who has a demanding job.

From the minute I get up at 5:30 until the minute I fall asleep in the recliner (somewhere around 11:30), I am on the move. I am with people. I am doing things others ask me to do and I am doing the things that I have to do.

But not when I'm running.

Running is the only time I'm free. Free of responsibilities. Free of requests. Free of questions.

For 30 minutes, an hour, two hours, I am by myself. Sometimes, on particularly trying days, I run much longer and much farther than I would have normally just so I can be alone.

I am angry at the person or persons who committed this horrible act today. For the deaths, for the injuries, for the fear. I am furious that for years to come, one of my first thoughts when I line up at a race will be of this attack.

But I refuse to be scared. I will not live a life of fear.

I will continue to go to ballgames and concerts. I will happily visit national monuments and public parks.

And I will run. With every step, with every mile, I will trample upon your contemptuous act. I will run for those who completed the marathon and now have this memory to deal with. I will run for those who died in the attack, and for those who were injured. I will run in an attempt to stifle the visions the survivors saw of the mangled and injured. I will run in support of the first responders who ran to the explosion when everyone else ran away.

I will run.