When your last blog post is titled "Pedialyte and Peanut Butter", it feels awkward to write down my feelings about the tragedy that occurred today in Boston. It's much easier to write about your dog doing dumb stuff and posting funny pictures. Here goes anyways...

A marathon is 26.2 miles. I couldn't run that far in a week. I can only imagine how amazing the feeling must be to cross the finish line of an event like the Boston Marathon. Today was supposed to be a celebration for the thousands of people that completed this test of physical endurance. Instead, our nation is mourning after two explosions occurred 600 feet before the finish line.

The first image I saw of the bombing was from one of my twitter followers. It clearly showed a person whose entire leg from the thigh down had been ripped off, blood freely flowing from the wound. Instantly I became sick to my stomach. It's almost 9pm right now and the sickness in my stomach hasn't gone away. Why? I've seen plenty of horrific images in my life.

Tonight I think I figured it out. It would be a tragic story to hear about a runner being killed 600 feet before finishing the race of their life. But then I realized that it would be much more gut wrenchingly sad to find out your loved ones, including your children, were killed on the sidelines while cheering you on.