I’ve spent the last ten weeks training for a series of half-marathons, calculating my mileage, planning routes, gathering information and support. As stories poured in from Boston, I am numb. Those last minutes of a race are exhilarating—to see the finish line, to wave to family, friends, even strangers who cheer. You feel like you can conquer the world. Then the moment erupts into a warzone… there is shrapnel, smoke, fire, blood. We walk away in shock—weeping…angry…horrified.

In the days that followed, we saw the results of training everywhere. The terrorists who had trained to hurt others. The emergency personnel rushed to the scene. The good Samaritan who gave away his medal to one who couldn’t finish. The hospital staff that treated (and are continuing to treat) the injured. The police and investigators who gathered thousands of hours of footage searching for the perpetrators.

Make no mistake, we’re all training for something.

I often feel like I let life happen to me. I click through the to-do-list and log my miles as needed, but too often, I run alone on auto-pilot. I want to set my own pace, stare straight ahead at my own goals, my own pace group, my own hopes. I need to look up more, look people in the eye, and smile.

Our habits matter. The little things we allow to shape our attitude and outlook matter. The people we give space and voice matter. We need each other.

Praying for Boston. Praying for us all as we run this race called life. It’s longer and shorter than we think.