BROOKLYN 13.1: IT WAS ALL ABOUT THE JOURNEY

When I set my alarm clock on Friday night, I was kind of hoping the battery on the cellphone
would die or malfunction before 3:45am around. I was emotionally spent after marking the fifth
anniversary of my father's death and covering an adrenaline-filled story for a local television
station. I didn't know where the energy to run the Brooklyn Half-Marathon was going to come
from.

3:45am arrived and my phone went off like a 5-alarm fire. Man, that was painful. I rolled out
of  bed with my running shorts already on. I didn't care. Anything to save time. I smelled like a
pair of socks that hadn't felt liquid Tide in two weeks, but I had no interest in taking a shower,
after all, I was going to run 13.1 miles, not trying to find a date for that night. A generous
stick of Old Spice and Crest would take care of that, anyway.

I looked in the mirror and saw something staring back at me that looked like it got hit upside
the head with a shovel. It wasn't pretty. Father Time caught me and is kicking my ass. I went downstairs, stuffed my face with the leftover pasta I chowed on the night before. Had to do
that carbo-loading thing. Still half-asleep, I wolfed down two bananas, a cold hamburger from
the fridge, and a pear. There's nothing scientific about my race day diet. I eat pretty much the
first thing I see. I stopped at a McDonald's drive-thru on the way to the race and stuffed
three pancakes (more carbs) and a piece of sausage down my throat like it was my last meal.

As I was making the 1.5 hour drive to Brooklyn at 4:30am, I said to myself, "What the hell are
you doing? You're 48 years old and going to run 13 miles in Brooklyn, New York. There's
nobody on the road and you're eating dry pancakes from McDonald's!"

I got down to lower Manhattan where I planned to park and then take the subway to Brooklyn
for the race. As I was looking for a spot, I passed a nightclub at 5:15am. A throng of 20-something partiers were coming out of night club. Boy, did I feel old. I'd much rather be in bed at this time
and these kids are just going home. I'm going to run a half-marathon, and they're going to get
laid. What's wrong with this picture?

I parked and made my way to the nearest subway station and quickly discovered I was heading
in the right direction. The platform was filled with people looking exactly like me. Jogging shoes,
shorts, IPod, Bib number already attached to shirt, and bottles of water in hand. It's 5:30am and
I was in great company with people who, like me, wanted to punish their bodies as the sun was
coming up. I didn't feel badly. I actually felt energized.

We all walked out of the subway an exited near the Brooklyn Museum. I had never seen so
many joggers in my life. It felt like the United Nations with Nike's on. Black, white, Asian,
Muslims, there was even two guys dressed up like Jake and Elwood who sported British accents.
This had all the makings of a great experience, and it was.

Nearly 20,000 people entered the race and took off around 7am. The Ethiopians were long gone
and out of sight by the time the mere mortals and weekend warriors crossed the starting line. I
cranked up my IPod and opened up the race to Jay-Z's, "Empire State of Mind". I found it
fitting because he's from Brooklyn and rapped about many of the places we'd be running through. It was easy to feed off the song and the energy of New York City. There is no place
like it.

The people's whose idea of exercise is watching people run, lined the streets to gaze at everybody
going by, perhaps laughing at all of us who chose to endure nearly two hours of pain on a Saturday
morning. I love people watching, and I got as much out of viewing the characters of New York
City as they got out of checking out 20,000 runners barreling through their neighborhoods while
sweating and writhing in pain. It'll take me a while to get the sight of an overweight,  frosty-
white man in nothing but a red, white, and blue speedo that was two sizes too small, out of my
mind. Right, it's NYC, what else did I expect.

My only goal on this day was to finish without injuring myself. I strained a calf muscle just
three weeks before the race and I was apprehensive every time my left foot landed and hit the
pavement. But I ran the first three miles of the race with a canyon-sized grin on my face. This
was fun and exhilarating. I took in the atmosphere, the faces, and all the charm of Brooklyn.
I can only imagine how great things were when it had the Dodgers and Ebbets Field.

After meandering our way through New York City's largest borough, we came down a highway
ramp that led to the final four miles of the race. It was nothing but a flat, straightaway, leading
to Coney Island and the finish line. This was my third half-marathon since March 24th, so my
body was accustomed to the pain and punishment that goes with a 13.1 mile race. I was hoping
for a 1:48 finish, which would have been a personal record. When I reached the boardwalk at
Coney Island, I checked my watch and saw that wasn't going to happen. But I didn't care. This
run was all about the journey. The 3:45am, the drive to NYC, the subway ride, and the 13.1
jaunt through Brooklyn. It was a great experience. Running in the Big Apple is simply awesome.

I crossed the line in the amusement park at 1:53:04, which came out to be 8:38 per mile. Out of
21, 378 runners, I was the 7, 908th to cross the line. Finishing 7,908 never felt so good. I saw
some of the pictures taken of me on-line early Sunday night, and I, well, I didn't look so good.
The pain on my face said I was laboring with quintuplets. Nobody ever looks good with pain
on their face.

Inside though, I felt great. It wasn't about the ending, but rather the journey, and it was awesome.

'BRUIN' SOMETHING SPECIAL IN BOSTON

If you've never been to Boston, get there before you're too old to fully enjoy it. If you're in the
sports media, try to get a job there because one hasn't truly covered sports until they do it in this
town. There is no place on earth that can match Boston's charm, education, energy, diversity,
sports, and most of all history. Ever since Paul Revere bolted from out of the gates in Boston
for Lexington in 1775 to warn everybody that the British were coming, the city has been a
magnet for unbelievable events, both good and bad.

On April 15th, two bombs rattled the city to its core during the beloved Boston Marathon. It was
a devastating blow that knocked not only Boston, but the entire region flat on its back. This was
the worst event on its home turf, one that tested the resolve and spirit of a city that has great pride
and people fiercely loyal to it. But Boston is strong and resilient and it's well on it's way to
recovering.

Another chapter was added to annals of the city less than a month later, as the Bruins pulled off
a remarkable comeback in the NHL playoffs on Monday night. I realize that sports is not life and
any event pales in comparison to what happened at the Boston Marathon, but there are some
parallels between the two, and things to be admired. And in terms of sports, this was big, really big.

The Bruins were down 4-1 in the third period of Game 7 of the playoffs. The Fat Lady wasn't
singing, but she had the vocal cords humming and Toronto's bus was warming up outside the arena. Keep in mind, no team in NHL history has ever come back from a three-goal deficit in the
final period to win the deciding game.

Flat on its back, the Bruins mirrored the passion, energy, and dogged resiliency the entire city
showed in the aftermath of the bombings. They, like Jeff Bauman, who lost both legs in the horrific
event, didn't sulk, quit, or feel sorry for themselves. They stood strong, just as Bauman has done,
in the face of adversity, when all seemed lost. If they were going to go down, they were going to
go down having squeezed every ounce of energy they had left in their tanks.

The Bruins trailed 4-2 with just under 90 seconds to go. There was NO WAY they could possibly
come back and tie it. They not only tied it, but Pierre Bergeron's goal in overtime won it for them.
The city, which is still very much in mourning and pain, let loose. The celebration was like a
power cleanse that led to total euphoria.  This was another great  moment in a sports town overflowing with them. This electrified a city still recovering from a  broken heart. This
comeback allowed the city to pump up their chests and yell out, "We are wicked Boston Strong!"

With all that's happened to Boston in the last month, one has to begin to wonder if this is all
part of a bigger plan. A moment like last night, which wreaks of destiny, has a way of powering
a team and a city to much bigger and greater things.

This script could have an ending produced straight out of Hollywood. The Bruins hoisting the
Stanley Cup and then parading down Boylston Street, the same one rocked by two bombs. It
would show everybody that the city is truly Boston Strong and nothing, not even two terrorists
could rip it apart.

Yes, the city is still hurting and the pain may never truly go away. But a championship could
provide more relief for city and all the victims. It could be another way to honor those who
lost their lives.

The team is still 12 wins away from making that happen, but the amazing comeback win has
galvanized the city and something tells me, there's something special 'bruin' for a town that
is truly special.

I AM BOSTON

I am Boston. Last Monday was the worst day of my life. Terrorists set off two bombs trying
to wreck my beloved marathon. I lost three beautiful people in Martin Richard, Krsytle Campbell, and Lu Lingzi. Almost 200 more were injured, many of them badly. I was shaken to my core,
but I am strong and still standing.

I am Boston and I learned a lot about myself and others over the last week.

I used to think courage was Tedy Bruschi coming back from a stroke to play for the Patriots,
but my police department, as well as the one from Watertown showed me the true meaning of it.
Those two terrorists sprayed them with bullets and threw bombs at them, but they stood tall in
the face of evil and brought them to justice.

I thought bravery was Terry O'Reilly of the Bruins taking on the biggest, baddest, and meanest
guys in the NHL and beating them silly with his fists. I was wrong. Bravery is defined by the first-responders, who put others ahead of themselves, even though danger was still very much in the air. Carlos Arredondo, the man in the cowboys hat, pulled fencing off the victims and saved the life of Jeff Bauman by pinching his femoral artery so he wouldn't bleed out. How incredible is that?

I once thought precision was Pedro Martinez of the Red Sox painting the black of the plate with
95-mile an hour fastballs. That's absurd to me now. Precision is the coordinated effort of the FBI, S.W.A.T teams, state and local police. They used a robot to rip the tarp off a boat and thermal imaging to confirm suspect #2 was in there. Truly amazing.

I am Boston and if you mess with my city again, you will pay the price. Our people will hunt you
down, kill you, capture you, and take away your freedom forever.

I am Boston and I watched Ted Williams, Bobby Orr, Larry Bird, and Tom Brady grow up and become legends. I'm not impressed with anything less than greatness, and the performance of all
those law enforcement officials, first-responders, and volunteers was wicked awesome. Greatness personified.

I am Boston and I used to be self-reliant and standoffish. If I had a problem and outsiders wanted
to help, I'd say, "I'm good. I can handle it myself. Don't worry about it." But this time, I was
hurting and you were still there to help me. Thank you.

I am Boston and I know that I'm not always easy to like. I have the best sports teams, colleges,
restaurants, and even Fenway Park, the cathedral of baseball. Some of my people are arrogant
and more sandpaper than satin. They can rub out-of-towers the wrong way. There's a reason
some of them are called Massholes. I understand. This tragedy is sure to make me a little kinder
and gentler. I hope some of those people follow my lead.

I am Boston strong and now I'm even stronger. This tragedy has brought everybody in this
great city closer together. We have a bond that can't be broken and a spirit that can't be shattered.

I am Boston and next year, my marathon will be better than ever. People will come from all over
the world to honor the victims of the tragedy. Thousands of people will come to applaud the
first-responders and law enforcement officials. It will be the biggest and most important event
of the year.

I am Boston and I love David Ortiz. He, like most of the people in my city, speaks from the heart.
He was talking my language on Saturday. Nobody can take away our freedom, our marathon,
and happiness. F*#K*@G, nobody.

2014 BOSTON MARATHON: BIGGER THAN SUPER BOWL

Gerry Callahan, the talented columnist for Boston Herald, wrote shortly after the Boston Marathon
bombing, the terrorists blew a hole into the great race and Patriots,Day saying that it would never
be the same. He is right, the Boston Marathon won't be like it used to be. It will be better, stronger, and more important than ever before.

On April 21, 2014, the 118th edition of the race will be run and it will be the biggest and most important event of the year. It will be bigger than the Super Bowl, Final Four, and the Masters.
Getting into the race for a runner, will be more difficult than it is for a woman to get a
membership to Augusta National. People from around the world will come to honor the victims
and first responders and they won't even have to buy a ticket to get in.

They will come to applaud law enforcement officials who showed incredible bravery and courage
in hunting down the terrorists.There will be more media credentials requests for this Boston Marathon than the World Series. Everybody will want to be part of what will now be a great American event.

Let's face it, the Boston Marathon and Patriots Day, had given the city another reason to party. It
was a day off from work to watch the Red Sox, support runners in the marathon, drink, and drink
a lot. It had been a tradition unlike any other, even the Masters. If you've been to Boston on that
day, you know how special it is. It's like being plugged into an electric outlet for five hours.

But the Boston Marathon and Patriots Day means a helluva lot more now, than it did before April
15, 2013. It will be another reminder that our freedom and our way of life can be attacked. It's another statement that says evil is always lurking around the corner, whether it be on Newbury
Street or in Newtown. And it'll be a billboard about Boston's resilience and strength.

Next April,  Boston will step up and tell the world that, "yeah, we were hurt and shaken to the core
but we are strong and still standing. If you want to mess with our marathon, you will pay the price.
We will hunt you down, kill, capture, and take away your freedom for good."

And in the words of David Ortiz they will tell the world that this is "our F#@K*#$ marathon and
our city. And it will be better than ever before."

BOSTON BOMBING: THE SOCIAL MEDIA HUNT IS OFF AND RUNNING

At close to 5:15pm on Thursday, the FBI lifted the black items that had been covering two
large poster boards resting on an easel in a Boston hotel room. In a way, it felt like the
old game show, "Let's Make A Deal", where contestants and viewers at home were directed
by Monty Hall to see what was behind door number one, two, or three.

The anticipation and tension was palpable, with everyone on the edge of their seats, especially

after CNN, Fox, and the AP botched and just embarrassed themselves a day earlier, saying
there had been an arrest in the Boston Marathon bombing case.

But this was no game show and  Rick DesLauriers was not Monty Hall. This was more like
"Let's Make These Guys Pay," and it touched off the biggest manhunt on U.S. soil in more
than 15 years.

DesLauriers, the head of the FBI's Boston office, unveiled pictures of "suspect 1" and "suspect 2"
causing a collective gasp among reporters, photographers, and viewers at home. This was not a
case of a lone wolf, but a carefully thought out attack on innocent people. Faces were pinned to
an evil act that caused three deaths and injured more  than 170 people in a fiercely proud city
that loves sports, politics, but most of all revenge.

Thanks to Facebook, Twitter, and an entire social media network that seems to run on crack, this
manhunt will be unlike any other we have ever seen. Within seconds of the FBI's announcement,
the pictures and video were downloaded and posted for the entire world to see.

CSI-wannabe's everywhere were dissecting the suspects movements and clothing as if it was
their most important and only job. Comments on Facebook said suspect number 2 was
bowl-legged and a friend recognize him instantly. Bridgestone golf hats were copied and
pasted from sporting good websites for comparison of the hat suspect number one was wearing. Through Twitter, the  FBI had already received more than 10,000 tips by 10pm.

It seems like the entire world is investigating the case right along with the FBI and Boston law

enforcement officials. When the FBI asked for people's help in identifying the suspects, it seemed
like a good excuse to make it our full-time jobs. Facebook and Twitter have given people a
platform to pontificate, investigate, and commentate. Theories abound on where they're from,
where did they go and how did they get there. And because this world that has gotten so much smaller because of social media, somebody will know somebody somewhere who knows one
of the suspects, and then tweet it across the Twittershpere.

A picture will be posted on Facebook somewhere at sometime and someone might recognize
one of the suspects and call the FBI. Again, the world has gotten so much smaller thanks to
all these social media networks and there really isn't that many places to hide.

This case is fascinating and scintillating. We never saw video of Eric Rudolph going to
plant  the bomb in Centennial Park during the 1996 Atlanta Olympics and there was nothing instantaneous about  the information we got about it because there wasn't any called social media back then. The nation saw video of several of  the hijackers of 9/11 pass through airport
security, but that was long after they committed their despicable acts and had perished.

We have seen video of these suspects minutes before they committed their senseless and evil
crime. We see how they look and how they act and the confidence they demonstrate with bombs
on their backs.

And this is different. This is a different world that uses social media for every piece of information
it can possibly digest. Three days after the Boston Marathon bombing, just about the entire
world has seen the video of these suspects. They are out there somewhere. They have friends
who will rat them out. Somebody in Spain might have a picture on their phone that looks like
one of the suspects and they will send it instantaneously to the United States to see if it matches
up with the ones in the video. It happens. And this case might end like never before.

The suspects  are running in a world that isn't so big anymore thanks to all the social media vehicles.

This is a manhunt that is probably going to end quickly, and a big reason for it might just be
because of social media.

CARLOS ARREDONDO: THE MAN IN THE COWBOY HAT

The image and story of Carlos Arredondo and Jeff Bauman have been seared into my
consciousness forever. Arredondo, the man in the cowboy hat, trying desperately to save a
person who, in an instant, became just like him: damaged, broken, and forever scarred by
unthinkable tragedy.

Bauman, just 27-years old, was waiting for his girlfriend to cross the finish line in the Boston
Marathon. Turns out, he was in right place at the wrong time, as a bomb exploded, ripping his
legs apart. Arredondo, who was sitting across the way in the VIP  section, rushed to his side
and saw wounds on Bauman that were as big as the emotional ones that ripped out his heart
nine years earlier.

In 2004, Arrandondo's 20-year-old son, Alex, was killed during the war in Iraq. It was August
25th, the same date as the elder Arrendondo was born. That was too cruel, too painful, and too
much for Arrendondo to handle. Three Marines came to his home in Florida to notify Carlos
of his son's passing. Carlos was so distraught, he jumped into the van of the Marines, doused
himself with gasoline and lit a torch. He suffered second and third-degree burns on 25 percent
of his body.

Seven years later, as Carlos was coming out of his battle with depression, his other son, Brian,
lost his fight against his. Brian was depressed, the loss of his brother too much to overcome.
At just 24-years-old, Brian took his own life.

They say no parent should ever have to bury a child, to have to say good-bye to two of them,
especially when they are so young, is beyond cruel. The guilt, thoughts, and questions about
whether you had done enough to prevent a son from committing suicide would be too much to
bear for most people, but as we saw on Monday, Carlos, the man in the cowboy hat, is not like
most people.

According to reports, he talked to Bauman as the lower parts of his legs had been blown apart.
The injury to Louisville's Kevin Ware was minor compared to what Arredondo was seeing.
But unlike Ware's teammates, he did not cry and turn away as an injured man lay helplessly
on the ground. He wrapped a tourniquet around Bauman's leg to stop the bleeding and lifted
him into a wheelchair. Shocked, his face ashen, Bauman was in jeopardy of bleeding out.
Arrendondo reached down and pinched the artery in his leg to help stop the blood from
gushing out.

Bauman made it to the hospital where doctors saved his life, but couldn't do the same for
his legs. Both were amputated, his life changed forever. Bauman and Arredondo lost something
they can never get back. Arredondo lost two sons, Bauman lost both of his legs.

Arrendondo somehow found the strength to move on and focused on becoming a peace activist
and working with families who lost loved ones to suicide. Odds are, Bauman will find depression
staring him in the face. Losing both legs, will be a major adjustment and one that will test his
resolve and resiliency. But he only has to look at the man who helped save his life for inspiration.

I can't help but think how the picture of Arredondo helping wheel Bauman in his chair reminds
me of Dick Hoyt , who has pushed his son through more than 30 marathons in a wheelchair. The strength, character, and heart of Hoyt can't be measured , but his courage and selflessness were immortalized in a statue that was unveiled before the race.

Perhaps, when Boston gets pasts the horrific tragedy that happened on April 15, 2013, they can
add a statue of Arredondo and Bauman to its streets. They are two men, linked forever like Dick
Hoyt and his son. They are a symbol of heart, courage, and perseverance that never should be forgotten.

BOSTON, MY BOSTON

Boston is like a powerful and addictive drug. It stimulates, energizes, and consumes you.
It's electric every day and makes you feel alive as it enriches all five of the senses. The world-class city is rich in everything: history, tradition, politics, education, the arts, but most of all, sports.

As I've written many times, Boston is the best sports city in the country, bar none. The Red Sox,
Celtics, Bruins, and Patriots have won seven world championships since 2001 and the hockey team
at Boston College has captured three national titles during that stretch. Bobby Orr, Larry Bird, and
Ted Williams have been forever stitched into the fabric of Boston and Fenway Park is the crown jewel of the city as the cathedral of baseball.

Fenway Park was my home away from home for more than a year when I worked at NESN, whose
offices were located just outside of the famous Green Monster. As a sports junkie all my life, I felt I had the greatest job in the world and was like a kid in a candy story, covering sports every day in
Boston.

I never got to cover the Boston Marathon, but I did get to experience and fully enjoy it. My studio
apartment, which was so small I had often joked I had to sleep standing up, was located at the
epicenter of the city. I walked out the front door onto Newbury Street. If I decided to go out the
back way I could fall onto Boylston Street, which was the home stretch of the 26.2 mile race.

It's an event like no other, filled with smiles, laughter, and often several alcoholic beverages. This
was living, I often said to myself. This was the marathon and Patriots Day, a day like none other
anywhere in America.

It will never be the same after Monday's events. Two bombs went off near the finish line killing
three people and injuring more than 140 others. A perfect day interrupted by evil. There was
chaos, confusion, and mass casualties. The race was intended to honor the victims of the Newtown
tragedy with many of the parents of those small children killed in that horrific event sitting in the
VIP section across from the first explosion. How terrible, how tragic, and how unfair is that?

The Boston Marathon will never be just the Boston Marathon anymore. Like Newtown, it will
always have a story of  a great tragedy attached to it. The event was so perfect, so right, and so
very pure. It's a day of a million smiles, which all have been turned upside down by someone or
some group whose goal was death and destruction.

The spirit may be sucked out of this great city for the next few days or even weeks, but it will
recover. As President Obama so eloquently stated, the people of Boston are tough and resilient.
They have dealt with great heartbreak before and have bounced back. This tragedy hurts like no
other. An 8-year-old boy was killed just moments after hugging his dad who ran past his
entire family to complete the race. This wasn't fair. It was pure evil. Pure madness.

Boston is in my blood and in my heart. I have so many great memories from my time living and
covering sports there. It is strong and rich in character.It will take time, but it will recover. The Boston Marathon will never be the same again, but the people of the great city will. They will
bounce back. I'm sure of it.