It has been a weird week, and my emotions have run the gamut. From excitement, nervousness and joy (before 2:50 p.m. on Marathon Monday) to shock, confusion, sadness and anger…to list a few.
It all seemed very surreal for the first couple of days, but then raw emotion began to break through. I didn’t feel the least bit of fear until Friday (yes, quite the delayed and off-timed reaction) as I watched the intense and crazy car chase/manhunt/lockdown/shootout take place all over the greater Boston area; watching this all unfold on the news from safely here at home, it finally hit me that we (my husband and I) may have actually been in/near some real danger at any point.
I finally began to feel really angry about it all on Saturday. But through the entire past week, even beginning before the bombings that changed everything, the one emotion that has been constant and most powerful has been an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I want to express some of that gratitude here, as it will forever be the feeling that I most associate with my Boston 2013 experience.
The picture was snapped just a couple of minutes before the bombs exploded. I am so glad that we captured this moment and the joy on our faces before our expressions changed so dramatically in an instant. Notice how crowded the streets are through the reflection in the window behind us.
I am so grateful that I found my husband, Aaron, when I did. We had been together for only about five minutes when the bombs went off, and then they flushed people out of the designated family meet-up area and this street cleared out very quickly. Aaron’s cell phone battery was dead and I would have had no way to contact him and no idea where to even begin looking for him. The already intensely crowded area became very confusing and chaotic after the explosions. We would have both had a very different, much worse and scarier experience if we had not already been together when everything went wrong.
Even before it all went up in smoke, I was grateful just to be in Boston. I had worked my tail off for a very long time to finally qualify, and then trained my booty off for Boston itself, so I was super grateful just to be there. I know that every good thing comes from God, and I have long been in the habit of thanking Him everyday both for my health and for the ability to run, because it is something that brings me joy and I know that not everyone can do it. I was also grateful to my very willing and capable mom for taking such good care of our three boys while we were away.
Boston, though my seventh marathon, was my first big city marathon and it was definitely a different…but very positive…experience. Everything about Boston was a positive experience for me…until 2:50 p.m. Monday, of course…even though I didn’t run the marathon in my goal time, or even PR (set a personal record). I thoroughly enjoyed meeting runners from all over the world at church in Cambridge the day before the race, at the pasta dinner the night before, on the bus ride the to the Athletes’ Village in Hopkinton the morning of, and everywhere in between (spotting those bright blue and yellow jackets on the streets, in the stores and in the subways was so much fun)! In the days before the marathon, even random Bostonians were so quick to offer a cheerful “good luck!” It was clear they were happy hosts of the world’s oldest and arguably most prestigious 26.2.
I am so grateful that 2013 was an anomaly in that it was the first year in five or six years that several of my running friends and acquaintances were not running Boston. It was very unusual that I only knew one friend, from Las Vegas, running this year (who thankfully was safe, although she was unable to cross the finish line). I am grateful that none of my many, many other running friends across the country were in any danger at Boston this year. I have a feeling they’re be there in swarms next year, though!
I felt very confident during training that I was capable of running my goal time of a sub 3:30, and in the very least a PR. I trained hard and I felt the fitness was there. But with running, just as in life, nothing is guaranteed. For whatever reason, I could tell from the moment I started the race that my legs were not fresh. This was obviously an immediate concern, but I figured I would just take the first couple of miles slow and see if my legs would feel better after warming up for a bit. Somewhere within the first five miles I came to the very realistic conclusion that this was simply not going to be my day for a sub 3:30 marathon, so I adjusted my goal and decided I would simply work to hold the pace I was currently running…around 8:10…and that I might hopefully be able to still barely squeak out a PR and another BQ (Boston qualifier).
Even as this marathon turned out to be a much more difficult run than I was anticipating, I kept a feeling a gratitude at the front of my mind. I was grateful to be running this historic and world famous course. I was grateful for the perfect running weather. I was grateful for the orange slices and bananas that were offered by…and which I took from…random strangers along the course as I had completely screwed up my fueling plan. I was grateful that even as my fueling “plan” quickly dissolved into no plan at all and became completely spontaneous and erratic, I was able to somehow manage to avoid totally bonking!
As I made my way up Heartbreak Hill, I was grateful to know I was almost done with the Newton hills and getting ever closer to Boston. I was grateful to be sharing the course with so many other dedicated, focused runners from all over the world who were sharing this experience…both exhilarating and excruciating…together, and for the energy borne of that camaraderie. I was so grateful for the thousands of amazing and super enthusiastic spectators who lined the entire 26.2 miles and kept me smiling (inside, mostly) and from whom I drew so much energy. I was grateful for the support of my family…especially my sweet little boys…who I knew I couldn’t let down. It was the thought them praying for me that kept me pushing hard through those killer final miles when my legs, heavy and hurting from all of the downhill, made me desperately want to slow or stop and walk; I knew that I had to stay strong so that I could honestly tell my boys that I had done my very best.
I crossed the line at 2:03 p.m., finishing in 3:37:47 (an 8:18 average pace), and was so grateful and relieved to be done! I did not run my goal time, nor did I even PR (three minutes slower than my previous marathon and a little under three minutes shy of another BQ), but I was not too disappointed; in fact, I was actually quite thrilled at the time I pulled out considering how difficult the experience had been, especially compared to my just previous marathon that had felt so easy in comparison. I was confident in knowing that I had run the best I was capable of on that course on that day, and I’m grateful for that. And then of course, when everything changed at 2:50, my time and the marathon seemed so inconsequential anyway.
I am so grateful that I finished 47 minutes before the bombs, because it took almost that long to make my way through the finishing corral, retrieve my bag and find Aaron. We were sitting only about three blocks away (and around two corners) from the finish line, but we couldn’t see anything associated with the bombs or the havoc and terror that they caused. The streets were lined with tall buildings and filled with thick crowds; we didn’t even see any smoke. We did hear the blasts though, and I immediately pointed at the clear blue sky and looked at Aaron in confusion and said, “Thunder?” He said, “No, those sounded like explosions.” Then he left to try to figure out what had happened, but he couldn’t get more than a block and a half away; they weren’t letting anybody through. I sensed that Aaron felt very frustrated and helpless, not being able to jump in to access the situation and render assistance.
After I had stopped running, I was so sore that I could barely walk (really slowly and in a lot of pain) for a block or two at a time before having to stop for a bit to rest. After the explosions we made our way away from the commotion and ducked into a restaurant for a while so I could rest and get something hearty to eat, and we could think about how to get out of the city. When we realized that we were going to have to walk the nearly four miles back to our hotel in Somerville (because they had shut public transit down), I was suddenly able to walk at a slightly quicker pace and without so much pain. I did finally get lazy after a little over two miles and sat down in Cambridge, insisting that if Aaron wasn’t positive we were going in the right direction then I wasn’t going to risk just wandering aimlessly. So I waited on a deserted street for about 30 minutes while Aaron walked the remaining distance to the hotel and then came back with the car to pick me up. I am so grateful that I was able to make that walk without difficulty! Once back at the hotel, the soreness was again making just a simple walk down the hall painful. It was a blessing that I was able to make that walk, which actually in turn probably really helped to speed my recovery.
It wasn’t until we were back at the hotel (a good few hours after the explosions) and had turned on the news that we realized the true gravity of the situation and the extent of the horror. Then it all became just very surreal. So grateful we made it out safely. Our prayers are with those who were not so fortunate.
It was a very tender reunion with our boys on Tuesday night. The first words out of our eight and six-year-olds were: “I’m so glad the bomb didn’t get you,” and, “I’m so glad you didn’t explode!” The three of them had drawn welcome home signs and pictures depicting bombs exploding at the finish line with runners triumphantly overcoming not just the marathon, but miraculously remaining immune to the explosions as well.
All of the things I was already grateful for…life, health, being able to run, my devoted husband and my sweet, darling boys, good friends, and everything else…became all the more precious when put in the perspective of the terrible, devastating way the Boston Marathon ended this year.
