I wasn't by the finish line when it happened. I was in a car, glowing from my achievement 20 minutes away from Boston. I was drenched in sweat and adrenaline; the crowds' cheers was still ringing in my ears. The race had been beautifully tough and exciting, and as I watched the Boston skyline disappear from the rear view mirror, my thoughts turned from the race to catching my 5:40 flight. Knowing what I know now, I should have been thinking of something else.
I ate my recovery meal in the airport with my back turned to the TV. On a passing glance, I saw the footage of the Boston bombings, and recognized that I had been close to that exact spot a mere two hours ago. I wasn't directly affected by the tragedy, but I still felt like I was. I was connected by the fact that I was there; I traversed the course that day. All of the "what ifs" bounced around my brain and a sense of deep gratitude washed over me. What if I didn't have a 5:40 flight, and wanted to hang around the finish for a while? What if I got a cramp on mile 23 after Heartbreak and limped in around 4 hours? What if, what if, what if.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that such a turn of events would occur. Since our sport is built on some of the most basic principles, we falsely believed that it was immune to attack. Running is simple; it is one body against another, your training versus that of the opponent, and who is willing to give more on that day. Running epitomizes a healthy lifestyle and sportsmanship. No matter if you break the tape or finish last, you are a runner because you ran.
Why would anyone want to taint the best marathon experience in the United States? Many of us find ourselves searching for an answer that we'll never have.
The running and endurance community has responded in full force. There have been multiple Boston memorial runs in my area and all over the country, moments of silence before races from local 5K's to the London Marathon that took place on the weekend that followed. Addidas made a shirt that said "Boston stands as one" and will donate all of the proceeds to the One Fund Boston, Inc to help the victims and city to recover. Blue and yellow ribbons were distributed by various running stores and organizations. As we mourn the lost and attempt to help the injured, we as runners are the only ones who are also able to understand the impact on those who didn't finish the race. Of course, everyone who left Boston unscathed was extremely grateful to be healthy and able to run on for those who can't. But there was a sense of disappointment wafting through the air for those who undoubtedly trained so hard to stand at that start line in Hopkinton on April 15th, 2013. We know what it's like to pour your energy into a race, and the sting it leaves when it doesn't go as planned. The magnitude of Boston and the arduous qualification and registration process amplified the effect of the turn of events, both for those who finished and those who didn't. Luckily, the BAA acted quickly and graciously, helping to make the runners who didn't cross the line feel like they did.
As I sat in Boston Logan Airport that Monday, my phone buzzed with concern from friends and family, my fingers working a mile a minute to let everyone know that I was okay. The amount of people who reached out to me was outstanding. Although I was shaken up by the proposition of lingering danger in Boston, my heart was warmed by all of the love and support thrown my way. I spent the majority of my 3.5 hour flight back to Florida thinking not only about how lucky I was that I was safe, but also how blessed I am with so many people who care about me. It didn't seem to matter the level of interaction that I had with that person; they still took the time to make sure that I was okay.
Life has a funny way of reminding us that we take things for granted too often. In this case, I became tied to people that I hadn't spoken to in years by tragedy. The event was like a big web of rope, with some new knots being tied while others were tightened a bit. As humans, we bond together and seldom allow anyone to deal with hurt on their own. We have this inherent sense of cohesion in dark moments, working together to maintain equilibrium. Our best defense mechanism is each other, because we know that we can't do it on our own.
Even ten years from now, I will get the same wide-eyed look that I get now when I say that I ran the 2013 Boston Marathon. The footage and pictures of the turmoil will always remind me of how I was there 45 minutes before it was taken. Runners who have had the privilege to run Boston will tell you that you take a piece of the race with you; I've never believed this to be more true. I think that everyone who laced up that day will be tied by the tragedy, and running, of course.
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