Processing: The Boston Marathon 2013

Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.  Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.  With my earplugs in, I blocked out all sound save the sound of my breath released into the water.  It felt good to move my sore muscles and I allowed my body to be buoyed by the cool water, weightless, the way my soul longed to feel.  Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.  Counting laps I could clear my mind of everything else.  If only for a moment.    

It was meant to be a perfect day.  Perfect weather forecast.  Wonderful city.  The biggest marathon on the planet if you're talking hype and prestige.  We were just so happy to be there and be part of it.  The morning started out like any other race morning.  We got up, did our business, and scurried out of the hotel to walk the mile or so to Boston Common to catch the shuttle bus to the start line.  On our way, we passed what would be our finish line a few short hours later. 

Finish line at first morning light.  Monday, April 15, 2013

It was such a beautiful site.  I'm superstitious in that I won't walk across the finish line until I cross it at the end of the race, but you can see other athletes walking up close to get a good look.  Everyone was anticipating a perfect race.

We shuttled to Athlete's Village 26 miles away in Hopkinton, MA.  Here, you wait for a couple of hours until it's your turn to stage at the start line.  With 27,000 runners on some narrow country streets, they send us all off in waves beginning with the elite women at 9:30 AM, and ending with the final wave at 10:40 AM.  My wave, wave 2, was set to run at 10:20 AM.  My husband qualified with a faster time, but elected to run with me for fun, so he started side by side with me in Corral 6 in the second wave of runners. 

My friend CL was running her very first Boston Marathon, having qualified 16 months earlier after enduring a personal tragedy that motivated her to a very fast PR at the 2012 PF Chang's RNR Marathon.  We were able to track her down in Athlete's Village and agreed to give her a shout out when we passed her on course. 

Athlete's Village

Despite the cool morning forecast, by the time race start neared, we were warming up nicely.  The BAA does an incredible job with Athlete's Village, providing bagels, water, coffee, Gatorade, PowerBars, etc that might be necessary during the wait.  Shortly before 10 AM, we began our walk to the start line about 3/4 mile away.  By the time we reached our corral, we had a few short moments and then we were off. 

The first 10k of the course are extremely crowded and straight downhill.  Unlike other marathons, which tend to clear out after the first mile or so, at Boston you are running with other athletes who are equally as fast as you are, so it is literally elbow to elbow for at least 12 miles.  After that, it's still very crowded but you're able to maneuver a little bit easier.  Being in the middle of Ironman training, my legs definitely didn't feel great, but I just wanted to 'run it how I felt it' which is exactly what I did. 

During the race, I had mixed emotions.  I felt amazing for the first 5k-10k, enjoying the beautiful morning and the downhill.  At 10 miles in, I really began to feel fatigue in my legs (not surprising, since I had just biked 100 miles in training 6 days prior).   At the halfway, the Wellesley girls were a big lift.  My favorite signs were:  "Kiss me, it's my first marathon!", and "Stop chasing your dream, I'm right here!"  These girls are wonderful to carry on this tradition year after year, and I hope they know how much we look forward to that mile of the course.  Beyond Wellesley, it's a few short miles to the infamous Newton hills, which is sort of a misnomer since a majority of the course is rolling hills.  But there are some pretty good climbs between 17-21 and then you start to dream of the finish line. 

I always get choked up when the Citgo sign comes into view around mile 24.  I start to reflect on how lucky I am to be here, how much hard work it took to qualify and how much this race means to me.  I wonder if I will ever qualify again, or will this be my last chance to run Boston?  I will try, forever, I will try.  I was a little sad the last couple of miles, remembering 2010 when my family was there.  When you make the right hand turn onto Hereford, we could see them on the corner near the firehouse cheering and screaming for us.  Knowing that I wouldn't see their faces, see their love and support, made me a little sad. 

We turned left onto Boyleston and took in the view of the finish line banner that I had photographed several hours earlier.  I smiled and ran with joy in my heart across the finish line, hand in hand with my husband.  I grabbed some water and allowed the volunteers to usher us through.  I cried when the volunteer draped the medal around my neck.  This accomplishment, above so many others, means the world to me. 

We made our way slowly, along with thousands of other runners, through the finish corral.  When we reached the end, where the gear bags were located, my husband sat down on the curb while I went to retrieve my bag.  When I got back to where he was sitting, I helped him up and we continued toward the exit, retrieving his bag on the way.  We put our warm clothes back on, as we were shivering by now with the wind chilling our sweat-soaked clothes. 

We made our way into the streets and began to observe people with frantic looks on their faces.  Everywhere.  We heard sirens.  5, 10 emergency vehicles streamed by heading toward the finish line.  "Maybe someone had a heart attack", I suggested to my husband with a shrug.  We didn't know.  Dozens of sirens.  Police everywhere.  And then we saw the big black armoured vehicle.  I looked at him with a sick feeling in my stomach.  "That's the bomb squad", I said, emotions sinking.  He grabbed my hand and began to pull me faster through the crowds. 

We were trying to move in the direction of our hotel, but the area was being quickly evacuated.  Police were shouting and directing everyone away.  Traffic was everywhere, but going nowhere.  I paused to ask someone what happened.  She told me that all she knew was that there were two explosions.  I sent a quick text to my mom.  It read, "Just want you to know we are safe.  I'll call later."  Knowing the marathon was televised live, I knew it would be a matter of seconds before it was all over the news.  I'm so thankful that I texted those short words, her reply came "now you have me curious, anything happen?" but it was too late.  Our cell service had been cut off.  I knew that she would soon find out, and she would know that we were OK.  I hated the thought of them being worried. 

We made it back to our hotel, the lobby packed with runners and families who had been hustled into the nearest building in an effort to clear the streets.  We hurried up to our room and turned on the news.  We lay on the bed, stunned, watching the events unfold.  18 minutes.  We had passed that area 18 minutes before the first bomb.  I was numb.  In shock.  We lay there for an hour, or more, just processing.  Finally, I got up to shower.  I needed food.  We needed water. 

We went down to the bar in the hotel lobby.  3 years ago, we celebrated there with beer and pizza.  Today it was like a war zone.  People everywhere, all the tables full, people sitting on the floor still wrapped in mylar blankets.  The staff was overwhelmed.  My husband walked up to place our order, observed the chaos and offered to step behind the bar to help.  The bartender, bravely smiled, and then burst into tears.  We drank a couple of beers and ate some food.  Unable to use phone service, we posted updates on Facebook and watched to make sure our friends all checked in as OK.

I am not a fan of Facebook.  I have dismissed it routinely as being a waste of time and energy.  Today, I witnessed the power of social media.  We were able, in rapid fashion, to get messages to friends and family around the world, letting them know our status.  We were able to receive emotional support from people who loved us and were thankful we were safe.  We were able to get in contact with friends who were also running- making sure they were safe.  I was thankful, on that day, for the ability to communicate so quickly with so many people. 

After a few hours, cell service returned and we began to receive calls from the newspapers back in Arizona wanting to hear our perspectives.  It's certainly not as glamorous or as exciting as everyone wants to portray.  It was all very confusing, and we felt disoriented and alone.  Later in the evening, when the lockdown had been lifted, we wandered outside of our hotel.  There were police and SWAT everywhere.  We literally could walk across the street to the Sheraton, or nowhere.  So we wandered through the Sheraton and then back to our room.  My mind was in overload.  I couldn't think.  I couldn't sleep.  I just lay there.  Trying to process.  Looking out our window, we watched police pace the streets 7 stories below. 

In the morning we wanted to get out of Boston, leave this nightmare behind.  Our flight was scheduled for 7:30 AM.  We rose at 4 AM, called a cab and walked a few blocks outside the restricted zone in order to catch the ride to the airport.  Security was efficient despite the long lines.  We boarded our flight and tried to sleep the hour or so to Newark.  By the time we reached Newark, media was catching up with us.  My husband did two more phone interviews with newspapers from his home town in Ohio.  We had a very long flight to Arizona, but it was nice to detune, not listen to constant news updates and watch the same video footage over and over again.  I read my Kindle and tried to sleep. 

Once we landed, the frenzy continued.  There were reporters outside the airport, stopping everyone in Boston marathon gear on the way to our cars.  We got into the car and received another phone call from a valley newspaper.  Then a TV station called for an interview.  She wanted to meet us at Cadence Running Company to do an interview for the evening news.  It's great publicity for the store so I couldn't say no, but really I wanted to burst into tears.  All I wanted was a hot shower, and to crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my head. 

We met the newspeople, and did the interview, sharing our plan to donate 10% of our sales this week to the relief funds in Boston.  We were inspired that morning by Endurance Rehab, our PT office, who promised to donate $5 for everyone who showed up wearing a race T-shirt.  We wanted to do something good, see something positive.  So that was our idea, to share what we have with those who have lost.  I also am feeling called to run a marathon in the near future, raising money for the Challenged Athletes Foundation.  CAF helps to support people who are disabled, by helping them to pursue an active lifestyle.  I have watched many challenged athletes finish marathons, and Ironman events.  Some with double-leg prosthetics.  And given the number of runners' family members who lost limbs in the senseless violence on Monday, I want to recognize the challenge that they are now facing adapting to a new lifestyle. 

The number one question I've been asked since Monday, would I run the Boston Marathon again?  My answer:  unequivocally, heart and soul, absolutely YES.  What happened on Monday is not Boston.  Nor is it the Boston Marathon, nor the Boston Athletic Association.  It is the work of a sociopath who just needs to be placed 6 feet under.  On top of that, I have made peace with death in a manner of speaking.  As a triathlete, every day that I get on my bicycle and hit the roads with the sun on my face and the breeze on my skin, I am taking my life in my hands.  There have been too many friends who have been hit by cars and injured, or killed.  This is a risk that I am aware of and will do everything in my power to avoid.  But I know that when my time is up, my time is up.  I want to die knowing that I lived life to the very fullest.  Living in fear, and not venturing out or enjoying public sporting events, is not a life lived.  This is my passion, my joy, my life.  No one will stop me from living my dream.

My husband's medal, on top of the headlines in Tuesday's paper.

My heart aches.  My mind is foggy.  I feel numb.  I'm tired of talking about it.  I desperately want to be hugged, tightly.  I want the FBI to find whoever was behind this and do to them what we did a few short months ago to the mastermind of 9-11.  Whether this is international, or home brewed, I don't care.  No more publicity.  No more media.  It's that simple.  And then, just like marathon runners after a long race, the city of Boston can rest, recuperate, and rebuild.  Stronger than ever.