After the bombings at the 117th Boston Marathon

Hello friends. This last post on Boston is probably the hardest post I have wrote to date. I wasn’t prepared for the events that happened after the marathon, no one was. My experience is different from so many others who were impacted in much more drastic ways then I was.

Upon finishing the Boston Marathon, you wait a while to receive all your race day gear, from your medal, to water, food, heat blankets, and your gear bag. There are lots of people in the finish area and then even more in the family meeting area. I thought I would meet Marc and go home and get cleaned up for the after party at the House of Blues. What happened next changed everything.

Marc and I waded through hundreds of people trying to get to a T. For some reason we picked a T farther from where we were, thus we had to walk back down Boylston Street through the finish area. The streets were crowded, and the Red Sox game had just finished. The spectators on Boylston were gracious and created a path for me to walk through, which saved us time, later I would find out it was precious time.

Marc and I walked past the bombs 10 minutes before they went off. I get chills thinking about it. We just got on the T when I received a text from a friend asking if I was ok, as she had just seen explosions at the finish line. I was confused and still a little disoriented from the race. Soon it became clear that there were two explosions at the finish line, and Marc and I had just missed them by mere minutes.

At that moment I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. It was all so surreal. They shut the T down just as we got off. Our cell phones weren’t working so family couldn’t get a hold of us. People were talking about the explosions and I felt helpless.  We made it back to Waltham and turned on the news. The images of the explosions were horrifying. I couldn’t believe I was just there. I was doing my best to let everyone know I was ok, but I felt guilty in the process.

I was a runner that day at the Boston Marathon. I was a finisher. I was survivor. I was not someone’s lost fiancé, daughter, grand-daughter or friend. I did not lose any limbs or family and friends. I get to continue living my life and I get to continue running.

Knowing this makes me angry. I feel guilty and selfish. Guilty I got to finish and was left unharmed. Selfish for being angry about my race time and race performance. Even more selfish for complaining about my achy blisters and hamstring.

The days after the Marathon were quiet in Boston.

I thought running in honor of the victims would clear my head and ease my hurt, but it didn’t, at least not then.  We tried enjoying the last couple of days with our friends, and we avoided talking about how we were feeling.

Although, the city seemed peaceful and serene, I wasn’t at peace and I knew so many others felt the same way.

Marc and I left Boston Wednesday late afternoon, and as I boarded the plane I felt guilty for leaving. I felt like I was leaving when Boston needed someone the most.

I got home and I wanted answers. I wanted to know who did it? Why they did it? I kept thinking of the families who lost loved ones, those who witnessed the explosions, and those who suffered from them. I couldn’t help but think about the amount of hatred a person must feel in order to do something so horrific.

Why was I a survivor? Why was I blessed to miss the bombs by mere minutes? Why was my life spared but others not? No matter how much I want these questions answered, they never will be. We can’t know why some are spared and others not.

It’s the one time you don’t want to be a part of history, but you’re left no choice. It’s the one time you don’t want anyone to remember you ran the 117^th Boston Marathon, because it’s too hard remembering you survived and others didn’t. I can’t help but think, what if I had walked a little longer in the race? What if getting my gear bag and finding Marc would have taken even longer?  What if the mass of people wouldn’t have moved aside so I could walk through? These thoughts give me chills. This all explains why i was so worried before the race. I just couldn’t shake my anxiety on race day.

As much as I would like to say the 117^th Boston Marathon was my last, it won’t be. I am more determined than ever to finish Boston again. To finish it for all those who won’t get a chance to ever run Boston, watch Boston, or volunteer at Boston again.

Running will always remain a stable thing in my life, and it is more meaningful now than ever. The 117^th Boston Marathon is more meaningful for me than any other Boston. It will always be remembered, and I will forever be thankful for our survival and God’s hand of protection over us, as selfish as it sounds.