Chasing Unicorns: A Run Happy Day Ending in Tragedy

The Boston Marathon began in 1897, inspired by the success of the original marathon at the 1986 Summer Olympics. It was to be run annually as a celebration of Patriot's Day, through a modified version of the original route of battle. For many years, it was the only big marathon in the world, so everyone wanted to run it, including all the greats, making it universally recognized as the best. The history of this race, the world's oldest marathon, is frequently lost in the notoriety of the event. Running the Boston Marathon is often the highlight of many runner's accomplishments. They sometimes spend years training and racing before acquiring that highly sought after BQ (Boston qualifying time). Then when the fateful day comes of running this famed race, they cross the finish line in tears, with necks ready to hold the beloved unicorn medal awarded to all finishers of the Boston Marathon.

This year, approximately 23,000 runners approached the Boston Marathon starting line, but only three quarters were able to finish. As the race clock hit 4:08:52 at 2:50 p.m., a bomb exploded at the finish line and about 12 seconds later another one exploded about 100 yards away. Immediately, emergency personnel fled to the scene, tearing down the race course barricade in order to attend to fallen victims. In the end 3 people died and over 170 were physically injured.

At that time, I had finished the race by over an hour and was safely in a hotel room with some of my teammates. I remember hearing the first explosion, then another in what seemed to me minutes later. We thought it was construction, but one of my teammates, of whom works for the UN and has often traveled to war torn regions thought otherwise. We looked out the window onto Exeter Street towards Boylston Street. Everyone was running and screaming. I saw a father quickly usher his children to safety around the corner. Emergency sirens were blaring. The Boston Marathon sign along the race barricade was being torn down. A few dazed runners continued towards the finish line. Smoke began billowing down the street. The race barricade was being torn down. More sirens and the appearance of police on motorcycles. No more runners. We had no idea what had happened, but knew it was bad. One minute, we were discussing our races as we put on fresh clothes, the next, we were flicking threw TV channels in hopes the news would tell us something, but there was nothing.

I immediately called my friend who was on her way to the hotel to meet me. Thankfully she was okay, but what about all the other people on the course? My teammates and friends? I had solace that the teammates I was with were safe, but no idea where the others were. I think there were about 11 VCTC members running, and I could only account for half of them. Not to mention people I knew from other teams. I also had a friend cheering at mile mark 26, and others somewhere close to the finish.

We went down stairs to the hotel lobby and the news was finally discussing what happened, showing gruesome pictures of the scene. All I wanted was to gather with my teammates. To know that they were safe. As the hotel staff were preparing to lockdown the building, we snuck out onto the streets and headed to our pre-determined post-race gathering location on Dartmouth Street. Walking along the streets was both scary and surreal. I was in a daze and my phone was chiming nonstop. I had multiple text messages, Facebook notes, and voicemails. I was able to call home as we walked and let my family know I was okay. Then I wasn't able to make anymore phone calls. The cell signal was down.

As we walked, tentatively, yet quickly to our destination, I kept my eyes peeled to make sure we stayed together, stopping anytime someone was diverted in the crowd. I can't explain the feeling once we got to the bar and gathered with the others. We got a table in the basement, which felt safe. Yet, we sat in front of a large screen TV displaying more images of the tragedy. I ate out of extreme hunger having run 26.2 miles a couple hours earlier, but was astonished, shocked, at what had happened. As we sat there, we discussed the event and worked on tracking down all our runners. While walking there, I had posted a roll-call on our club Facebook page so we could keep track of everyone, which proved very helpful. In the end, we found out that everyone was safe. Some had already headed home, some crossed the finish line by 20 minutes, others by a mere 5 minutes. I also found out that my friend at mile 26, had luckily avoided physical harm, however, she was witness to the horrific injuries.

After eating, we all rushed out of the bar and headed to our vehicles in order to flee the city. Walking through the streets was, again, nerve racking. I was worried the whole city would be grid locked, or worse, shut down, and we wouldn't be able to get out. Luckily, that wasn't the case. As soon as we got in the car, after charging our dying phones, I began returning all the messages that sat untouched. I was glued to my phone most of the way home. It was a pretty silent ride as we were both in extreme shock.

The next morning, I had to go to work. I think I was still in shock. I discussed the event briefly with watery eyes, but it wasn't until I was on the train home that I couldn't control the tears. And the next morning wasn't any better. Each day has been different. The emotions come and go. Sometimes sadness. Sometimes guilt. Other times anger. I feel guilty for not running to the scene and utilizing my medical skills to help. I feel guilty for sitting down to a warm meal while people were suffering. I understand that I likely wouldn't have been allowed back on the course. That there was a large number if medical volunteers at the finish who fled to the scene. And had I been there when it happened, I would have dove in. But I wasn't, I was safe in a hotel. And in that moment, it was important to gather with my running family and attempt to digest what had happened. To feel comforted as a team.

My heart goes out to all the victims and there family members. Victims not only of the physical violence, but the emotional. My heart goes out to all the runners who were stopped a mile before the finish. Those runners were never awarded with the joy of crossing the finish line, they were robbed of that luxury. From the moment I crossed the finish line I couldn't wait to run Boston again. And even now, I can't wait to go back. But next year, I will be running in memory of all those who suffered. And that goes for the next year and the next year. I will run the Boston Marathon for as long as I qualify.

I had to share this from Runner's World a beautiful perspective on the sport of running:

"It's the only sport in the world where if a competitor falls, the others around will pick him or her up. It's the only sport in the world open to absolutely everyone, regardless of gender, age, ethnicity or any other division you can think of. It's the only occasion when thousands of people assemble, often in a major city, for a reason that is totally peaceful, healthy and well-meaning. It's the only sport in the world where no one ever boos anybody."

And this from Amby Burfoot

"Winning is not about headlines and hardware [medals]. It's only about attitude. A winner is a person who goes out today and every day and attempts to be the best runner and best person he can be. Winning is about struggle and effort and optimism, and never, ever, ever giving up."

Everybody who ran Boston last week is a winner regardless as to when or if they crossed the finish line!