I wanted the chance to write down my thoughts on the Boston Marathon. I had originally typed 'the Boston Marathon Bombings,' but doing so yielded immediate power to the latter half of the phrase. I do not wish for this "ownership" over the Boston Marathon. However, I realize it is an event that is forever changed, and with it comes the inevitable label and sadness that the proper noun evokes. Although this tragedy occurred over two months ago, it is a day I never will forget.
This was my first time attending the Marathon in-person since my days watching from the sidelines in high school. I always knew of the excitement- the parties and celebrations- but always watched from afar during my Pennsylvania college years. Because I had just moved back to Boston, I was eager to be in the midst of the action.
Each detail of the day, even the hours before I headed over to the event itself, remain distinctly etched into my mind. I knew there were several hours before the main stream of runners would be crossing the finish line, and I decided to enjoy the quiet Monday morning that the day off of work afforded me. I tracked the early runners on the news for a bit before heading out for a quick run myself. The city was so peaceful that morning, and the perfect weather for running. Luckily my neighborhood doesn't border the race at all, so I enjoyed the empty streets and early morning hum of the city.
After my run (of only 3 miles- I am by no means a distance person), I showered and met up with Brittany about mid-morning. We were excited to head over to the bustling downtown area, up to Boylston and Newbury street. Once we arrived, I admit I was a bit intimidated by the amount of people and crowds. It was overwhelming zig-zagging in and out of the packed sidewalks, as many of the roads were closed and it was difficult to know which side block would lead you to the finish line area. Finally, we ended up right at the line, where a large screen broadcast a zoomed in view of the runners as they crossed. To be honest, I found myself watching the large screen more than the actual race in front of me, as the throngs of people made it difficult to catch a good glimpse. We struck up conversation with an older man standing next to us, who was eagerly awaiting his daughter's successful finish. He was very excited, but also carried a great deal of trepidation, almost worried about the feat she was about to accomplish- and his nervous energy is still firmly in my mind. I still wonder about him and his daughter, about where they were only an hour or so later when the bombs went off. Britt and I were enjoying ourselves, though we did not enjoy standing shoulder to shoulder, continuously pushed and prodded by the traffic of people trying to secure a good watch spot. Eventually, we went down and over a couple blocks to a more spacious location, and 30 minutes after that, decided to get some lunch. I had heard about Parrish Café and was eager to try it. We had placed our name on the waiting list about an hour before, as the wait time is even crazy on days when the city is not invaded by thousands of Marathon spectators. We had a great lunch outside, a couple of blocks down Boylston street from the finish line. Afterwards, we began to head back up towards Boylston and toward the finish line, as Britt needed to stop into a Kinko's store to fax a couple last minute tax forms in (afterall, it was Tax day!).
It was when we were walking up the street towards the finish line when the first explosion occurred about a block and a half from us. Confused, we initially thought it was some sort of celebratory cannon or fireworks display. We did not immediately move from where we stood, and people around us were equally dumbfounded at what had occurred (including some who had just completed the race). A police officer stood about 5ft from us, his radio blaring. I listened intently to see if it would reveal any sudden information...but both he and the radio gave no indication this was an emergency. I believe his stone silence was his way of displaying that maybe he had no idea, either. One woman who walked by us hurriedly at that moment assured us that no, this was not normal. I couldn't think of what to do in that second except to begin running the opposite way. I guess I am bound to 'flight' in that fight or flight situation, unfortunately. I wish I had the strength to run towards the explosion, and am almost embarrassed by this innate human reaction.
Britt and I began jogging away and back towards my neighborhood. It was at this time I had the sudden notion to call my parents, and urged Britt to as well. It is almost shocking to me that before I knew the extent of the damage, something within me understood that I wanted my parents to know I was safe. I think it was a bit shocking to them that we called in such a panic. "I just want you to know that I am okay, I was at the marathon," is what I told them. Their reaction: "Um, okay?" with no idea what we were talking about. No news outlets had begun any reporting yet.
At this time, we continued our running while refreshing twitter feeds via phone to see if there was any new information. It was at this time the sirens began...a sudden influx descending around us and then sweeping past. Finally, boston.com twitter account indicated bombs had exploded (two distinct ones, 30 seconds apart). All I could think of was the moment in time when I heard that first explosion, during which people experienced extreme pain and sudden death or suffering...that I had thought it was some sort of "celebration." The emotion is still a complicated one within me.
We eventually made it back to my apartment, eager to turn on the TV to try and understand what had just occurred. There were limited details, as it was so throughout the investigation and days afterward, but it was truly a frightening experience. All we knew was that we were on lockdown in the city. I felt sick to my stomach across the entire rest of those 24 hours--we were trapped inside with the inability to turn off the television despite the sickening details that emerged. I was very shaken to think we were happily at the finish line, a mere hour or so before...and that our lunch had kept us away from the explosion zone. A million "what-ifs" ran through my head, and I struggled across the rest of that week (even after the successful capture of the suspect) to wrap my mind around what I had experienced. It is truly devastating and crazy to think I witnessed this tragedy in the history of our country and of Boston. That I witnessed a terrorist attack, much like the many thousands that witnessed 9/11 and were forever changed. It is this sentiment that many people seemed to not understand in the weeks following the bombings. It is something I am still slowly accepting, but also something I will never forget and will always shape me.
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