When disaster strikes, nothing in the world matters more
than the lives of the people you know and care about. Even complete strangers
you have never met take precedence over what should be a major celebration in
one’s life. I was 100 yards away from the 40 k check in (mile 25) when one
police officer told me that I would need to turn right at the intersection. Up
ahead I saw a bottle neck of runners wrapping themselves in space blankets. The
only rational thought I had for this is that those individuals were too tired
to finish, or they were injured and had to walk the rest of the way. I had no
idea what was going on. Things were getting odd the last couple of miles, but I
had never run a marathon before. Maybe things like this happened? I had no idea.
So I ran around the people, passed the barricade, and turned right, up the hill
as instructed. During my turn, another officer shouted to me that the marathon
was over, it was shut down. I glanced at my watch and thought, how is that
possible? I should have at least another hour. Am I that dazed and confused?
Was I so focused on my leg cramps that I lost track of time? And then I heard
him say “There were explosions at the finish lines at the bleachers!” I
stopped. Turned around and walked back to him. “I am sorry, what did you say?” He
said it again; but not to me, he addressed the crowd of runners that was
turning into a mass of stunned and confused people. They were asking, “What
happened? Where do we go? How is this possible?” “Head that way to Boston
Commons, the marathon is over. That’s all I know,” he said. I walked back around the barricade and took
one of the blankets they were handing out and headed up the hill. My legs were
screaming, and I was struggling to walk, but it took second fiddle to the pit
that was growing in my stomach. The finish line? The stands? Explosions? My
family! My team! Their family! My friends! Oh my God!
And then I heard my husband scream my name. I turned around
still dazed and confused. He was walking up the hill with my children in tow. To
me he looked angry, and I could not understand why. He told me there were
explosions and we had to get the kids out of Boston. He said they were there
but the crowds were too big and being that he does not like large crowds and the
kids could not see, he walked back down the course to find a better spot to see
me. My son, Alex, was quiet but observant, listening to every word. My daughter,
Evan, kept asking me to hold her. We walked across an intersection, clueless
about where to go and what to do. Ted kept saying we need to find a way back to
our hotel in Newton. I told him I could not think, and that I need food and
something to drink, and that I was freezing. He pulled out my Boston Marathon
jacket that he bought for my celebration. I told him, “I can’t wear that, I didn't finish.” He said, “You would have and you’re freezing, now put it on.”
Then he handed me a doughnut that he bought for the kids. I sat my daughter down
on the curb and tried to stretch out the cramps in my legs when I saw the
people next to us were wearing VIP passes. I grilled them with questions about
the stands, what happened, how they got out, is everyone all right, and where
were they told to go.” I tried to call and text people I knew at the finish
line but the phones were not working and my phone was dying. We crossed the
street to Best Buy and asked to charge our phones. Ted was getting a lot of
messages from family and friends concerned for us. I asked him to post on my Facebook wall that we are okay, and as soon as my phone was working again, I
did the same. We stood there in Best Buy reading news feeds and watching any
news we could find on our phones. A young woman entertained my children so they wouldn't be afraid. I hope she knows how much I appreciated it. Word via Facebook was that everyone I knew checked in that they were okay. The moment
they announced that outbound trains were running again, we walked to Fenway and
jumped on one of the trains.
That night I tried to write my blog, but I just couldn't. I
wanted to say something, especially since it had been a few weeks since my last
post. I previously had an idea in my head on what it would be about but now it
seemed so trivial and pointless. I promised a friend the day before the
marathon that I would post something that night, but I was tired. The week
leading up to the marathon was tough. I was busy with school visits, work, and
preparing for our AMTA-NJ State Convention. It was our first and we had a lot
of work to do. I did not rest, hydrate, and eat well despite the urging of
family and friends. I knew it would bite
me in the butt, but I was counting on all the training I had done to get me
through 26.2 miles. Yes, I know better, but when you’re busy, you’re busy! (All
you moms out there know what I am talking about.) Feel free to call me
stubborn. I already know that I am. Sunday morning we left New Jersey later than
intended, which of course put us behind schedule. We completely missed the expo
and were late meeting the Massage Therapy Foundation Team. But we made it and I
was nervous, excited, and starving. We made our way to the finish line for some
photos and then proceeded to dinner. Dinner group consisted of Tom Heidenberger of
Bon Vital and his wife lovely wife Elizabeth, Paul Slomski of Massage Therapy
Foundation, Mary White, AMTA-MA Chapter President and Coordinator of the John
Hancock Sports Massage Team, Mary’s husband Chris Dixon, Ryan Hoyme the Massage
Nerd, Cliff Korn, Board of Trustee for the Massage Therapy Foundation and a
member of the John Hancock Sports Massage Team, and my family. It was nice to
relax, get to know everyone, and learn how these three bibs came about. I tried
to get some rest that night, but I was anxious. I think I may have accumulated
a total of three, maybe four hours of sleep.
At four thirty, I jumped up and got ready. I woke my husband
and children at 5 A.M. so they could drop me off at the “T” for a ride into
Boston. On the train I chatted with a man about the marathon. This is his
second consecutive Boston, and probably his 13th marathon. He asked
how I could be running Boston as my first marathon and then he asked about the
Massage Therapy Foundation and massage in general. He’s never had a massage
before and promised to find the post massage tent after the race. At Back Bay (the busing area) I looked around
for Les, but could not find him. I knew I should have demanded his number
yesterday. I jumped on one of the lines figuring by the time Tom got there I
would be close and he could join in; however, Tom was still at his hotel. The
man said 7 A.M. and he slept in! Actually I don’t know what he was doing but he was running late. Eventually, I jumped out of the line all together and waited on
the gazebo and watched the beauty of intricate line formations. Organized,
happy chaos is how I would describe it. I took a few pictures for several
couples and groups, one of which was a team from Sweden. Finally, Tom called to
say he was there but since we couldn't find each other in the sea of people we
decided to just meet at Athlete’s Village.
On the bus line I met a blind woman and her guide. If a
blind marathon runner does not impress you, how about one that runs
ultra-marathons? Yes, she does! Then I chatted with a born and raised Bostonian. (She said "wicked" and she had the accent! LOVED IT!) She has run Boston several times before. This time she is running for charity, “Technology
for Autism.” She had a lot of great advice, as did everyone I spoke to. On the
bus I sat next to a woman who told me that this would be her 8th
Boston Marathon. She still gets nervous before every marathon even though she has done so many. She sustained a knee injury last year and her recovery consisted
of exercise and a lot of swimming. She said every year she says it will be her
last marathon, but like giving birth, you forget how painful it was and just
remember the joy of it. Nice analogy and probably true. Today, she runs with
her friends who were sitting in the seat in front of us. Five minutes into the
bus ride the emergency alarms sounded. Nothing we did could stop it. It did not seem to bother most of us (probably because we were in our own little world) but it
drove our bus driver crazy. She stopped twice and tried to turn it off to no
avail.
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| Tom and I waiting at Athlete's Village |
Finally, we arrive at Athlete’s Village. It’s situated on
the grounds of a high school. Volunteers were directing buses and people. Fans
were holding up signs for their friends. Marines were standing on top of the
school buildings. “Is that normal?” I asked. The woman I sat with said, “It’s a
lot less than there have been in the past.” There were large white tents and
rows and rows of port-a-potties. It made for interesting sights and smells. I
felt bad for the volunteers standing downwind of that. I found Tom standing by
the fire trucks. We looked for Les, but unless he was wearing a banana suit, it
was like looking for a needle in a haystack. So we found a place to sit, had
breakfast and took pictures.
The group of people to my right was part of a
running club. They reminded each other that this is just another training run.
The two women to my left are work buddies. The old man in front of me was
people watching too and we nodded to each other. There was a woman napping,
people stretching, people eating, people jogging in place, people applying
sunscreen. There were so many people! The one common vibe I picked up was that
everyone there loved to run and each one of them seemed happy to be there. Just
before our corral was called, I met a man whose leg was amputated years ago. It
was replaced with a blade. I have never seen one in person and was mesmerized. He
told me that things only hold you down if you allow them to and then he jumped
into one of the port-a-potties.
Tom and I handed our bags over to the buses to be carried
back to the finish line and we followed the herd of people because we had no
idea where we were going. Along the way we spotted the pre-race massage
therapists. Of course I had to hi-five them. I have never met them, but I run
for massage therapists everywhere. Those are my people and I have to say hello.
I am sure we startled them and they probably thought we were crazy, but we ARE
about to run 26.2 miles, so yes. Yes we are. Unless we were on a hill, I couldn't see a thing. Sometimes being short has its disadvantages and this was one of
those moments. I held my camera over my head and just started snapping
pictures. Then Tom spotted our corral and I followed him.
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| Start Line is up there SOMEWHERE but I can't see. |
We just kept walking forward. It was quite loud from all the
cheering. I did not hear a horn, a gun blast, or the word “GO.” It was a bunch
of people walking and then running.
Okay, so I guess we are off. Oh
look, there’s the start line and there it goes. The combination of the downhill
and the waves of people flying pass makes me want to speed up too, but
thankfully Tom held me back so I would stay at my planned pace of 10 to 12
minutes. There were so many excited fans and fun signs. I must have looked like
one of those bobble, swivel head dolls with my head turning in every direction
to see everything. You know when you take a child to a toy store and they want
to see and touch everything? That was me. “Look! And there! I like THAT sign!
Ooooh, LOOK!” Tom’s too nice to smack me, but anyone else probably would have.
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| Les - looking good |
I incorrectly assumed things would thin out by the 5k mark,
but no. It was still crowded. At some point Tom pulled off the course for a
quick pit stop and I kept going. Then all of the sudden I see a Massage Therapy
Foundation team shirt. Les! I sprint around people to catch up to him. I must
have been running alongside of him for close to two minutes, smiling at him before
he realized I was there. The man is intense! He said hello, asked how I was
doing then ran away from me. Really Les?! You have 20 plus miles to kick my
butt, do you have to start now? I snapped a picture of him running away. He
looked like he was doing well, so I continued to enjoy my surroundings. I read
the signs. I gave high fives to as many little kids as I could, as well as those of the
college kids with shirts that read, “I drink when you high five.” There were
people on roof tops and hanging out of trees and windows. This is going to be
an entertaining day.
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| Dale, Caroline, Me |
All of a sudden, someone grabs my left elbow. I thought
Tom caught up but when I turn around, it’s Dale. Dale is a member of the
Somerset Running Group which I recently joined. We have run together a couple
of times to train for Boston. She insisted I run by her house on the aptly
named “Longhill Road.” Can I say thank goodness that road exists?! It prepared
me for what was to come eventually. I was so excited to see a friendly face. I
took a picture of us as we were running, because I am silly like that. We
chatted for a while and then separated. Just after the 10k check in, I saw
another woman I recognized standing on the sidewalk waiting with a camera. Caroline,
another Somerset Runner. I ran toward her to give her a hug and realized she
didn’t recognize me immediately. YES! I’ll jump on her to give her a crazy surprise,
but as I got closer she figured it out. Dale was right behind me so we stopped
for pictures with Caroline before jumping back onto the course. We smiled for
the cameras overhead and then separated again. A little kid handed me an ice
pop and I took it. Why not? It is part
of the experience and it seemed to make his day, which in turn makes me happy.
Then just up ahead…
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| SANTA! |
‘Twas around mile 7, on the tiniest bump
Waving at runners, and doing a fist pump
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
He had to be sweating, but Hey! No soot!
His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
I stopped for a picture and said, “Hello there, St. Nick!”
He handed me a business card and said, “Send me that pic!”
With a wink and a nod and a pat on the back,
I took off like the wind to pick up my slack….
I usually don’t like to stop for a rest room
break until about mile 18, but just before Wellesley College I noticed a row of
port-a-potties with no lines. Six minutes later I was back out wondering if I
would see Tom, or if he passed me in that time. And that’s when I spotted the
young, vibrant ladies with some great signs.
Kiss me I’m from XXX. (I nearly kissed the Jersey girl for
representation, but took pictures instead.) Some others signs were “I won’t
tell your wife if you don’t.” “Kiss me, I am jobless.” “Baby, make my day.”
There were a lot and those ladies were LOUD! I think the old man I was
following stopped to kiss every one of them. Oh college days…how I sometimes
miss you.
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| A Banana Les Bunch |
At some point along the route as I was observing my surroundings I saw a bunch of bananas on the left side of the road. Les' family! I politely cut across and snapped a picture of them crew. They are so cute and hard to miss. Such great spirit. I wanted to ask how far ahead Les was, but then I thought, would it matter at all anyway? I'm having fun!
At mile 15 I got a cramp in my left quad; my left vastus
medialis to be exact. That has never happened before and it was weird. No, it HURT! I pulled off to the side walk
and tried to put pressure on it. When
that did not work, I focused on contracting my hamstrings and ta-da! It went
away. Sort of. It was enough to keep on running. I put music on to distract me.
But guess what? It was stuck on repeat. Not repeat playlist or album. Repeat
single song. I could not get it to stop so I threw on my new Fall Out Boy power song and let it play over, and over, and over again. I think
eventually I stopped listening to it and took the ear buds out. This kind of thing happens to me ALL OF THE TIME! Oh well.
At mile 18 or 19 the right quad started to cramp. Oh hell. I
tried to ignore it but then the right hamstring began to cramp too. How is it
possible that the quads and hamstrings could cramp at the same time? I made my
way to the side of the road to stretch but the moment I stopped running every
part of my lower body went into a spasm: both quads, both hamstrings, both
calves, both shins, and the right foot. Oh my God! What is happening to me?! This
has never happened in training. There was a Marine nearby watching me. I tried
to shake it off and run again but everything seized up and I began beating on my
thighs with my fists. The Marine walked over to me and said he was taking me to
the medical tent. I yelled, “NO! Don’t touch me! I WILL finish this marathon on
my own!” He smiled and said, “But you look like hell, Ma'am” Did he just call me "Ma'am?!" An old man passed me and
handed me a bag of ice. “This usually helps me when that happens” he says and
disappears. I rubbed the bag of ice up and down my legs and stumbled off. Normally resting would be ideal, but for some
odd reason running made it feel better. Maybe the ice was just
distracting
enough. Maybe beating up my thighs worked. Whatever it was, I ran and proceeded
to hit every medical tent along the way asking for salt. (I was out of the
pretzels I brought as a snack.) None of the tents had salt, but one had
bouillon. “It’s warm” the man said but I chugged the cup he handed me, said
thanks and headed up a hill. I started to see spots and felt that something was
terribly wrong so I walked. But the moment I did, the legs started cramping
again, so I alternated between walking and running. Then there was Tom. He ran
up and said hello. I tried to run with him but everything hurt. I figured I
would catch up to him at some point, once I got through this bout of pain. He
seemed to be doing fine and I managed to snap a picture of him running away.
Except at that moment, he decided to walk and I couldn't catch up.
Eventually I started running again. I had no idea what mile I was on or that I was on a hill I really had no idea of my surroundings other than there were a
lot of people screaming, a lot of people walking, and there were drums
somewhere to my left. Next thing I know I could see a slope in front of people
and the spectators on my right were waving signs in my face that said “Top of
the Hill!” A girl came up and hugged me and handed me an orange and yelled, “You
conquered heartbreak hill!” Completely clueless, I said, “That was it?!” and
then my feet took off. Something in my head told my feet to go and I flew down
the hill. Or at least that’s what it felt like considering the pace I was
traveling at….which I had no idea what that was by the way. I could see that
the spectators were stretching their hands out for high-fives and since I was
close I slapped hands. The crowd seemed to get louder and I could feel their
energy. YES! I can feed off this. I felt like I was getting my second wind
finally and rounded a corner onto Beacon Street when a gang of college boys
jumped the barricade to rush their frat brother running to the right of me. I
tried to get around them but was knocked over. One of the guys picked me up and
apologized but I just waved and keep running. I know I am close and yet still
so far away. I pictured the elite runners and all the runners before me looking
like graceful unicorns crossing the finish line. I pictured me chasing after
them to that finish line. Screw the pain; I am going to be a unicorn too!
I started noticing strange things over the next couple of
miles. I kept looking at my watch and calculating my finish time. If I wasn't in pain, I might make it right at 5 hours, but at this point I am thinking 5:15
and I am fine with that. I stopped at the next medical tent and picked up some
pretzels for the rest of my run. A wall of Marines ran by and I thought they
were the ones I saw earlier. Man, they really want to get this over with, but didn't they already pass me a long time ago? On the sidewalk to my right, three
Marines approached a man and asked to search his bag and he panicked. A caravan
of vehicles blared down the course and all the runners moved to the side but
kept on running. Some of the Marines were telling the pedestrians to get off
the street and move back. Then a fire truck sped by. This can’t be normal,
something is not right, but I could not figure out what. My phone started
chiming with multiple notification sounds and it rang but I couldn't answer it.
People want to talk to me now?! Don’t they know I am running here? I struggled
to put two and two together. A girl in front of me was on her phone while running
then started crying and screaming about her parents. I looked around and other
runners were on their cell phone while running. Who does that? Still my brain
was not connecting the dots. And then I came upon the barricades I mentioned
earlier and forgot all about the marathon.
It always amazes me when people can be so heartless. It’s my
nature to look for the good in people. I generally believe most people are good
at heart but can sometimes make mistakes. It is human nature, after all. It is
difficult for me to imagine why one individual would purposefully, willfully,
want to harm another. Maybe that makes me a bit naive but most of the time I
look for the positive side of things and the good in people. It is how I am
wired. So much has happened in my 36 years of life that I stopped looking for
the “why” because many times there isn't a logical reason. Honestly, I do not
care why this happened. What I care about are the people at the finish line: the
runners, the spectators, the volunteers, the first responders, my friends and
their families, and my family. I care about the people along the course. The
people I slapped hands with and took drinks from. We came together to celebrate
life and accomplishments and that day was bruised. I have heard people say that north-easterners are rude and always in a rush. Sure, there are a few people
like that, but I find them everywhere, not just secluded to the northeast. On
that Monday, I saw excitement. I saw sportsmanship. I saw compassion. Not one
person along the course heckled. They cheered. They celebrated. They offered
food and drink and encouragement and first aid. They ran alongside complete
strangers. And when we were lost and confused, they offered sweatshirts,
blankets, food, and water. One girl I met at my hotel told me how three women
asked if she was okay. Two of the women took her into Whole Foods and bought
her food while the third woman went to retrieve her car. They drove her, a
complete stranger with no identification and no money from Boston to Newton. People
in the hotel asked if I was okay and if I needed anything. Runners I met who
crossed the finish line felt bad that I trained and never got to cross the
finish line. People were so nice, caring, and compassionate; just as I always
imagine people to be.
When I was a child
I learned that unicorns were mystical creatures that symbolized purity,
strength, and grace, with the power to heal. All this time I equated the Boston
Marathoners as unicorns, because well, that’s their logo. And when you think
about the elite athletes, they are strong mystical creatures. But they are not
the only ones. Every compassionate person willing to help out another, regardless
if he or she is in need, is a unicorn. They are all around us every day.
When I got home local reporters called to get my story. And
they asked the same question: “Would you go back?” Of course I will! Despite
the terrible end, it was an amazing experience. My
heart goes out to those whose lives were cut short and the lives shattered. It
is my hope that one day the pain will subside and their hearts will heal. It’s
a day I will never forget and when I run, I will forever have Boston and all
that it entails in my mind.
Since this was so lengthy, my next post will include my many
thank you’s. So stay tuned for at least one more.....
PS: My family got to have breakfast with Tom and Elizabeth the next morning. Elizabeth was kind enough to pick up my bag the night before. It was nice to see that they were okay and give them a big fat hug. As for the rest of the Massage Therapy Foundation team and supporters, I'm going to give each one of them a big fat hug too when I see them again.
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| L to R: Ted, Alexm Me, Evan, Tom, Elizabeth |
Thank you to the Boston Athletic Association and John Hancock for providing the MTF these three bibs. This is an exciting event and we are thrilled to be a part of it. Thank you to the people of Massachusetts and the spectators for your sportsmanship and compassion.
