I was not at the finish line to feel the blast or see the horrific scene. I was not in a crowd swept up in a wave of panic. I was not stopped on the course unable to reach the finish line without a phone and knowing something terrible had happened and that my friends and family could be in harm's way.
I am, however, emerging from what has felt like a fog enveloping me for most of the two weeks after completing my first and the 117th running of the Boston Marathon. Intrusive, unpleasant thoughts would not abate, and I could not concentrate on simple daily tasks. As a runner and a blogger I have felt compelled to write, yet I have not wanted to revisit my experience. Mostly, I have not known how to begin writing because race reports aren't supposed to deal with terrorist bombings. I cannot separate the race from the bombings that happened after I crossed the finish line and while I was walking back toward it in an effort to reunite with my family.
I don't ever recall such an emotional shift in one day of my life. My day progressed from one of excitement and anticipation after a years' long journey to the start in Hopkinton to executing my race plan to the best of my physical and mental ability and then to a reactionary mode of primitive, motherly instinct that still feels palpable long after the soreness has subsided in my legs.
In my first blog post after the race, I acknowledged that each of the millions of people in Boston that day has a unique story to tell. I will share mine here:
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| My daughter Alexis and I visit the finish line on the day before the race. |
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| My family with my friend Holly and my cousin Amy and their families before a sightseeing tour on the day before the race. |
The Buses
My friend and training partner Holly and I had planned to meet at Boston Common at 6AM to share a 45 minute bus ride to the Athletes' Village. When I arrived I passed a reporter live on TV talking about the steady stream of runners walking to the line of buses with no end in sight. I carried a water bottle, and he commented on that. As a helicopter hovered overhead, I asked, "What have I gotten myself into?" Holly was 20 minutes early; I was a few minutes late. The efficient, early-rising volunteers for the Boston Athletic Association, who help to put on a world class race, had ushered Holly onto a bus in the second group to depart. We each shared seats with experienced Boston marathoners, enjoyed their company, and gleaned last minute advice. As a result, I texted my husband to not to try to see me at the turn onto Boylston Street near the finish as we had discussed because the crowd would be too thick. Later, he saw that first-hand after emerging from the subway and decided to move on to the Family Meeting Area. |
| I met Holly in the Athletes' Village. |
Athletes' Village
Holly and I met in the Athletes' Village at Hopkinton where expectant energy and loud music filled the cold air. I shivered most of the time with the temperature hovering around 39 degrees despite wearing my sub 40 degree jacket, fleece shirt, lined pants and gloves with my sleeveless shirt and shorts. We shared a happy, sunny morning sprawled in a field full of runners at what seemed like the world's largest track meet. We took pictures, wrote our names on ourselves with Sharpies and strategized how to time eating, Port-o-Potty breaks, and the dry bag drop off so that we would be among the first to enter our corrals. We were both in Wave 2, with Holly in corral 2 and me in corral 9, scheduled for a 10:20AM start. Shortly before race time an announcer asked for a few moments of silence to remember the shooting victims of Newtown, Connecticut. Twenty-seven thousand went silent. |
| I could list 10 reasons why I run, but I was thinking of my girls before the race. |
The Start
After a .7 mile walk from the Village, we went to the front of our corrals and waited for our start. The temperature had risen enough for me to shed my extra clothes except for my gloves, which I held onto for miles longer than necessary. Race day conditions were perfect with temperatures in the 50's. My goal was to run the course in 3 hours and 50 minutes. Brennan, my coach, had stressed that this was not a course on which to set a personal record or even to re-qualify for next year's Boston Marathon, even though I've read that around 30% do re-qualify on that day. My strategy was to aim for an 8:30 per minute pace knowing that I would slow going up the hills.When the crowd started moving, we walked and jogged uphill to a starting line we had not been able to see. Then it was downhill for the first four miles, and I had to rein myself in to not go out too fast as do some runners. After settling into the race, I noticed I was surrounded by middle-aged women and a few older men. That felt odd because I usually run with men during smaller races.
The Course
Just as I heard it would be, the crowd support was amazing at each small community. I saw a women who could be a twin of my long-time friend Jen. I craved a cheeseburger at least twice as the aroma of cookouts wafted across the course. Children sought high fives, which I gave once to a group. A young boy supported me by handing me an ice cube. I passed the famous Hoyt father and son team and applauded and cheered for them almost embarrassingly loud, perhaps startling them. I passed a few military runners in full gear with backpacks. During the early miles of the race, I concentrated on my goal time of 8:30 per minute mile splits and how and when I would alternate my fuel sources of Gu and water and Gatorade. I watched the spectators, took in the scenery, and knew I would see my family at mile 17 to give me a boost before heading up into the hills.Mile 10
Mile 10 turned out to play a pivotal role in how my race unfolded. I had planned for 40-50 seconds during a Port-o-Potty stop at mile 12 or 13, but made the stop around mile 10. I kept my Garmin running, which was a mistake, but it worked out for the best. When I started running again, my Garmin did not show my pace at the mile splits. I glanced down at my Garmin every once and a while for feedback, but from mile 10 on, I had to run by feel, which is tough for me because I do not keep a consistent pace. Had I not lost that feedback, I would have seen that I was slowing at the end and would not have had the same feeling of accomplishment in the final miles.
Mile 13
Mile 13 gave me a boost when I passed the women of Wellesley College and read their signs and felt their energy as they jumped up and down and cheered loudly. Along the course I felt a surge of energy and sped up when I passed a large crowd and would have to slow myself. It was true at the heart of each small community, but these women were unrivaled. I sped and smiled the entire distance of Wellesley. Boston College was another notable spot, and then once I hit the City, people lined the streets for miles.
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| Drinking on the run |
Mile 17
At mile 17 I spotted John and my 10-year-old daughter Sydney from the middle of the course and ran to the barricade to kiss them. Sydney shied away, and six-year-old Lexie sat tired on the ground displaying her disapproval of riding a packed subway car for 45 minutes and then of waiting for her mother for another 45 minutes. I gave John a quick kiss and was off to face the infamous Newton hills.
When I began the ascent, instead of thinking about the hills, I called upon a mantra right away, and this is the one that came to me: " ... I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. (Phil. 4:13)" I repeated this meditative prayer for miles. Holly had written Phil. 4:13 on her leg in Sharpie that morning, and I asked her which verse it was. Although I didn't recognize it at first, I know it well having recited it during the Flying Pig Marathon.
Heartbreak Hill
When I came to mile 20 and its storied Heartbreak Hill, I was brought out of my meditative trance. I noted the beauty of the tree-lined residential street and the spectators, and then I noticed the crowd of runners. This is where some runners who passed me at the beginning of the race had slowed. Running up the hill I came across walls of people, and I had to weave around them. A few times when I was on people's heels, the runners seemed to block me subconsciously from passing. This is when even though I had no concept of my pace, I knew I had executed my race plan well and had what it took to finish strong. I did not look at my watch for miles on the hills. It would have served no purpose because while I felt strong, I knew I had slowed. I later learned that Holly had a somewhat similar experience except she was the rare person who seemed to sprint up the hill. A few people passed me who seemed to be sprinting. Holly was one such person. She had vowed that if she felt good at Hearbreak Hill, she would surge and not have anyone pass her. And no one did.
Running to the Finish
When I made it to the summit, I remembered the now seemingly funny conversation I'd had with Brennan about when to pick up my pace after surmounting Heartbreak Hill. I continued to run the rest of the race by feel, and it felt hard, really hard. I checked my watch at one point in the final miles and determined I would not run a 3:45, which is what I thought I needed to re-qualify for 2014. But it didn't matter. My legs were moving. Even though I thought I was running at a hard effort, my pace did not quicken after the hills. The crowd of spectators was thick as we ran the final miles into the City, and some spectators scuttled across the course at times making an obstacle course. I saw the fabled Citgo sign announcing that the end was near. As I turned onto Boylston Street, I ran down the middle of the street. I did not know my time or register what the giant clock displayed. It didn't matter. I had finished the Boston Marathon and lived out a dream.
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| The finish |
In the chute my thoughts turned to my hurting, slow moving legs and how cold I felt drenched in sweat with wind gusts sweeping through the street surrounded by tall buildings. Numerous volunteers along the course had handed me water and Gatorade, and now others were handing me a heatsheet blanket, water, and a bag of snacks. Even with 27,000 racers, a volunteer personally congratulated me and placed my medal around my neck. I came to signage that directed runners to their dry bags filled with extra clothing and to the Family Meeting Area. The bus area was extremely congested with runners walking slowly in both directions to get to their bags and then turning back to exit the area. My bag was on one of the last buses down Bolyston Street. While I waited in line for another volunteer to find my bag and hand it out a bus window, the man beside me said to no one in particular that he thought he was finished with the Boston Marathon. He said what I had not but was thinking at the time. Hurting and exhausted, not many people would agree to sign on to another marathon. I gathered my bag and wanted to text John and Holly. The crowd was so thick that I decided to text in the changing tent before heading to the Family Meeting Area. I began making my way back through the crowd toward the starting line.
The Blasts
That is when I heard two loud booms and and saw two high plumes of white smoke two blocks in front of me. No one around me knew what to think. I thought it sounded like cannon fire for a celebration at the finish, but at the same time, that didn't seem right. Either I said it or someone next to me commented on cannon fire. No one panicked. I told myself to stay calm. Two young men came running from that direction, but they weren't shouting. As I walked toward the blasts to the cross street that would take me to the Meeting Area, I thought about a recent article I had read about fright versus flight following another recent tragedy. Those slowest to recognize danger, and who do not think something terrible is happening to them, can meet demise if they are slow to respond. Still not understanding what had occurred, I turned off of Boylston Street onto Berkeley Street, where I immediately found the changing tent, sat down, and started texting as was my plan to inform John and Holly that I had arrived. I was telling myself to stay calm. I learned that Holly and her family were entering the subway and confirmed that my family was in the Meeting Area.
Later, I learned that Holly's family was evacuated from the subway with a policeman telling them to keep moving because a bomb could be anywhere -- like in the trash can next to them. That made for a long, emotional four-mile hike out of the vicinity and to Cambridge during which they saw many in angst and they feared for their safety. Making the trek with Holly were her husband, two young daughters, her sister and father. This is the same route the bombers must have walked.
Later, I learned that Holly's family was evacuated from the subway with a policeman telling them to keep moving because a bomb could be anywhere -- like in the trash can next to them. That made for a long, emotional four-mile hike out of the vicinity and to Cambridge during which they saw many in angst and they feared for their safety. Making the trek with Holly were her husband, two young daughters, her sister and father. This is the same route the bombers must have walked.
In the tent, the woman next to me said the sound reminded her of dynamite. Then another woman said the VIP section at the finish had been bombed. My first thought was that my family was not VIP's, and that they were not hurt. And who would want to target VIP's at a race? During this conversation, I changed my shirt, threw on a jacket, and then a volunteer opened the tent and said we should all move along for our safety.
Confusion
Only then did it occur to me that this was real. When I emerged from the tent, everyone in sight was calm. Two streets over from the bombing, I could see the letter C where my family was supposed to be, but between me and the letter was a barricade and an official who told me the Meeting Area was being moved, and that my family wouldn't be there. I'm sure this was the contingency plan for an emergency, and I later learned that the Meeting Area was indeed relocated. That's when I felt things were surreal. I was thinking that I couldn't get to my family, and that they did not understand that we were in danger. I asked if I could walk into the area to double check just in case they might still be there. The official told me to walk away from the area and pointed me in the opposite direction and told me I could find my way back around to the area. The crowd was thick, and I was confused. I saw a mother hurrying from the area holding a child's hand while carrying another small child. Through her children's crying, I heard her talking about the large, scary boom. Not understanding the layout and that a barricade would always be there to keep family from coming into the runners' area, I turned and kept walking for a city block.
I stood on a corner trying to call my husband. Another runner joined me and had the same story. I loaned her my phone, but it didn't work for her either. We wished each other luck, and I ducked into the sandwich shop on the corner to get out of the cold wind. As I walked in a man was being handed a sandwich as if nothing had happened. Why were they all carrying on business as usual? I asked the woman at the counter if I could stand inside the door to send a text. My husband and I began texting. I explained where I was, and he told me he was in the Meeting Area. He texted that he would leave the girls there to come find me. At this point, things were going terribly wrong. The emergency response vehicle sirens were loud and constant. My husband was about to leave the most precious beings in the world to me in a crowd after a bombing.
My heart panicked for my family, but by all outward appearances, I remained calm. Others appeared calm, too. I might have been at a loss during my moment of fright versus flight, but this is when my motherly instincts went into high gear. I must protect my children -- if I can get to them. I felt John did not understand what had happened. He could not have seen the smoke. I was so not worth it. We both communicated to each other to stay where we were, but we both started walking toward each other (him with the girls), and we missed each other. Then I just sat down under the letter C. The Meeting Area was eerily still and quiet except for the sirens. I shared my phone with another woman trying to connect with her family. While I was no longer moving and had a minute to reflect, I knew something terrible had happened and felt that those in need were being helped by the responders on the scene. I had not yet thought about people being maimed and killed. I could only rationalize that whatever had happened had stopped, and that it was not where I was.
When my husband arrived, he paused for directions on his phone before we started walking to our hotel a mile away. Later, my husband told me that he never felt he was in danger. His text about leaving the girls was out of frustration after dragging them through the City all day, and he had not intended to leave them. Alexis tells me she thought the first explosion was the sound of an earthquake, and after the second explosion she jumped behind her father. John told Sydney right away what had happened because he needed her to be cooperative and to be a good big sister at the time. People in the Meeting Area heard the explosions and learned what had happened from their mobile devices. I finally found my flight mode on the fast-paced walk to the hotel. People had gathered to watch news reports outside of a storefront. We kept moving the girls along hoping to shield them and reach the safety of our hotel.
When my husband arrived, he paused for directions on his phone before we started walking to our hotel a mile away. Later, my husband told me that he never felt he was in danger. His text about leaving the girls was out of frustration after dragging them through the City all day, and he had not intended to leave them. Alexis tells me she thought the first explosion was the sound of an earthquake, and after the second explosion she jumped behind her father. John told Sydney right away what had happened because he needed her to be cooperative and to be a good big sister at the time. People in the Meeting Area heard the explosions and learned what had happened from their mobile devices. I finally found my flight mode on the fast-paced walk to the hotel. People had gathered to watch news reports outside of a storefront. We kept moving the girls along hoping to shield them and reach the safety of our hotel.
Safety?
When we arrived at the hotel, we heard the report about the JFK Library fire and thought that other bombs would be detonated throughout the city. While I showered primarily to warm myself, my mind wouldn't stop racing. I repeated: I have to pray; I don't know what to pray for; and I can't calm down to pray. Before I turned off the water, I said a simple prayer for comfort for those in need of it. John responded to texts, e-mails and phone calls on both of our phones while the girls watched cartoons. Now dressed I paced in the generously sized bathroom while I recounted events to my parents and Brennan by phone. I still did not understand what had happened. My father told me that watching the events on a screen had made him physically ill. Brennan kept telling me how well I had done in the race trying to offer something positive. Nothing was registering. The race didn't matter in the least.
My family and I had not had a meal all day. We cancelled our dinner reservations to celebrate and ventured down to the hotel restaurant. There would be no shielding our girls from the large screen TV's throughout the restaurant. Once seated, I was too tired, hungry and dazed to think about leaving. The local news showed the same looping footage of a runner being knocked down by a blast only to break away for commentary that really told us nothing. We were glad Alexis had her iTouch and was absorbed in that although she did know about what was being reported on TV. Sydney absorbed it all. We heard the warning to avoid crowds the following day and knew we would be in our hotel room watching cartoons until we could leave as scheduled on Wednesday afternoon. Later, after learning that the library fire was not associated with the bombings, my Cousin Amy and I agreed by phone that if she felt it was safe to come get us, we would accept her offer to take us out of Boston and to her log cabin that was an hour and fifteen minutes away in New Hampshire. We had stayed with her and her family at the beginning of our trip, and she had been following the race and events throughout the day. Her husband Gabe drove into the City to pick us up, and we arrived at their house after 9PM. They told me and John that we did not understand the horror of the tragedy that had happened, and they reported deaths and injuries.
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| Visiting the coast of Maine on the day after the race. |
Reflection
I had felt confusion, disbelief, sadness, panic and relief, but did not shed a tear until Tuesday morning when I began reading e-mails and Facebook posts from family and friends. Their outpouring of concern was incredible. It was others' concern for me and for my family's safety that moved me to tears for the first time. I realized that it could have been me or my family. The day before had not seemed real. Then I thought through the what ifs. What if a series of even more bombs had exploded down Boylston Street? My thoughts turned to those who were killed and injured and those who love them. Then I thought of the runners and spectators who suffered through the unknown after the race was stopped. I had met a man who looked to be my father's age standing in line at the pre-race pasta dinner. Having run his last Boston Marathon in the 1990's, he told me he just wanted to run it one more time. Did he get to finish? Was he one of the 5,700 who could not?
I read Facebook posts of runners already vowing to come back next year. I was perplexed. They must be the ones who finished the race quickly and had moved on from the site by the time the bombings occurred. Each of us had a different experience and has a different perspective. Later, it helped me to read that some do not want to come back. When I read the account of the last women to cross the line before the bombing, I felt my story wasn't as strange as it sounds. She described hearing the explosion and walking through the chute to receive everything that I received. She even picked up her bag at the buses. Her story reinforced what I experienced: That behind the line, there was not a sense of panic.
This was to be a once in a lifetime event for me. However, when I arrived in Boston and felt the energy of the City and saw the other athletes, I immediately started planning how I could come back. The day after the race while I had tea at a bakery in Southport, New Hampshire, a reporter who happened to be there asked me if I would run Boston again. I did not know how to respond. I was feeling great sadness for those killed and injured; feeling guilty for crossing the finish line; and feeling angry that my family had been in danger. Other than talking with Brennan and Amy and Gabe, the first person to ask me how I did in the race was a stranger at Raleigh-Durham airport on Wednesday night. "I did very well. Thank you for asking," I replied. During the next two days I responded to a few e-mails, and that is when I reflected on the actual race. Going back through it, I realized that I had the race of my life. Then I wanted to say that I would be back to race in Boston, but I still wasn't able. As I talked to more runner friends later, I realized that I do want to go back -- to take the race back. I feel like it was taken from all of us. Holly had said before the race that I will have run the Boston Marathon, and that's something that no one can take away from you.
Holly had a phenomenal race, set a personal record, and re-qualied for 2014 with a time of 3:19:15. Along with being concerned about her daughters, she has been heartsick for the good people of Boston. From the first days, she has not ceased reflecting on the gracious spirit of the volunteers and spectators before and during the race and continues to search for and find the goodness in people after the tragedy.
Holly had a phenomenal race, set a personal record, and re-qualied for 2014 with a time of 3:19:15. Along with being concerned about her daughters, she has been heartsick for the good people of Boston. From the first days, she has not ceased reflecting on the gracious spirit of the volunteers and spectators before and during the race and continues to search for and find the goodness in people after the tragedy.
Since our return home, the topic of the bombing has come up several times. In the past week, Alexis was playing beside me with a small, clear rubber ball decorated with stars and glitter. Out of nowhere she said, "I want to have a bomb of happiness that would explode glitter." I engaged her in conversation, and we created this bomb of happiness. Sydney studied 9-11 and did a school project on Massachusetts this year. I had planned to introduce this smart, athletic girl to the Boston Marathon and Harvard; instead she lived out a tragic day in history. I hadn't verbalized this, but at the dinner table she was the one to say that by the time she is in high school and history books are re-written, this bombing will be in them, and she will have been there.
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| Holly, me and our friend Suzy after the Boston Memorial Run in Raleigh. |
On the Sunday following the race, John, Holly, Holly's sister Kristen, our friend Glenda and I participated in the Boston Memorial Run in Raleigh. I thought it would be therapeutic. It was a celebration of life and resiliency while honoring the victims of the attack and the people of Boston. Having met with Holly before the run to share our stories of race day, it had been emotional. After crossing the line, I saw my good friend, Jen, whose body double had been cheering me on at Boston. She gave me the biggest hug I've ever had. I found other friends in the crowd, and was happy to see them.
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| Holly and I running together during the Memorial Run. |
A week-and-a-half after the race, my husband told me that I had re-qualified for 2014. I had been certain I had not since closing in on the last miles of the race and thinking I would not finish in under 3 hours and 45 minutes, my division's qualifying time for 2013. I am now a three-time Boston qualifier, this time because I aged and move to a new division: Women 45-49. My qualifying time for next year is 3:55, so 3:49:12 qualifies me to run if space is available. To lift spirits in the aftermath, public officials vowed that next year's marathon will be bigger and better than ever. If they keep their pledges, they will support the BAA in ways yet undetermined to make this happen. It might be bigger and better, but it will never be the same.
| BIB | NAME | AGE | M/F | CITY | ST | CTRY | CTZ | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| 17780 | Caummisar, June M. | 44 | F | Apex | NC | USA | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| Holly, Kristen, Glenda, me and John after the Memorial Run. |
Sydney asked me recently if I plan to run Boston in the future. "I hope so," I said. "Good. I want to go back," she said. I paused and wondered how deep this conversation would go. "Why?" I asked. "Because they were so nice," she said. "Who?" I asked. "Amy and her family," she said. My daughter is already concentrating on the positive and the fond memories of our adventure in New Hampshire and the relationships she hopes to build with family. We will return.
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| Amy and Gabe entertaining us while preparing a lobster dinner. |
