New PR at the Tragic 2013 Boston Marathon

If we're lucky, we get a few days in life when we truly feel alive. A day when your emotional boundaries are stretched to their limits, exhausting the body and mind, exhilarating the soul, and filling you with gratitude for years to come. It's the reason many of us toe the line at marathons, triathlons, and extreme races, secretly hoping the day turns out to be anything but normal. The 2013 Boston Marathon became one of those days for me in a "be careful what you wish for" way. I'm happy to have PR'd, but after the tragic bombing that occurred several blocks away from me at the finish line, I am far more happy just to be alive.

[The first part of this race report is going to sound unusually positive given what you already know about the bombings, but I feel it's important to capture the emotions at the time they happened. My apologies if you consider it inappropriate.]

THE RACE

The beginning of the 117th running of the Boston Marathon was its usual cauldron of optimism as ~23,000 runners piled into buses to head to the start. The weather was ideal - overcast and expected to be in the low 50's for most of the race - which was a relief after the 90+ degree heat monster from last year. I had decided to go fast on my 9th running of Boston, thanks to being in good shape, healthy, and realizing this was a pretty good place to go for a PR given my familiarity with the course and the good company of many faster runners. My tapered legs (over-tapered?) were screaming "GET ON WITH IT!", and corral #1 buzzed like a beehive as we counted down the last few minutes. My stretch goal was 2:40, a solid five and half minutes off my PR, but possible given how my training was going. We all counted down together...3, 2, 1...and we were off!

(Corral #1 gets fidgety)

(Excited and ready to go!)

(And we're off!)

Mile 1 was slow (6:21 min/mile, when I need to average a 6:08 pace) thanks to runner congestion, but probably did us all a favor by holding us back from bombing the downhill. By mile 2, I was back on a 5:55-6:08 min/mile pace, looking for any runner with a bib number between 390-440 that would indicate a 2:40'ish qualifying time. I ran along with Loren Wohletz (#415!) from Albequerque, NM, whose long brown Wardian-like hair was easy to spot in the crowds, and he said he was looking to sneak under 2:40 today. A perfect teammate!

(The weather was ideal!)

(Running legend Joan Benoit Samuelson on her way to a age group record 2:50 finish)

(Crowds were outstanding, per usual)

For the next eight miles, I just tucked in with Loren and a few others, smirking at how different it was to race without constantly looking for photo opportunities. The miles ticked off consistently around 6:00-6:08 min/mile, with the disturbingly quiet strides of the talented runners around me. I did bring a camera (of course!), but would be frugal with my usage; my new 3 oz GoPro Hero3 was in my pocket specifically to capture the famous Wellesley scream tunnel at mile 12. And it did not disappoint! (sorry for the shaky video..I did need to stay on pace!)

I hit the halfway in 1:20:20 perfectly, and was still feeling good enough for a negative split. The first half of Boston is easier than the second, so some reserves would be needed to keep the pace. Loren started clicking off 5:55 min/miles, so I had to let him go (he went 2:40:04!), and instead fed off the amazing crowds that came out in droves. Nothing like a few high fives to get your spirits up!

The Newton hills came, and I charged up best I could. My left foot started cramping right under my strike zone (a relatively new experience for me), and despite various attempts at altering my gate, it got progressively worse. By the time we hit Heartbreak Hill (mile 20), I had a peg leg stride that was adding 20-30 seconds per mile. Darn! I asked the guy next to me what he would suggest, and he said, "I suggest you sack up and deal with it". Hilarious! And also true. Words of wisdom from a fellow tough runner. This would all be over in 30 minutes and I could ice it all week if I needed to. 

(Peter Gurney gets some love from his spontaneous crew of supporters)

I kicked it back up to a 6:00-6:08 min/mile pace, with a curse-laden Tourette Syndrome whisper accompanying my rhythm. Lots of folks saved for a kick, so it was easy to tag onto faster runners as we entered the last miles. I had lost a 2:40 finish, but was within striking range of a new PR. We hit Boylston St. and I red-lined to the finish, good enough for 2:44:35 and 457th place. A 42 second PR! I'll take it. I took off my left shoe and hobbled my way through the finish chute with a big smile on my face. 

(2013 Boston Marathon winners Rita Jeptoo and Lelisa Desisa)

The front runners had an epic battle, with Ethiopian Lelisa Desisa pulling away from two others in the last mile to win in 2:10:22, and Rita Jeptoo winning with 2:26:25 just over a year after having her first baby. American's Jason Hartmann and Shalene Flanagan each took 4th, respectively.

(Massage volunteer and 10-time finisher Donna Cormier assists the medical team in helping an elated Liang Wu from Austin, TX, who didn't let a pesky blister stop him from setting a new PR)

(World class service from Boston massage volunteers)

As we got our snacks and headed to the massage tent, it was clear that many had PR'd today. Everyone I asked had shaved off one minute, two minutes, even seven minutes...it was a day for champions. I got my massage, thanked the volunteers for their amazing service once again, and headed back to the finish line to get a beer and cheer on other finishers. 

The BOOM

The finish line was packed by the time I got back there, and my functional alcoholism was getting impatient with a 15-20 minute wait for a beer. Especially on a PR day! I decided to walk several blocks down Boylston St and find a pub, and soon was clinking pints with fellow runners and sharing our stories. Then we heard it...a sound that will stay with us for the rest of our lives. (watch the first 10 seconds of the next video to get an idea of how loud it was)

(The first explosion was just 100 yards from the finish)

BOOM. A few seconds later, another one. BOOM. What was that? A celebration? A gas leak? Within seconds we had our answer, as all we could see through the pub front window was thousands of people running with panic in their eyes. A crying woman stepped into the pub, saying something about an explosion at the finish line, bodies, and limbs...we all stood there in shock. A few minutes later, the TV's were turned to the live coverage and we got the unfiltered clarity of the horror. It was surreal to see it on TV while hearing the crowds outside, and seeing and smelling the smoke. My senses said to run, but I didn't think it made sense to go anywhere for the time being. But a few minutes later, the pub owner said they were closing. All of the blocks near the explosion were being evacuated.

(Devastation)

On the curb, the scene was intense. I frantically made my way against the crowds towards the scene. Nobody could find their loved ones, and feared the worst. Names were being screamed out in helplessness. Local Bostonians couldn't believe what was happening in their community, and the tears streamed down their faces. Sirens echoed down the city streets, and bomb units moved their way in. My shoes were sticking to the ground with every step, and only later did I realize that is was from blood tracked from the scene of the crime, the all-too-fresh ghost of victims who had been whisked away in minutes.

I hustled across the Boston Commons park and stepped into another pub with lots of big TV screens, texting my wife and parents that I was okay before the phone lines jammed up. The efficiency of the Boston Police Department, medical teams, and volunteers was stunning, and the medical tents for the finish line quickly turned into MASH units. The videos showed as many runners going TO the scene as running away from it, and it was clear there were 100 people helping on scene within five seconds. Then the counts started to come in...three dead (including an 8-year-old boy), 125+ injured, 10+ amputations already. Then another explosion at the JFK Library. It's not over, people. 

Tragic. Senseless. I felt nothing. I couldn't even conjure up anger or denial. It was similar to when I narrowly missed the 9/11 tragedy twelve years ago and couldn't feel anything for days. I needed to do something. I needed to help.

All celebration festivities were certainly cancelled so I couldn't go there to offer help, so I called Mass General Hospital to see if they needed help or blood donations. They had plenty of both. I went online to offer my hotel room to any displaced runner, only to find a list of thousands of Bostonians opening up their houses. Boston was telling me "we got this, bro...we got this". Of course they do. This is Boston, one of the greatest communities in the world. Nobody takes care of their own like Boston.

I looked at my cell phone which said I had 53 texts, 85 Facebook messages, 30 tweets, and 18 phone calls. It was family, friends...it was you guys. Yes, I was okay. Yes, I had been at the finish line ~30 minutes before, but my need for beer may have saved my life. In fact, let's have a few more beers. I opened up a tab and invited everyone to raise a glass to the Boston Police, the families of those who were affected, and to celebrate being alive. But in classic Boston form, the staff of the Beantown Pub just kept bringing free drinks. Hugs were welcome, but my money was not. 

(Runners were stopped along the course soon after the blasts)

As I got back to my hotel, another runner told me what it was like to be 500 yards away from the finish and told to stop (~5,700 runners were unable to finish). It was his first Boston, and like many who were coming in around the 4:09 mark when the bomb hit, he was running for a charity. I offered him my finisher medal, and he just smiled and said "you're the fifth person to do that in the last hour...no worries, mate, the BAA will take of us". His smile made me smile, and we hugged. Then he saw my watch and said "2:44? That's outstanding! Tell me about your race...". 

And just like that, the healing began. 

My senses came back quickly. I felt denial, and asked myself "why?" a few hundred times. I got angry, and blasted off a "#GFY terrorists" tweet (that's the Go F*** Yourself hashtag) which, of course, did nothing. I was furious, realizing what an easy target the Boston Marathon is and it was likely just a matter of time before some of that small sliver of crazy of humankind would see this as prime media leverage. Munich Olympics, Atlanta Games...the pinnacle of sport will forever be in the crosshairs of attention-seeking zealots with a few loose screws. I FaceTime'd with my wife and kids, keeping my cool, but turned into a sobbing mess as soon as it ended. This was good. This was healing. Somewhere in the whirlwind of emotion I fell asleep, and woke up still fully dressed with a new appreciation for life. That day is done. This day is ours. We all move on, stronger than before and gracious to be alive. Heroes abound. We will remember this day forever.

I am sad for the victims of this terrible tragedy. I am proud of Boston for their incredible response and support, and to the B.A.A., B.P.D, and local hospitals for being so prepared they undoubtedly saved lives. But most of all, I am happy for today. Happy to the point of tears that I get live and be healthy, surrounded by caring friends and family in a world where freedom cannot be stopped. The world feels brighter this morning, the sounds and colors are more vibrant. I will not take it for granted. This day is a gift. 

Give your kids an extra hug, raise your glasses, tell everyone close to you that you love them. It might be a PR day, it might be your last day, but it's YOUR day. Cherish the gift, people.

I hope to see you all soon. And in case I haven't said it lately...I LOVE YOU!!!

- SD