Event #4 - The Bombing of the 2013 Boston Marathon
The mass of runners making their way to the finish line of the 2013 Boston Marathon, unaware of the horror that would unfold hours later, or the camaraderie that would be forged in its aftermath. Photo courtesy of Laurie Champ.
2:58:44.
That is what the clock read as I crossed the finish line of the 2013 Boston Marathon, the world’s most famous road race.
I was disappointed. Massively disappointed.
Total honesty: the self-pity set in before I even hit the finish line. That started somewhere around mile 17 as my pre-race goals died along with the pace of each mile split. I went into the race in great shape. It was only my second marathon, having qualified for Boston in my first attempt, but I knew I was in far better shape than I had been in Dallas when I qualified.
The race did not go to plan right from the start. I felt heavy. My legs felt dead. The course got the best of me. I struggled from about mile 15 to the finish line. 11 miles is a long time to struggle. Especially with 15 already in the bank.
Quick story. I ran 17 miles with Al, the guy to my left in the white USA tank. People went nuts for that USA tank. We met somewhere in mile 2. When I heard about the bombing, my first thought was, “Oh goodness…is Al ok.” He had the same about me. We connected via Facebook. Are friends to this day. Photo courtesy of Laurie Champ.
But even with that, what an experience! The streets were wall-to-wall people. The noise was deafening. The closer you got to Boston, the bigger and more boisterous the crowds became.
The guy dressed in colonial garb that welcomes you to Natick.
The screaming in Wellesley.
The hills in Newtown (shout out to the guy who blares the Rocky theme song. Respect).
The chaos of Boston College (You get there at about noon, they have been drinking since 8:00am. Easy to picture that scene).
The wall of sound as you make two famous turns in the last half mile: Right on Hereford. Left on Boylston.
I relished it all. Even in the struggle.
4:09:44.
That is what the clock read when the first explosion happened. Just a few yards from the finish line.
We were already gone. In the subway, actually.
I was so disappointed by how the race unfolded that once I met Melody and our friends who came out to cheer me on, Caleb and Laurie, I asked if we could just leave. I simply did not have it in me to hang around and enjoy the atmosphere. The self-pity, remember. We hobbled to the nearest subway station and headed back to where the car was parked. I pouted a bit. I am not proud of it.
At the 2014 Boston Marathon, many who lost limbs in the 2013 bombing retook to the streets to finish the marathon. Their courage, strength, and perseverance was inspiring. I teared up each time I passed on of them. Photo courtesy of Laurie Champ.
While we were riding away from the finish area, the world was watching terror unfold.
Terrorism, actually.
At a sporting event.
Two bombs exploded within 14 seconds of each other. A couple football fields apart.
3 people lost their lives.
16 people lost limbs.
Numerous others were injured.
A proud city that loves its marathon was brought to a halt by the cowardly act of two individuals.
Total confusion ensued.
Finish line workers tended to the injured.
Runners who had just run 26.2 miles were now carrying other runners.
The city shut down. Literally. For days.
A massive manhunt began, ultimately coming to an end four days later.
By the time we emerged from the subway, our phones were loaded with texts and calls. Were we ok? Why were we not answering? Where is Tim? What is going on?
While we were in the subway, nothing was coming into our phones. Our friends and families were completely in the dark. Tenuous moments.
Yes, we were fine. My self-pity melted away in the immediate recognition of what some people were experiencing. People I just shared a starting line with. Suddenly, a less-than-stellar running performance did not seem so bad at all.
I could tell hundreds of stories from that day and the days that followed, but here is the one I want to share today. This is the one that made this event so influential in my life. It involves a Kansas City woman named Chau Smith.
Greg Hall, the organizer of our KC Boston Bound group, with Chau Smith at the Garmin Marathon. Photo courtesy of Greg Hall.
She was unable to finish the race that day. She had qualified for Boston, only to get stopped about a mile short of the finish line when the explosions took place. She was not the only one, but what the Kansas City running community did for her in the wake of that disappointment has left a lasting impression on me.
A couple weeks later, back in KC, the annual Garmin Marathon was run. Those of us from Kansas City who had qualified and run the marathon had dinner the week before flying out to Boston. We called the group “KC Boston Bound.” Some communication went around: Let’s all deck out in our Boston gear, go down to the Garmin campus and run 1.2 miles with Chau, then award her the Boston Marathon finisher’s medal she rightfully deserves.
And so we did.
The KC Boston Bound group alongside Chau Smith at the finish of the Garmin Marathon. Her smile and that medal say it all. Photo courtesy of Greg Hall.
It was amazing.
Blue and yellow everywhere.
An army of runners, most of us who didn’t know Chau Smith much beyond her name, running alongside her.
She cried.
We cried.
She got her medal.
We took a photo.
The whole experience displayed to me the power of the running community. I will not run marathons my whole life, but I will run my whole life. The 2013 Boston Marathon is a big reason why. What happened on the streets of Boston immediately following the race. What happened on the streets of Olathe a couple weeks later. The quiet nods or looks of understanding that I get to this day when I wear my 2013 Boston Marathon jacket. All of it. That is the kind of community I want to be part of. I simply do not see myself ever stepping out of it.
It exists on high school cross country teams
Local running groups.
Your annual community Turkey Trot.
Between training partners of all ages.
Regardless of speed, age, gender, nationality, etc.
Running does a lot of things. Near the top of that list: It binds people together.
That is what community is all about. Shared experience. Shared emotion. Shared burden.
Those bombers tried to destroy a community.
What they did was tie it together.
I went back to the Boston Marathon in 2014. I will never experience anything like it again in my lifetime.
This sign and these messages went on for what felt like a couple city blocks at the Expo of the 2014 Boston Marathon. Boston Strong. That was the mantra. For the city. For runners. For spectators. It knit everyone together. Photo courtesy of Laurie Champ.
Community. Out in force. All along the streets of Boston. More people running (they increased the field because so many wanted to be there). More people cheering (the crowds were unprecedented, the people of Boston taking back their race). More noise. More signs. Same Rocky theme.
More shared experience. More shared emotion. More shared burden. More community.
You can have community in a host of places. Your local church. Your book club. Your neighborhood. Your quilting group. The people you play bridge with. The small group you are a part of. The choir you sing in. The scout troop you belong to. And a million other places. The point is you need it. And there is — or should always be — room for more in the community.
I have community in places outside of the running world.
I have appreciated it more in all of its forms since that day.
As humans, we need it.
I pray that you have it.
If not, I encourage you to find it. To lean into it. To rely upon it. To foster it. To cherish it. To fight for it. To celebrate it. To bring others into it.
Your marathon may not get bombed. But your marriage may struggle. Your health might fail. You might fall into a pit of depression. You may lose a job. The kids may become a serious challenge.
In those moments, you are going to need people to get you across the finish line and cheer like crazy when you get there.
That is what community is for.
