The events of
April 15, 2013 touched each of our team members in various ways. Our speed
demon, Owen, had crossed the finish line in the literal footsteps of the elites, close
to 90 minutes before the bombs went off. Others had just barely made it over
the famed finish line, basking in the glory of their personal win, only to turn around and see two explosions. Many were stopped at various points along the route with
no clue why or what happened. Our team captain conversed with others around
Washington Square about the police flying through the marathon route in their
cars with no regard to the runners with the assumption that they were trying to get out of detail work…how
those thoughts, feelings, and emotions changed in a heartbeat.
April 15 took
something away from all of us. As a collective team, we ran hard all winter
long—through brutal wind chills and while dodging snow plows. Our noses ran
faster than we did. We wanted to stop at DQ in Ashland for ice cream, even
though our training runs had just begun a quarter mile up the road. We made
friends with the crew from the Playworks team and were taken in by the amazing
staff from the Heartbreak Hill Running Company in Newton for one heck of a
training run. We laughed, we cried, we shared stories.
Michelle
attacked Julie while she was having her picture taken at the start—both were
bundled up in hoodies, hats, and gloves—though those that ran in 2012 were not
complaining about the extra layers. The skies were blue and sunny, a moment of
silence for the victims of Newtown gave us a moment of clarity about the
preciousness of life and how lucky we all were, and we prepared for our 26.2
mile journey as a team--with love in our hearts and smiles on our faces.
The love and
smiles arguably lasted for much of our runs. The amazing staff and volunteer
support at Mile 14 by the Franklin Park Coalition left not a want for any of
us. M&M’s? Check. Advil? Check? PB&J? Check. Tequila? Maybe next year…
We all also
had family and friends on the course and those family and friends looked out
for our green and white singlets—our team—our running family. Cheers were
yelled, beers were passed out, gels were anxiously tossed out by the Wicked Running
Club to ensure our crew made it up Heartbreak Hill and beyond.
Beyond we all
moved and continued to move. We were all in different places when the news
broke—and all encouraged to just move forward. Some of us were stopped at Mile
23 and 24 where the police gave us gentle directions to Commonwealth Avenue to
find our way back to Boston. Some of us were just a mile or half-mile out—just beyond
the “right on, left on” that feels so good. Some of those runners moved forward
beyond the bombing sites and into the Pru or into their hotels with loved ones.
Hugs never felt so good.
The Franklin
Park Coalition was unbelievable in checking in with our team and our families
after the marathon. A true picture of calm, cool, and collected they worked
through the emergency list, made sure all were ok, and updated not only our
families, but our donors and FPC supporters. When a few of our runners had a
friend whose husband and son were seriously hurt at the second bombing site, it
was the executive director who offered to come back into the city with warm,
dry clothes for her as well as hot meals. While the day of chaos continued for those
runners and their friend, the FPC showed why running a marathon for a great
cause is one of the greatest small-scale philanthropic decisions one can make.
Our Oregonian
connection made it safely home and had a greeting of over 100 people to wish
them well and show their gratitude for making it home. Craig and his friend ran
in a remembrance run for Boston in their hometown area and helped moved forward
with their own healing process. (http://www.kgw.com/news/local/Thousands-cross-Willamette-for-Boston-Remembrance-Run-203630051.html)
Many of us
hugged our families a little tighter that night or the next day. Some of us
took a walk in Franklin Park—thankful that a place like this exists in Boston
and that a man named Frederick Law Olmsted wanted to create peaceful places to
allow the public to escape urban strife—though I doubt April 15’s event were
what he had in mind. Some of us wrote back and forth to our teammates and found
comfort in the shared actions and emotions of others. We weren’t crazy for
bursting into tears, feeling unusually angry, or for feeling shaken up like
never before. We weren’t wrong for feeling like we were robbed of the day we
worked so hard for. It was comforting to have the team we did. As Elizabeth put
it, it helped to take in all of the good and the bad together.
Another
runner received this letter of support from a friend: I am so relieved to see that you are both OK. I agree completely with
your friends who say that today's horrible tragedy doesn't in any way diminish
your incredible accomplishment. All the months of training in disgusting
weather, and your stamina and determination in the race today, and Charlie's
support and encouragement throughout, are so worth celebrating. I hope you can
find ways to do this, even as you mourn those who died or were injured. What
you have done is so very special.
All want to
find a way to move forward and run again next year and we all anxiously await
how the Boston Athletic Association will be handling the 1000 official charity
runners that did not finish. We know what a special chance it is to be able to
do what we did and how special it is to have family, friends, colleagues, and
companies that support these crazy dreams of ours.
The Franklin
Park Coalition keeps moving forward, too. After they got the marathon stuff put
away (and all the Swedish fish eaten) they had a busy couple of weeks finding ways
to spend the $50,000+ that we raised--hiring teenagers, finalizing the
Playhouse in the Park concert line-up, re-potting small trees that will be planted,
and starting outreach for the annual Kite & Bike Festival.
As a team, we
move forward and continue to support each other and the Franklin Park Coalition
and look forward to finding ways to give back in the coming years.
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