Remembering Sandy Hook

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A year ago today, I was sitting in a Church in Townsend, MA watching my nephew Kaiden’s preschool Holiday Show. I had seen the same show three times before – twice for Ashton and once for Kaiden the year before. It was always a beautiful event, filled with two of the most magical things about the Holidays – Children and Music. The show was always followed by a potluck lunch. As we learned the hard way the first year, getting a seat for the potluck lunch required racing to the dining area immediately after the show. My Dad would be the first in line for food, but always the last one eating, and it was an enjoyable time with my family and my sister-in-law’s family right before the Holidays that had become somewhat of a tradition.

At some point during the show, my phone started buzzing. I had signed up for alerts from ABC news and there was a brief message about a school shooting in Connecticut. It was one of those brief, vague messages, that seemed to be motivated by a media outlet trying to be the first to “break” a story that would eventually turn out to be nothing. I turned off my phone and quite honestly forgot about it for the most of the remainder of the event.

Well, sadly, we all know, this news was far from “nothing”.

I looked at my phone while getting ready to leave for home and saw several more notifications. I remember saying something vaguely to my brother that I think something bad happened at a school in Connecticut. But again, I didn’t give it too much thought.

Until I got in my car and turned on the radio.

My heart stopped. The story was still evolving so the facts were different depending on what news station you were listening to. But there was no doubt that something unthinkable had happened, and that the tragedy involved young children. There is nothing that hits home for a mother of two small children more than hearing about something horrible happening to another child – any child – whether you know them or not.

As I drove home, I learned that several children had been killed, most of them first graders (we would later learn that all of the children killed were first graders). Ryan was a first grader at the time. With every fiber in my body I wanted to go right to his school and pick him up and bring him home where I knew he would be safe, and I could keep him safe. The logical side of me talked myself out of being “that mom”, but I breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he finally came home on the bus.

The news evolved throughout the day, some of the facts changing slightly. But the most horrible fact had been confirmed a certainty – 20 children and 6 adults had been killed in their school that day.

Their school. Their elementary school. First graders and their teachers, their principal, and their aid.

It’s unimaginable. Unthinkable. But it happened. And it happened in the village of Sandy Hook in the storybook town of Newtown, CT. And if it could happen there, it could happen anywhere.

I’ve thought a lot about those twenty-six families throughout the year, and what the days must be like for them. Especially all of the “firsts”. First birthday, first Spring, first Summer, first day of school, first Halloween, first Thanksgiving. I cannot even imagine having to endure something so painful as having to lose a child in such a horrific way, yet having to relive that pain with every “first” that happens without their child or loved one. My heart aches for all of those families just thinking about it.

This post is not about debating the second amendment, or any variation of the many, many debates on gun control. There is plenty of that going on in other outlets and nothing I say here will really make a difference. And I think you can probably guess where I stand on that debate.

This post is about remembering the victims and their families, and how hard this day must be for them.

This post is about remembering the Sandy Hook community and the amazing courage and strength that they have shown throughout the year.

This post is about teaching our children love, kindness and empathy, not just through words, but through example.

This post is about taking time out for the little things. At the end of the day it is the little things that matter most. These are the things that will make your children feel loved.

Cherish every single moment that you have with your children. Hug them. A lot. Tell them you love them. A lot. Spend time with them. A lot. Do this for you and for your children. Think of those families that can no longer do any of these things with their children and do this for them.

Projected Finish Time

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My 117th Boston Marathon Racers’ Record Book, along with my “projected” finisher’s certificate, arrived in the mail today, stirring up a lot of mixed emotions. Instead of the words “successfully completed the 117th B.A.A. Boston Marathon” under my name on the certificate, it says “participated in the the 117th B.A.A. Boston Marathon”. For the first time in the history of the marathon, there are two sets of results in the record book; one set for “official” finishers and a second set for “projected” finishers. My name can be found in the record book listed with more than 5600 other “projected” finishers.

I know I should be proud of what I accomplished and I think in some ways, I am finally letting myself feel that pride. But it also makes me sad. And mad. Not at the B.A.A. for making this distinction, but at the individuals who denied me and so many others the opportunity to finish our race after months of training and sacrifices. I am again reminded of the emptiness that I have felt since April 15th. I don’t expect everyone to understand this, but I know that there are many who do.

One day, I hope to use this experience for something good. Until then, I will focus my energy on preparing for Boston 2014. What better way to honor the memory of the lives lost and the lives forever changed then to run my strongest and fastest Boston ever. That is how I will rise above and be “Boston Strong”.

“Every year athletes from around the world come to Boston, in the spirit of competition, camaraderie and community. Whether you completed the marathon in record time, or were denied the opportunity to finish, your spirit soared and joined all those who have ever made this, their marathon.

And next year on Patriots’ Day, it will again.”

Registration Day

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Today is the first day of the ‘deferment’ registration period for the 2014 Boston Marathon. Registration opened at 10 AM and I was registered by 10:30 AM. For the first time, I feel like I am taking a huge step forward since the 2013 Boston Marathon.

So I am now officially registered for Boston 2014 – the 118th running of the Boston Marathon. I am so grateful to the BAA for giving each of the approximately 5700 ‘non-finishers’ the opportunity to finish what we started on April 15th, 2013. The 2014 Boston Marathon promises to be a symbolic event in so many ways. It will be a tribute to those lives that were lost and all of the lives that have been forever changed. It will be a tribute to all the first responders who risked their lives to save so many. It will be the runners chance to take our city streets back. It will be epic and I look forward to being a part of it.

Right on Hereford, left on Boylston. See you on April 21st, 2014 – at the Finish Line.

How I Became a “Hockey Mom”

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It occurred to me while I was standing in a very long check out line at the Pure Hockey tent sale this weekend, my arms filled with random hockey ‘stuff’ (everything was 20% off and we would need it eventually right?) surrounded by hundreds of other parents, their arms filled with random hockey ‘stuff’ – I was officially a “hockey mom”. I’m not sure when this transition happened exactly, but there was no other explanation for why it felt perfectly normal to be there, by my own choice, on a beautiful August (yes, August) Saturday afternoon, looking around for people I knew.

So that got me to thinking. How did this happen? How did I get here? Didn’t I swear at some point that Ryan would never play hockey because it was too dangerous? Not to mention I have always heard that the practices were really early in the morning and there was no way I was getting up early to sit in a cold hockey rink? At what point did I lose this battle?

It started innocently enough – or maybe I falsely remember having a say in the matter when really this was all a big conspiracy between Mike and my brother Gary. Ryan would ‘learn how to skate’ with his cousin Ashton. And, oh by the way, he will need hockey skates (I think the first pair were a gift from Mike’s parents so they must have been in on it too), and a hockey helmet. And some gloves, shin and elbow guards in case he fell. Hmmm… this is starting to sound more like ‘Learn to Play Hockey’ than ‘Learn to Skate’. I was assured that he would not be skating with a stick and you can’t learn how to play hockey without a stick right, so I went along with it. It was November, 2010 and Ryan was four years old.

Our journey began at The Groton School with P.A.T. Hockey. Ryan is handed a hockey jersey that is much, much too large for him (wait – why does he have to wear a hockey jersey? This isn’t hockey, it is ‘learn to skate’!). The trap has been set.

Anyone who knows me knows that when I start a sport, or anything new really, I have to have all of the right equipment. (Example: I decided to learn to mountain bike, and went out and bought a really nice mountain bike. This was years ago. The bike hangs in my garage, the paint still a nice shiny red.) I noticed that some of the kids had on ‘stuff’ under their hockey jersey, that makes the jersey fit a little better. I asked Mike about it. He said they are wearing hockey pants and chest guards. Well, why isn’t Ryan wearing those things? If all the other kids are wearing them he must need them right? And so later that afternoon we would buy Ryan hockey pants and chest guards. He would now be learning how to skate in full blown hockey gear. Everything but the stick. I walked right into the trap without even realizing it.

All the kids – 3,4, 5 years old – were set loose on the ice at once, many of them on skates for the first time in their young lives. Ashton caught on pretty quick and could at least stand and shuffle along, and stay upright most of the time. And when he did fall, he could pick himself back up. Ryan not so much. He spent much of that first day crawling on the ice, crying, wanting to come off. He and a few other kids were allowed to come off the ice to learn some ‘skills’ that will help them on the ice. They started waddling around on their skates, quacking like ducks. Really?

I would spend the next six months of Sundays sitting in that cold rink at The Groton School watching Ryan ‘learn to skate’ in hockey gear. It was cute, really – and that was the downfall right there. I was lured by the cuteness of it all – Ryan dressed head to toe in hockey gear, looking like a mini hockey player (without the stick). The highlight of that first year? When Ryan was able to (finally!) stand up on the ice by himself when he fell. That deserves a medal, right?

Fast forward, almost four years later and I find myself fully engulfed in the hockey world. Ryan no longer plays in Groton, and instead plays at a rink much closer to our home. (An added bonus is that this rink also has a built-in restaurant and seating outside the ice so you don’t have to freeze all the time). After that first year, they added the stick, and Ryan was officially ‘playing hockey’.

Over the last four years, we have transitioned from having slushies after our once weekly hockey session to eating dinner at the rink multiple times a week in between hockey skills sessions, practices and games. (I am convinced there is a conspiracy between the rink restaurant and the ice scheduling that forces us to spend hours at the rink at a time.) I now know the exact location of all 7 rinks in the arena Ryan plays at, and which locker rooms go with each rink. And I get overly excited when I get a good parking spot at the rink – on some days, it is the highlight of my day.

And I’ve learned a few things about hockey along the way.

I’ve learned that the hockey season never ends. It starts in the Fall, and then starts again the next Fall. It. Never. Ends.

I’ve learned that you do eventually get used to the cold… and the smell.

I’ve learned that hockey tryouts are much harder on the parents then they are on the kids. Much, much harder.

I’ve learned the value of ice time. It is SO valuable in fact that hockey parents will often rent a full sheet of ice – outside of regular ice time – because, we don’t already spend enough time on the ice.

I’ve learned the importance of the “blue line”. It doesn’t just divide the you know. That blue line is REALLY important.

I’ve since learned that there are actually two blue lines. And both blue lines are REALLY important.

I’ve learned that there are two different doors to the hockey team bench – one for offense and one for defense. Who knew?

I’ve learned that I will no longer refer to Ryan as 6 years old or 7 years old or whatever age he happens to be when I am asked his age. He is now and always will be, an ’06’.

I’ve learned that nothing will stop your heart faster than watching your child go down on the ice and not get up right away.

I’ve learned that the game of hockey is teaching Ryan so much more than stick handling skills and edge work. He is learning about sportsmanship, teamwork, commitment, hard work, successes and failures – things that all sports teach you, but I think hockey does so on a much larger scale.

I’ve learned that the hockey community is made up of some really great people. We’ve made some great friends along the way, especially over the last year. There is nothing that will bond you faster then spending hours and hours at a hockey rink together (including six consecutive nights of hockey tryouts). Ryan has made some great friends too and it has been fun to watch his little group of friends grow in the sport.

I have no idea how long I will be a “hockey mom” – that will be up to Ryan. For now, I am just going to enjoy the adventure. I am very proud of him and I am excited to see what the next year has in store for him and for us.

How I Really Feel About the Rolling Stones August Issue

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I have been struggling with whether or not to write in detail about this very controversial subject. But there are things I just need to get off my mind.

First of all, I have a confession to make. I read the article profiling the (alleged) bomber. (Well, most of it – it is pretty long and I am not quite done yet.) It was very well written and there was obviously a lot of research and investigative journalism that went into writing it. I applaud Rolling Stones for dedicating their efforts to bringing the facts to light and educating the public on a very important topic. Lets face it – terrorism and those that participate in it are not going away anytime soon. As much as we want to believe that the world is primarily good, there is and always will be evil among us. 9/11 showed us that loud and clear. We were on alert for months, maybe even years, after that horrible day, but then we became complacent and passive.

I am not saying that what happened at the Boston Marathon could have been prevented. Honestly, I don’t know how it could have been, unless someone was privy to the brothers’ plans ahead of time. Anyone who has ever been a spectator at the Finish Line of the Boston Marathon knows what a mob scene it is. It would be nearly impossible to protect the entire area against anyone who was determined to do harm to innocent people. I do not envy the person or persons at the B.A.A. whose job it is to ensure the security of the Finish Line area on Boylston Street in the 2014 Boston Marathon. They have their work cut out for them for sure. And what about the rest of the course? The entire course is lined with thousands of people. How could it be possible to secure all 26.2 miles?

So what Rolling Stones did is commendable. They dedicated their August issue to profiling the living suspect (and to some extent, his brother and parents), to help us better understand how someone goes from being a seemingly normal college student, to a terrorist that places a bomb at the feet of an 8 year old child and walks away. And, more importantly, help us to recognize early warning signs so that these monstrous acts might just be prevented. Because if we, the American people, do not think that there are others out there like these two brothers, then we are just plain stupid.

So, I don’t have a problem with the article and the insight it provides.

I do however, have a problem with the cover, especially given the timing of the article. Not surprising, I know. But really, how could anyone have thought that was a good idea? Yeah – I get it. The picture portrays the living suspect as looking like the “boy next door”, which is the point of the whole article. He could be your friend, your neighbor, the kid sitting behind you in class. I get all that.

And I get the fact that the same picture was displayed in various Boston media reports (both digital and print) at the time of his identification and capture. But the context, source and purpose was different. Way different. And the picture did not have the title “Rolling Stones” across the top of it – a brand that is by default associated with the music industry, whether they like it or not.

The problem is, it is just too soon for the people of Boston (or anyone directly or indirectly impacted by the tragedy) to have to check out at the grocery store and see this monster staring at us from the cover of Rolling Stones magazine like he was some kind of rockstar. Many of us are still recovering from the events and trauma of that day. Many of us jump at loud noises, or at the sounds of sirens. Many of us are learning how to walk again with one or no legs. Many of us are learning how to adjust to having significant hearing loss. Many of us are still grieving over the loss of a child, daughter, son or brother. And many of us are still trying to figure out a way to move forward, in this world that is again so different than it was prior to April 15, 2013. We are not passively grieving the tragedy. Many of us are still healing from it and it is just much too soon to expect us to want to understand “how and why”.

It is a great article. But the cover choice will undoubtedly deter some people from reading it, limiting its reach, and thereby, limiting the impact it will ultimately be able to have. And that is really, truly unfortunate. It is just too soon, plain and simple.

100 Days ~ 100 Lives

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Wednesday June 24th marked 100 days since the tragedy at the Boston Marathon. Our local paper published a collection of stories from people who were impacted by that day. I am honored to have been included in this series. You can find the story here.

You can read my personal story about that day here.

Only 270 days until the 118th Boston Marathon…

Bittersweet

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I have a love/hate relationship with this time of year.

I love that the days are getting longer, and warmer, and we can spend more time outside than inside. I love that Summer is just around the corner which means our routine (especially mornings!) will be a little bit more relaxed, and the days a little less structured.

But I also feel a little sad. As I have been watching my children these last few days of school, especially with all of their year-end activities, I have realized that these are not the same kids I sent to school in the Fall.

My “little girl” who would barely leave my side all summer long, readily leapt into the arms of her preschool teacher in September (whom she had just met five minutes prior) and has not stopped growing since. She is singing songs and saying things that someone else taught her. She has friends that are not stuffed animals and she calls me “dude” (I am not kidding).

And Ryan. I don’t even know where to begin with Ryan. He is such a special, unique child, who continues to amaze me each and every day with the things he says and does. He has grown up so much this year. He is so smart, and so aware of the world around him. He LOVES to read. But my favorite thing about Ryan is the empathy that he has towards other people. During his hockey tryouts earlier this Spring, one of his friends fell on the ice. Ryan stopped, skated over to him and knelt down next to him for quite a while. Later, I asked him what he was saying to his friend. He answered “I told him I would not leave him behind.” That is Ryan.

I am proud of my children and the people that they have grown into this school year. And I am happy that they are so happy. But sometimes, I wish I could just freeze time, even if only for a little while. Because by the end of each school year, they have moved just a tiny bit further away from being “little”. And that, is bittersweet.

It’s Not A Sprint, It’s A Marathon

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My mom bought me this beautfiful Alex and Ani bangle over the weekend. The card inside it reads:

In the beginning of a marathon, your head keeps you focused with the notion that all dreams are possible with the right state of mind. As the journey progresses, the sheer will to succeed must move you forward. At the most challenging moments, your heart will undoubtedly take over. Life is the ultimate marathon, for it’s the moments that make up the journey.

I could not have said it better myself. I love it.

Mind and Spirit Over Matter (& Finishing on My Own Terms)

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Today I ran in Boston’s Run to Remember Half-Marathon, a race run to pay tribute to all Massachusetts law enforcement officers who have been killed in the line of duty. This was my third time running in this race since its inception nine years ago.

How strangely ironic that such a race was scheduled to be held in Boston, just six weeks after the tragedy at the Boston Marathon. How fitting that Boston’s first big event after the tragedy was a road race. How even more fitting that it be a road race run annually, on Memorial Day weekend, to pay tribute to the Massachusetts Law Enforcement Community and to honor those that have made the ultimate sacrifice. This race afforded the perfect opportunity to also pay tribute to the many thousands of first responders, volunteers and marathon organizers who saved so many lives that terrible day, and the law enforcement officials who brought justice to our city in the days that followed. And this race was the perfect opportunity to honor the memory of MIT Officer Sean Collier, to whom the race was dedicated this year.

For me, this race was also the perfect opportunity to take another step towards healing the (still) very large holes in my heart that I’ve had since the Boston Marathon. I suspect it will be a while, if ever, before those holes are completely gone.

Physically, I probably should not have run today. I have been nursing a nagging injury that I’ve had since the marathon and despite advice from my medical “advisor” (aka my PT brother Gary) to take a break from running for awhile, I chose to run this race anyway. There really was no choice for me – not running was never an option. I needed to do this more than anything. The only question was how I was going to approach preparing for the 13.1 mile run. I opted for a ‘less is more’ approach and did minimal runs over the last few weeks, my longest run being just 8 miles.

I wasn’t sure how the run would go today, and I was nervous I wouldn’t be able to finish. But if ever there was an instance of ‘mind over matter’, today was it. My mind, and my spirit were so strong, it really didn’t matter how prepared (or not prepared) I was physically. It was a very emotional run, and I did have to fight back tears a few times, finally giving in to them when running through the police officers lining Memorial Drive in front of MIT. But it was also a very inspirational, liberating and healing run.

And today I got my finish. I crossed that finish line with a heavy heart and a smile. And I finished on my own terms.

Photo courtesy of my son Ryan

My 2013 Boston Marathon Story

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When I picked my daughter up from school today, I was wearing my 2013 Boston Marathon jacket. One of her teachers asked me if I ran the marathon this year. I hesitated before I answered, because I didn’t really know how to respond to that question, and it was actually the first time I had been asked. To a runner, saying that you ‘ran a marathon’ implies that you finished it. But I did not finish the Boston Marathon this year. Not because of anything that I did or did not do. But because of someone else’s terrible, deliberate, and calculated decision to hurt innocent people. So after thinking for a few seconds I responded with “most of it”. It seemed like the most honest answer I could give in that moment.

Today marks one month since the tragedy at the Boston Marathon. My thoughts and prayers remain with all the victims as they continue to heal both physically and emotionally. I am so grateful for the outpouring of love and support I have received and it reminds me that there is so much more good in this world than bad.

It has taken me a while to be able to articulate everything that transpired that day, but I am finally able and ready to do so. I also think that this is something I really need to do. This is a collection of all of my memories from that day, the good things and the bad things. This is my story.

The Expo

I am going to start with The Expo because for me, that is the start of the transition from ‘training for the Boston Marathon’ to ‘running in the Boston Marathon’.

This was my fifth time running in the Boston Marathon. But this year was different for me. For the first time, my children were going to be there, on the sidelines, cheering for their Mommy. I made a big deal out of bringing them to the Expo. Mike didn’t really think it was a good idea because you do so much walking and the kids would probably get bored pretty quickly. And I knew he was right, and maybe it was selfish of me, but I really wanted them to come with me when I picked up my bib/number. I can’t explain why. It was just important to me that they be there. And so they came.

Mike got there ahead of us because he was running in the BAA 5K that was being held in the morning prior to the Expo. While driving into Boston, I was attempting to explain to the kids the significance of the Boston Marathon. They had both been to watch the Boston Marathon every year since they were born. They loved to cheer on “the runners”. They knew I had been training to run in the marathon this year, but from their perspective, all it meant to them was that Mommy spends a lot of time on the treadmill or outside running on the weekends. I wanted them to really understand the history of the marathon, and the amount of effort and commitment it takes to train for and complete the marathon distance. I don’t think they really understood though. Not sure what I was thinking – they are only 6 and 3 after all…

After we caught up with Mike outside the Hynes Convention Center, we headed in to the Expo to pick up my bib/number.

After walking around the Expo for a while (one of my favorite parts of Marathon Weekend), we left to go to the finish line. This is something I have done each of the years I have run the Boston Marathon. There is something about seeing the finish line prior to the start of the marathon that gives me a little bit of extra motivation. I wanted my kids to see it too (they were like, “what’s the big deal mom – it’s just some paint across the street”). Thinking back on that day seems so strange now, knowing what transpired in that exact spot just 24 hours later.

After that, we headed home. I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to decide what to wear for the marathon. I went to three (yes three) different sports stores trying to find shorts that had enough ‘storage’ for my energy beans. I was breaking one of the biggest rules (if not THE biggest rule) of running a marathon – do not eat anything you have not tried during a training run and do not wear anything new. I was about to do both of those things, so I guess I was breaking two rules. I had been training with Cliff Shot Blocks but the Jelly Belly Energy Beans were a little bit easier to handle logistically. And not only did I find and purchase a new pair of shorts for the marathon, but I decided to layer them over a pair of UA compression shorts. Don’t ask me why. Clearly I wasn’t thinking straight.

Several hours later my BAA bag was packed, my bib was pinned to my Dana-Farber running singlet and my clothes were all laid out and ready to go. Before bed, the kids prepared for their role as spectators and made some great signs. I used this picture in a fun ‘Facebook Fundraiser’ that generated a $90 donation from ‘likes’ and ‘comments’. Not only was it a fun way to determine the amount I would donate after I crossed the finish line, but I enjoyed reading all the motivational comments and well wishes I received.

Marathon Monday

Finally, the day I had been training for for four months had arrived. I was excited and nervous and proud and scared all at the same time. Since we live so close to Hopkinton, Mike and the kids drove me to Hopkinton State Park where they have shuttle busses to take runners and spectators to the starting line. I was in Wave 3 which would not start running until 10:40 AM, but we had to be there early because they close a lot of the roads leading in and out of Hopkinton. So around 7:30 AM Mike and the kids dropped me off at Hopkinton State Park.

We made our plans with regards to where my family would be on the course. Mike, the kids, and my parents would wait for me right before Mile 15 and then head into Boston to wait for me at the Finish Line. I really wanted Mike to bring the kids with him to the Finish Line. He didn’t want to because it is always so crowded and I think he was afraid of losing them, or that they would get too tired from all the walking you need to do to get there (and the standing around that you do once you are there). But he knew how much it meant to me to have them there so he agreed to bring them. To this day it still haunts me as to what could have happened to them because I selfishly wanted them to be there when I crossed the Finish Line. I try not to think about how close they were, but it is impossible not to.

A short bus ride and not-so-short walk later and I was in Athlete’s Village. I walked a little out of my way first so I could get a picture of the starting line.

Dana-Farber had a meeting place in Hopkinton near our starting corral but I wanted to experience the atmosphere in Athlete’s Village. I took it all in. All of it. I wasn’t sure if I would have the opportunity to run Boston again after this year, so I wanted to take pictures with my mind and remember every single thing about that morning. It was sunny, but not too sunny. It was a little chilly, but I knew that would be good when we finally started running. Not surprisingly I spent most of the time in the porta-potty line. When I finally got to the front of the line I went right back to get in line again because I was so nervous I knew I would probably have to go again by the time I reached the front of the line. (If you’ve ever run a marathon I’m sure you know what I am talking about.)

Around 10:30 AM I dropped off my bag on the Dana-Farber bus and made my way to Corral #6. At 10:40 AM we were off and running. I remember hearing Tedy Bruschi announcing the names of random runners as we ran by the start. I felt extremely privileged to be one of 27,000+ runners to have earned my spot at the starting line that morning. I was anxious, but there was nothing more I could do at that point but enjoy the day, the experience, and the run. I knew that completing the marathon was within my control, but only up to a certain point. I could not control the weather. I could not control how my body was going to respond to the beating it was about to take. These are the things that a runner worries about prior to starting a race, the things that might prevent a runner from finishing the race or achieving a specific time goal. I had to trust that all of my training and hard work would pay off, my body would not fail on me, and I would ultimately reach the finish line on Boylston Street. It is so hard to put into words all of the emotions that I was feeling at that moment. I still get goosebumps thinking about it…

Hopkinton To Boston

As I started to run, I immediately took inventory of my body from head to toe – something I do instinctively at the start of every run. I had struggled with a few minor aches and pains towards the end of my training and was a little worried about how my body would respond when I started to run. As I evaluated the potential problem areas (specifically my Achilles and my hip) I was pleasantly surprised when ‘nothing hurt’. I actually felt really, really good. The weather was perfect for running (I don’t think it could have been any more perfect), and my breathing was even and not labored. Everything seemed to be lining up exactly how I had hoped it would. The day was perfect in every way. Now all I had to do was run for a few hours.

Making the classic mistake, I started out too fast. Somehow, I was running under a 9 minute mile. But I felt really good and decided to just base my pace with how I was feeling. I did not really feel like I was pushing myself to run at that pace, so I just went with it and didn’t look at my Garmin too much. I was not trying to finish with a certain time, so there was really no reason for me to monitor my pace. I figured after I warmed up I would naturally settle into a comfortable pace, as long as I listened and responded to my body.

The spectator support along the course was amazing. It seemed like there were so many more people out than there had been in the past and they were screaming louder than ever. It was positively remarkable. As I ran through Ashland (around mile 4) I was greeted by cheers from a big group of family and friends. They were easy to spot because some of the kids had made bright pink posters for all the runners that they were cheering on that day.

Running through Framingham by the train station (between mile 6 and mile 7) I passed a spectator holding a sign that said “You are NOT almost there”. I actually laughed out loud. There is nothing more annoying then running a long distance race and hearing a spectator shout “you are almost there” when you know you are nowhere near “there”. I loved that sign!

When I got to Natick I felt a twinge of disappointment because in the past, my family was always at the Natick mile 10 mark. So mentally it was a little difficult running by the spot where they usually were, knowing they were not there. I quickly snapped out of it though because I knew I would see my family in just five short miles.

Leaving Natick and entering Wellesley I knew the halfway point was not far away and that I could count on the ‘Scream Tunnel’ to carry me there. When I came to the halfway point in downtown Wellesley, I knew there would be cameras. I have yet to have a decent ‘MarathonFoto’ picture from all the marathons I have participated in so far. I was determined to get a good one this time. So I smiled as best as I could as I ran through the halfway point.

My ‘gun time’ at the halfway point was 1:55:40, or an 8:49 minute/mile pace. My splits up until this point were:

Mile 1: 8:53
Mile 2: 8:34
Mile 3: 8:19
Mile 4: 8:14
Mile 5: 8:35
Mile 6: 8:20
Mile 7: 8:38
Mile 8: 9:33
Mile 9: 8:34
Mile 10: 8:39
Mile 11: 9:44
Mile 12: 9:00
Mile 13: 8:56

After the halfway point I knew I would see my family in just under two miles. Using a mental strategy I told myself that was less than 20 minutes and that wasn’t a long time at all. Across from Marathon Sports on Washington Street/Route 16 I spotted the same group of family and friends from Ashland and their bright pink posters. It was great to see them again and they gave me a little extra boost until I got to my family. I then crossed Route 9 to the point where I knew my family would be waiting — and there they were. I stopped for a few hugs and kisses, some water and to restock my Energy Beans.

I knew that once I left my family the most challenging part of the course was in front of me. I started running and saw my former TNT running coach, Rick Muhr. Rick gave me some much appreciated mental motivation by reminding me that in just one short mile I would be down to single digits (less than 10) in remaining miles. It may seem trivial, but you have no idea how that mindset can shift your mental state.

I don’t remember too much between mile 15 and mile 17. I do remember conserving energy on the downhill into Newton Lower Falls so that I would be in relatively good shape for the Newton Hills. My blood sugar also started to drop around mile 17 and I found myself needing to refuel a little more often than I would have liked. My split times up until this point were:

Mile 14: 9:08
Mile 15: 11:55
Mile 16: 9:03
Mile 17: 11:36

I made the turn onto Commonwealth Avenue and I had reached the first of three consecutive hills. I was cautiously confident heading into the hills because I had completed my 20 mile training run on the course and I felt really strong on the hills. I was feeling pretty good on race day too, but I still proceeded with caution, managing my energy conservatively as I climbed through Newton.

At some point on the hills prior to mile 19, I passed the Hoyt’s. I have to say it came at a really good time. There is nothing more inspirational than watching the Hoyt’s in the Boston Marathon. It was truly an honor to see them on the course.

At mile 19 I saw my co-worker and friend, Igor. Igor lives in Newton on the marathon course, but had never actually watched the race before. He came out to support me, which was really great and I was very excited to see him. I stopped to say ‘hello’, get some water, and take a picture.

That quick visit allowed me to reboot my mental state and prepare myself for the last of the three Newton Hills – the infamous Heartbreak Hill. I crested Heartbreak Hill (mile 21) and began the descent through Boston College. I did forget to look for the Citgo sign which you can sometimes see at the top of Heartbreak, but that was probably for the better, since the site messes with you psychologically a little bit.

I don’t remember much between mile 21 and mile 24. The one thing I remember was seeing some spectators dressed up like Star Wars characters right near Cleveland Circle and made a mental note to tell Ryan about it.

I’ve always enjoyed the part of the course along Beacon Street through Brighton and Brookline. There is just something that I love about running through the congested streets packed with runners and sidewalks packed with spectators. I think you can also feel that you are getting closer to Boston. As I approached mile 24 I started to look for my friend Mark who was planning to be there. Sure enough, right before the 24 mile marker, there he was. I had just stopped for water and some energy beans when I saw him so the timing was perfect. He walked with me for a minute while I refueled and then offered to run with me for a little while. What a welcome surprise! We hadn’t seen each other in a few years so it was great to see him and catch up, as well as have something to take my mind off of how tired I was starting to feel. I am not completely sure how long Mark ran with me, but I think he left me right before I headed into Kenmore Square.

I reached Kenmore Square and it did not disappoint. Thousands of people lined both sides of the street. The Citgo sign was a glorious sight, and then I passed the ‘one mile to go point’. It was at this point that I allowed myself to believe, without a doubt, that I would cross the finish line. So much can happen between mile 0 and mile 26.2, and I never let myself ever be completely confident too soon. But when I reached Kenmore Square, and crossed the ‘one mile to go point’, I finally allowed myself to believe unconditionally that I would reach the finish line. I had less than a mile to go and I felt great. At this point, there was nothing that was going to prevent me from crossing the finish line.

My splits up until this point were:

Mile 18: 10:17
Mile 19: 10:17
Mile 20: 11:40
Mile 21: 11:22
Mile 22: 9:42
Mile 23: 10:42
Mile 24: 10:24
Mile 25: 11:32

The excitement I was feeling was overwhelming. Not only was I going to finish, but I was on track to beat my best Boston Marathon time by almost 25 minutes. I had been running for 4 hours and 9 minutes. My Garmin had me projected to finish at around 4:15. My best Boston Marathon time prior to this was 4:41. That was a huge improvement and I was SO excited about this.

As I approached the Mass Ave overpass, my positive mental state completely overshadowed any physical hardships I might have had. I honestly don’t remember struggling physically at all past the Newton Hills – it was all mental. And once I flipped the switch on my mental state of mind, I was home free. I started to visualize the turn onto Hereford and wondered if my friend Dave would be in his usual spot on the left side of Hereford. I was hoping he would be there because I had not seen him in quite a while and it is always so wonderful to see him right before the turn onto Boylston. I then started to visualize the turn onto Boylston Street and getting that first glimpse of the Finish Line. I hoped and prayed that my family would be there and that I would be able to find them among the masses of people. For four months I had been looking forward to the moment when I saw my kids as I approached the Finish Line on Boylston Street. This was going to be my moment to show them what their Mommy is capable of doing. I wanted them to remember this day, be proud of their Mommy, and maybe, just maybe, be inspired to run like Mommy some day. My excitement was rising by the second.

What?

I think the first sign that something was wrong came before I realized that something was really wrong. As I approached the Mass Ave overpass I noticed ahead in the distance a crowd of bodies with bright yellow jackets, running towards the direction of the finish line. They were on the opposite side of Commonwealth Ave from where the runners were, and I thought for a split second that that was odd, but didn’t think anything beyond that. It wasn’t until later that I realized that what I saw were the first responders rushing to the finish line.

Moments (seconds) after that everything and everyone came to a screeching halt (literally) as I approached a ‘traffic jam’ of runners about four or five rows deep, which continued to pile up behind me. Everyone was confused and no one really knew what was going on. One runner with his phone looked on twitter and learned that there was an explosion at the finish line, but did not have any other information. Some runners actually said they had heard the explosions. There is actually a picture that has been used in various media reports of the group of runners that I was in.

Yoon S. Byun | Getty Images

We started to hear sirens in the distance. I thought back to the swarm of yellow jackets I had seen right before we were stopped, and it was starting to make sense. Even though my family was at the finish line, I didn’t immediately start to panic. The source of the explosion being a bomb never even crossed my mind. I assumed it was some sort of accident and once everything got cleared up we would be on our way again. To be perfectly honest, I was mad. I was having the run of my life and I was on my way to running a Boston Marathon PR. What do you mean we have to stop and wait here? I started to wonder when we would start running again (not resuming the marathon was not even an option to me at that point) and if our times would be adjusted to compensate for the time we were stopped. Now that I know the magnitude of the situation that was unfolding at the finish line I feel incredibly guilty for thinking so selfishly in those moments. It is very hard to explain the emotions that were coursing through my mind during that time. I went from anticipating a feeling of extreme jubilation that was mere moments away, to a feeling of complete confusion and lack of control. It is really hard to explain what that does to your psyche when you are forced to make that shift in a matter of seconds. It didn’t make any sense. How do you just “stop” the Boston Marathon?

Panic

We were stopped for about 30 minutes or so when we started to learn a little bit more about what had happened. People with phones and access to Facebook, twitter or friends and family were learning that there were two explosions at the finish line and some people were injured. My thoughts immediately went to my family who were at the finish line. Were they OK? How could I find out? I didn’t run with my phone so I had no way of trying to get in touch with anyone. I think I started talking/worrying/crying out loud because a very kind TNT runner came over and started to hug me and speak to me in a very calming voice. She encouraged me not to jump to any conclusions and asked me questions about my husband and kids. I will never forget her kindness during such a scary and confusing time. (I have since been in contact with her and have thanked her personally via email).

At some point a race official came to where we were stopped and announced that there was an incident at the finish line and that we needed to wait there until they decided what they were going to do. Looking back I suspect they had known at that point the severity of the situation and that there was no way the race was going to continue. In hindsight I suspect they were trying to avoid a panic until they had a plan for getting the runners so close to the finish line off of the course.

And so we waited. I borrowed phones from a few other runners to try to reach Mike, my parents, my brother, anyone. But none of the calls were connecting, or they were going right to voice mail, so I was not able to reach anyone. Some runners were starting to cramp up from standing there, and we were getting cold. Runners were giving other runners in need their jackets, food and water. It was such a confusing and scary time, but there was also a lot of kindness as all of the runners pulled together to help each other.

Finding My Family

I think we had been stopped for a little over an hour, although I am not really sure. I still hadn’t been able to get in touch with anyone. I was standing in the group of runners, waiting for more information, trying to learn anything I could about what was going on. The flow of information was extreme, but inconsistent, so it was hard to know what was really happening. I glanced up on the hill, towards Mass Ave, and I saw Mike and the kids. I think I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. But there they were – Mike was standing with Adyson and Ryan was sitting on a cement wall. I couldn’t believe it. You can see the three of them (from behind) in this picture that I found (Mike is standing and Adyson and Ryan are sitting on the wall in the picture).

Erin Rhoda | Bangor Daily News

I limped up the hill to where they were, and I could see the kids and Mike scanning the group of runners, I assume looking for me. I don’t know if they saw me until I was standing right next to them. I scooped Adyson up. I may have just run 25.7 miles, but that was not going to stop me from picking her up. I held her SO tight, and bent over to hug Ryan at the same time. It was the best reunion ever.

I asked Mike if he knew what happened. He quite calmly told me that there were two explosions near the finish line. So I asked the obvious question – “Was it near where you were standing?”. I think he answered pretty generically and said something like “They were across the street.” and I didn’t think too much of it (I would later learn that they were actually directly across the street from the second explosion, a short 20 yards away). I then asked him if anyone was hurt and he responded with “oh yeah”. My next question was “Do you think it was an accident, or intentional?”. His response was, he didn’t know, but if he had to guess he would say it was intentional. But even after knowing all that, I still truly did not comprehend what had just happened. It wouldn’t be until much later, when I finally got home and turned on the news that I fully understood the severity of the situation.

I asked where my parents were. He said he didn’t know. What? Weren’t you together? He told me that they were further down Boylston Street towards the finish line, and had been on their way to the spot where Mike and the kids were when the first explosion occurred. He hadn’t been able to get in touch with them since then. But he assured me that they were on the other side of the street also, so they were OK. (I would later learn that they were in between the two explosions, on the opposite side of the street.) I think I grabbed his phone and called my Dad and I think I got through the first time. That was the first time that my parents knew that Mike and the kids were safe, that I was safe, and that we knew that they were safe. I think my Dad said they were heading to the family reunion area that was beyond the finish line. That might be where the officials were telling them to go, but I am not sure. I think they were forced to go in the direction behind the finish line, instead of towards Hereford where Mike went. I think my Dad tried to tell us to meet him there but I told him that I was going to wait to finish the marathon. I told my Dad that once we knew what was going to happen we would call him and let him know. I also told them that if they got cold waiting outside to go to the Copley Marriott which is where the Dana-Farber recovery area was.

I brought the kids down onto the street so I could introduce them to my TNT friend who kept me calm. She was very happy to see that I had been reunited with my family. Mike asked me what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go. I was confused by the question. What do you mean “where do I want to go?”. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I wasn’t moving. I was staying right there. At that point, I still really thought that eventually the marathon would start again. No one had told us otherwise yet – all they kept saying is that we will let you know when we know more. I am pretty sure all of the other runners around me were thinking the same thing; otherwise they would have already left. But we were all staying in the exact spot that we were in when they stopped us. I told Mike that I wasn’t moving until we knew what was going on. He didn’t say anything, but he knew the marathon was over. He knew way more than he let on in those moments.

The Boston Marathon Is Over

I think it was just a few minutes later that they made the announcement – “The Boston Marathon is over. All runners are being taken out of the system”. They actually told us that everyone behind us had already been taken out of the “system” a while ago. I suspect that because of our close proximity to the finish line, they had to make sure it was safe for us to leave. They directed us to go to the family reunion area behind the finish line so that we can locate family and friends who were waiting for us at the finish line. They directed us to walk along Commonwealth Ave (parallel to Boylston Street) and to not walk up Hereford onto Boylston Street. They also mobilized transportation for any runners who were not able to walk and needed assistance.

So that was it. According to my Garmin I had run 25.74 miles. I was less than 5 minutes away from the finish line and I was not allowed to go there. My marathon run was officially over, just like that. I still feel like I left something out there on Comm Ave… something that I will never get back.

And so we started walking. We walked along Commonwealth Ave. There were BAA volunteers there handing out Mylar blankets. When we walked passed the turn onto Hereford Street, every runner turned to look up Hereford. Every single one of us. It was so close and so out of reach. It was barricaded off and it was eerily empty. Hereford Street is NEVER empty on Patriot’s Day. It was just so surreal.

We tried to call my parents to tell them that we were on our way to meet them. But I don’t think we could get through. We got to the family reunion area and I wanted to get my bag off of the Dana-Farber bag bus. There were some people in the streets behind the finish line, but not nearly as many as there usually are. Not even close. It was like a ghost town. I got to the Dana-Farber bus and learned that there were no volunteers distributing bags. We had to climb on the bus and search for our bags ourselves. There were a few other Dana-Farber runners already there, digging through piles and piles of bags on that bus. Again, it was so surreal. I eventually found mine, and we set off to find my parents.

Lockdown

We soon learned that my parents were no longer at the family reunion area. We had not talked to them, but I think Mike talked to my brother, who had talked to my parents and learned that they had gone to the Dana-Farber recovery area at the Copley Marriott. Apparently the family reunion area had become part of the growing crime scene and had been evacuated. So we headed for the Copley Marriott. Only we couldn’t get there. The crime scene perimeter kept expanding, preventing us from walking directly to where we wanted to go. So we had to walk around the locked down areas to get there. We finally got there and learned that it too had just been evacuated.

I needed to find my parents. Mike asked if I wanted to take a break from walking, but my only focus was on finding my parents so we were all together. Through my brother we learned where my parents were, and eventually we found them. I think we must have walked five miles since leaving the place on Commonwealth Ave where I had been stopped. I think by then I was running on pure adrenaline.

We found a place to eat. The kids were starving. I was starving too but really couldn’t eat anything. We sat in a sandwich shop and watched police cars and ambulances and fire trucks drive by on a regular basis. Did something else happen? We didn’t know.

Through Facebook (since calls were not getting through) we were able to get word out to a lot of family and friends that we were all safe and OK. We also heard through Facebook that they were not letting anyone out of the city. What? We can’t go home? What is going on? Mike went to the parking garage where our car was to find out if we were able to leave. We were not able to take our car. It was part of the ‘crime scene’ and they were not letting any cars out of the parking garage. How were we going to get home?

Again, through Facebook, we made arrangements with Mike’s sister to pick us up at the Framingham commuter station. We walked to Copley Station (I think) and got on a train and finally left Boston. I had run for 25.74 miles for 4 hours and 9 minutes. I didn’t finish. I didn’t have a medal. And I was leaving Boston on a train. But I had my family and we were all together and safe and that is all that really mattered in that moment.

Finally Home

When we got to the train station in Framingham Mike’s sister and brother-in-law were there to meet us. Kristin was crying. She is a lot like me in that it doesn’t take much to make her cry, so I really didn’t think too much of it. I still didn’t fully comprehend the severity of what had happened, so I didn’t realize just how worried everyone was about us. Then I got home and turned on the news. I could not believe what I was seeing. I could not believe what had happened so close to me and my family. Too close. Much, much too close. It couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t. But over and over again I saw the same scene. Runners running. Spectators spectating. Then smoke and fire. Some runners kept running. Others were knocked off of their feet. It was unfathomable that that had happened in my city, my home, on a day that has always been so beautiful and fun. I could not tear myself away from the news. I wanted to know how and why this happened and who was responsible.

I suddenly felt guilty and selfish for being upset about not being able to finish. Even though I know how fortunate we were, I could not shake the feeling of being disappointed about not finishing. And I hated myself for it.

Reflections

I am still working through my emotions from the tragedy of that day, as are many people I am sure. I am thankful that my family is safe, grateful to all of the city and state officials for bringing justice to our city, and relieved that the people who did this will not be able to do it again. I am also very sad. I am sad for all the victims and the people directly and indirectly affected by this tragedy. I am sad for my City. I am sad for Marathon Monday and The Boston Marathon which has always been my most favorite day of the year whether I am running or not. If you are not from Boston or have never witnessed the running of the Boston Marathon and the atmosphere on Marathon Monday, it is really hard to describe. And I am afraid that it will never be the same again. I am sad for my children who I so hoped would see their Mommy make the turn onto Boylston Street to cross the finish line. I wanted to be an example for them. I wanted to show them how resilient you can be when you set a goal, commit to it, and work hard to achieve it. I don’t want their memory of a day that has always been beautiful and fun to be that of explosions and fire and white smoke.

Lastly, I am sad for me, for not being able to finish what I started at 10:40 AM that day, for Dana Farber, all the people who supported me, and for myself. I was having the run of my life, and I am sad that I did not get to finish it. I hate admitting that. It seems so irrelevant and trivial and selfish when you consider everything that happened and what so many other people have lost. I have thanked God a million times that I was a little slower and that my family was not on the other side of the street. I am grateful that we are all safe and I know how fortunate we all are.

But I also realize now that it is OK for me to feel sad about not finishing, and I should not feel guilty about having those feelings.

I feel that all of the of the 2013 Boston Marathon runners are victims in this tragedy too – all of us – both those that were able to cross the finish line, and those that could not. Whether you finished or not, your ability to feel any jubilation in your accomplishment has been severely tainted, if not lost all together. And that is a pretty significant loss. Running the Boston Marathon is not an easy thing. It takes months of preparation, commitment and sacrifices. It wears you down both physically and mentally. The ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ is knowing that it will all pay off on Marathon Monday. But for many of us, our dreams were abruptly taken away. For others that did finish, I suspect that they probably feel a little reserve in their accomplishment. And that is no small thing. It is certainly not as significant as a life or a limb, but it is still a loss nonetheless.

Looking Forward

I have my mind set on running the 118th Boston Marathon one way or another. I know my Mom is not happy about that, but I really need to finish what I started. And I hope that my parents, Mike and the kids will be there at the finish line to cheer me on. I think it is important for all of us to have the moment that we were denied on April 15, 2013. Marathon Monday is our day. It is Boston’s day. I think it is important to take the day back for the city, for all of the victims, for the runners and for the spectators alike. If we don’t, then terror and evil will have won.

And this time next year on the third Monday in April, the world will return to this great American city to run harder than ever and to cheer even louder for the 118th Boston Marathon. Bet on it. Tomorrow the sun will rise over Boston. Tomorrow the sun will rise over this country that we love, this special place, this state of grace. — President Barack Obama

No more hurting people. Peace. — Martin Richard (8)

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