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| Before the race from left: moi, BethAnn, Kelly, and Randy Photo: S&L Photography (Jennifer) |
(RB note: This article first appeared in The Darkside Running Club's newsletter, Issue 46, Summer 2013)
Boston 2013
By Kelly Luckett
Boston
Marathon 2013. Those words can never be
spoken, written, or read without thinking of the unspeakably horrific events
that happened April 15, 2013. Lives were
lost and lives were changed forever. The
fact that the marathon was hijacked for the runners is understandably
upsetting, but that is insignificant compared to the deaths, grievous injuries,
and severe emotional trauma the bombings caused.
Because
I feel so strongly that those killed and injured should not be forgotten, and
that their stories are so much more important than mine, please take a moment
to respect them by reading their names and brief information listed below:
LIVES
LOST:
Martin Richard, age 8. Third-grader , athlete.
Lingzi Lu, age 23. Student at Boston University.
Krystle Campbell, age 29. Restaurant manager.
Sean Collier, age 27. Police officer (in the line of duty on 4-18-13,
related to the bombings).
A
FEW OF THE SERIOUSLY INJURED:
Jane Richard, age 6. Little sister of Martin Richard. Leg amputation.
Denise Richard, mother of Jane
and Martin Richard. Vision loss in one
eye, head injury.
Bill Richard, father of Jane
and Martin Richard. Shrapnel injuries,
burns, hearing loss.
Karen Rand, best friend of
Krystle Campbell. Leg amputation.
Adrianne Haslet-Davis. Leg amputation.
Adam Davis, husband of
Adrianne, returned from Afghanistan duty 2 weeks prior. Foot injury.
Erika Brannock, Leg amputation,
serious injuries to remaining leg, burns, hearing loss.
Nicole Gross, sister of
Erika. Multiple, severe injuries to both
legs, damaged ear drums.
Michael Gross, husband of
Nicole. Shrapnel injuries, burns.
Roseann Sdoia. Leg amputation, injuries to remaining leg,
shrapnel injuries, burns.
Heather Abbott. Leg
amputation.
Mery Daniel. Leg amputation.
JP Norden. Leg amputation, shrapnel injuries, burns.
Paul Norden, brother of JP. Leg amputation, shrapnel injuries, burns.
Jeff Bauman. Double leg amputations.
Celeste Corcoran. Double leg amputations.
Sydney Corcoran, daughter of
Celeste. Torn femoral artery, leg and
foot injuries.
John Odom. Shrapnel injuries; severe nerve and artery
damage caused by the blasts.
Marc Fucarile. Leg amputation, serious injuries to remaining
leg, shrapnel injuries, burns.
Christian Williams, multiple
injuries to both legs, de-gloved fingers (skin torn from his fingers).
Most of the injured individuals
have fundraising pages (many of them on gofundme.com) to help cover the
necessary lifelong medical care, prosthetics, possible modifications to home
and vehicle, and at least temporary loss of income. Please consider making a difference by
contributing to any of their fundraising pages.
At least, please pray for their healing and peace, as well as for those
who were first responders, and the families and friends of those injured or
killed. Thank you for your consideration
of those who were there to cheer for us runners at the Boston Marathon but who
left with devastating injuries or lost their life.
My
experiences at Boston 2013 seem so unimportant in light of the deaths and
injuries. I just feel blessed to have
left Boston with my life and all the limbs I went there with. However, I know many people want to hear my
story, so I’m writing about my experience so others can understand a little
more about what happened that day, and honestly, it is good therapy for me.
Race
morning for the Boston Marathon 2013, my 9th consecutive Boston,
started out very well. Everything went
smoothly getting ready at the hotel that morning, and I had the added
excitement of having my dear friend and fellow leg amputee, Richard Blalock,
there to run his first Boston Marathon.
We would both be starting at the 9:00am Mobility Impaired (MI) Division
start. Sadly, the MI start gets little
to no media attention, even though there are usually about ten of us and our guides
there at the start line, and I personally believe ours are some of the most
interesting and inspirational stories among all the Boston Marathon
runners.
To
understand a little about the MI Division, you need to know a couple of
things. One, we have to qualify to run
Boston. We do not get automatic
entry. We get an extended qualifying
time, based on our level of mobility impairment, but we have to work hard to
qualify, just as most of the other runners do.
Second, there are many reasons why most of us have a guide (or two; we
are allowed up to two guides. The Boston Athletic Association (BAA) strongly
encourages the MI runners to have a guide).
We start earlier than the other participants, but we are not as fast as
they are. Once we are out on the course,
we soon have athletes in the handcycle and wheelchair divisions flying past
us. If we are in their way, it would be
very dangerous for us and for them. Same
goes for when the elite women and elite men pass us, including the media trucks
that drive in front of the elites, with camera men and women and photographers
on the back. Then there are the
remaining packs of runners, in three more waves throughout the morning. Most all of them are faster than your typical
marathon runners. Not only do we MI
runners have to make sure to not get in the way of the faster Boston
marathoners, it’s also difficult to get to the fluids at the aid stations,
since we don’t want to move over in front of the faster runners and impede
their progress. It’s like trying to
merge in and out of traffic that’s going 80 mph when you can only go 45 mph. Having a guide to watch out for us and help
with these things is a huge help, not just to us MI runners but all the other
participants. The guides wear official
race bibs that say “GUIDE” on their front and their back, so the other runners
coming up on us know that there is a slower runner ahead.
At 8:50am, and Richard and I are
at the start line of the 2013 Boston Marathon, along with several other MI
athletes, most of them with guides. My dear
friend and three-time guide, BethAnn Perkins, is with me, and Richard’s guides
are Mike Lenhart, founder and director of the Getting2Tri Foundation, and Randy
Spellman, the most experienced MI guide at Boston. For many years, Randy had been one of the guides
for Jason Pisano, who completed 52 marathons, including 15 Bostons, despite
having cerebral palsy and being in a wheelchair. Jason was able to be mobile by pushing
himself backwards, in his racing chair, with only one foot. For 26.2 miles. Up hills.
Backwards. With one foot. I think that bears repeating: The entire 26.2
miles, he propelled himself backwards in a wheelchair while pushing himself
with one foot. His guides were there to
make sure he didn’t veer over into anyone, especially on the downhills. Tragically, Jason passed away last year on
April 30th, just two weeks after completing the 2012 Boston
Marathon. He was a bright star and one
of the greatest inspirations in my life.
Richard wanted Randy to be one of his Guides for this year’s Boston, as
tribute to honor Jason.
You
can imagine how emotional it was for us at the start line. Remembering and honoring the life of our
fellow athlete, Jason Pisano. Celebrating
that Richard was getting ready to run his first Boston Marathon, something he
had wanted to do all his life as a runner.
Ironically, Richard was never quite able to qualify for Boston when he
had two legs, but after having an amputation a few years ago, he was able to
qualify with a prosthetic leg. He was
qualified and registered for Boston 2012, but had to have knee surgery in February
of that year and was not healed in time for Boston. So, now, here he was, after all the years of
waiting. His delightful wife, Jennifer,
was going to be cheering for him along the course, and her son,
daughter-in-law, and grandson were there as well. The weather was nearly
perfect. There were 26 seconds of
silence before the start to honor every person who was killed in the Newtown
shootings. During the silence, I thought
about what a senseless, horrible tragedy that was, innocent children killed,
teachers died while trying to protect their students, all because of one mentally
ill, misguided individual. It seemed so
awful and so senseless, yet honestly so distant from our focus that morning.
At
9:00am, we were on our way after a verbal 10-second countdown and start command
from race director Dave McGillivray.
People
have asked me how my race went, up until the tragic bombings. My answer is honestly “it was one of the best
races I’d ever had.” I felt great the
whole way, struggling mostly just on the hills in the last half of the
marathon, which I expected since I hadn’t done much hill training in
Savannah. However, I was able to
power-walk those hills at a pretty good clip.
On the downhills and relatively flat stretches, I was able to keep a good
running pace (for my abilities) and felt good, happy, and life was just
grand. BethAnn is an excellent guide and
knows how to keep me motivated, and never lets me go out too fast in the first
half. She’s one of the best coaches and
pacers you could ask for. We were having
fun. It’s always so thrilling to run
Boston, and much of that is due to the cheers from the crowds. It’s always exciting when the elites run by
us. How many marathoners get that
experience, to be one of the lead runners in the Boston Marathon for a few
miles, then have the elites pass right by you?!? Yep, it’s as cool as it sounds!
During
the marathon, I kept thinking that part of why I was running so well was
because I did not carry my phone, as I always do in training and in races, and
the missing weight of an iPhone in an OtterBox cover was allowing me to run
faster! Hey, whatever works, right? I’d decided to not carry my phone since
BethAnn would carry hers, and I’d told Brian the night prior to the race that
I’d call him after we finish and that it would be from her phone (a number
unfamiliar to him), so to be sure to answer when I call. At one point in the later miles, I was
feeling so good for it being so late in the race, I remember distinctly
thinking “not carrying my phone was one of the best decisions I ever
made.” Well, that would soon come back
to haunt me; more on that later.
All
was well until around mile 21, when I looked over to my left and saw Richard
sitting on a bench alongside the course, with his guides. “Oh no, BethAnn, there’s Richard!” I was
worried because he is a faster runner than I am, and if he was on the pace he’d
hoped for, he would have been finished or close to it by that time, not at mile
21, and not sitting on a bench. All I
could think of is how hard he’s trained, how many obstacles he had gone through
to get there that day, and how excited he was to finally run the Boston
Marathon. I wanted everything to go
perfectly for him. I was veering over to
go see what help he might need, but BethAnn told me to keep going and that
she’d check on him and catch back up to me.
I argued, but she insisted, and I listened. However, I slowed to a walk and kept looking
over my shoulder to make sure he was ok.
I started to turn around and go back to him, but right then, BethAnn got
back on the course, motioned for me to keep going, and soon caught up to
me. She said he was just making an
adjustment on his prosthesis, and Mike & Randy were taking good care of
him. She said he was in good spirits and
was going to get going again very shortly.
I told her how upset I was that he obviously wasn’t going to have the
finish time that he’d trained for and planned, and she said “Kelly, there are only
5 miles to go. You know he can walk it
if he has to and he’ll still have plenty of time to finish. You know he’ll finish.” I knew she was right. I knew Richard would crawl those 5 miles if
he had to. “Yeah, you’re right, I just
wanted him to have the race he’d hoped for and that he’s capable of.” I continued on, knowing he would
finish.
We
kept up our pace, running more and walking less, for the most part. There were the expected rough patches in the
later miles, but nothing as bad as it usually is for me at that point in a
marathon. It was emotional for me when
the iconic Citgo sign was in view, and we saw the “One Mile To Go” printed in
large letters on the road, knowing how cool it would be for Richard to very
soon see those things. Crowds are
cheering and music is playing. Life was
good. We made it to the 40K timing mat
in 5 hours and 43 minutes. We knew it
would be very, very close to make it to the finish in under 6 hours, but it was
within possibility if I could pick up the pace a little. We talked about it, and at that point, I
predicted that we’d finish in 6:02 or 6:03.
I tried to run as much as I could without walk breaks, but had to walk
for 30-60 seconds (ok, usually 60 seconds) every few minutes. I remember thinking whether I finished in
5:59 or over 6 hours, it was all good.
To finish the Boston Marathon, for the 9th time, on a
prosthetic leg… Richard soon to be crossing that finish line as well… it was
all good.
We
were approaching the Massachusetts Avenue overpass, where there is a dip in the
road as the runners go under the overpass.
It’s one of the most anticipated spots on the course, because you know
that as soon as you get out of the little tunnel underneath the overpass, you
then have the legendary “right on Hereford, left on Boylston” which immediately
gives you one of the most amazing and emotional sights you can imagine: The Finish Line of The Boston Marathon. Something you only dream about until you
actually see it, and once you see it, there is no doubt that all the training,
pain, everything was worth it.
Just
about the time we were saying something about how close we were, with the
overpass right in front of us, I noticed there were runners slowing down. I remember thinking that was odd, since I
didn’t recall the runners getting bottlenecked before going under that
overpass. Then I noticed the bobbing
runners’ heads stop. I was so confused
and in a panicked tone said “BethAnn, they’re stopping. BethAnn, why are they stopping?” Of course, she didn’t have an answer. Why in the world would all the runners be
stopping in the Boston Marathon? There
were probably only 25-50 runners in front of us who were already stopped. Suddenly the answer hit me like a ton of
bricks. There must be a runner who’s had
a heart attack and is down, underneath the overpass, being revived or waiting
for help to arrive. That was absolutely
the only possible explanation for why THE BOSTON MARATHON would be
stopped. It seriously did not occur to
me that I wasn’t right. It made sense,
since the road under the overpass is closed in, like a tunnel, and there would
be nowhere for the runners to go around a fallen runner at that spot. That had to be it. I remember having a flashing thought was that
as long as the runner would be revived and live, I didn’t mind that my finish
time was going to be longer than I’d thought.
I
told BethAnn that it had to be a runner having a heart attack, and worried
aloud that maybe he was dying. I was so
upset at the thought that someone was dying of a heart attack a few yards away
from me, I started sobbing uncontrollably.
BethAnn started praying. I know
she knew at the time that it had to be something more than a runner fallen from
a heart attack to stop the marathon, but since there was no better explanation
at that point, she prayed for whomever it may be and that help would get to
this person quickly. We walked over to
the curb and cried and prayed. Within a
few minutes, we overheard other runners and some spectators on their phones,
saying something about an explosion at the finish line. BethAnn and I looked at each other with great
surprise and disbelief. Could that
really be true? When we heard a couple
of other people saying the same thing, we figured it was probably
accurate. I just assumed it was some
sort of sewer line or electrical explosion that just created some debris at the
finish area that they had to clean up before letting us continue on. My exact thought was, and I said it out loud,
“Oh thank God no one was having a heart attack.”
It
was around 2:55pm when we were stopped, at the Massachusetts Ave overpass,
which is approximately a half mile, maybe as much as 7/10 of a mile, from the
finish line. Beth Ann’s Garmin showed 25.8
miles, and I’ve read that several other runners’ GPS devices said the same
thing.
An
official spoke briefly a few times on a megaphone, but it was hard to hear. We just heard something about a situation at
the finish line and that they were trying to get it under control as soon as
possible. We were asked to stay were we
were. We heard ambulance and police
sirens... lots and lots and lots of sirens.
And more sirens. I remember
almost constant sirens for nearly an hour, I think. Lots of police cars and
motorcycles whizzing by on the road just beside the one we were on.
During
the time we were held, some other runners and spectators who'd been at or near
the finish line started walking back to where all the runners were stopped on
the course. There were thousands stopped
behind us... over 5,600 runners were not allowed to finish. Keep in mind I started at 9:00am since
mobility impaired runners get an early start, and the other runners' start
times were in waves from 9:30am to 10:40am. We overheard, and sometimes directly asked
what happened, and kept hearing things like “multiple fatalities” and
"body parts everywhere." We still didn't believe it could be that
awful and just assumed it was the media blowing things out of proportion. It started to sink in somewhat only after
hearing the same scenario described by about 50 different people.
At
that point, we wanted to call our husbands to let them know we were ok. Remember how I’d said I didn’t carry my phone
that morning and had thought it as a great decision since I didn’t have a phone
bouncing around in my pocket? I had
never wished more than at that hour that I’d carried my phone, because BethAnn
tried to use hers and the battery had been completely drained. Ugh.
We had no way to let them know we were ok. In my naivety, I thought maybe we could get
back to the hotel before this would even be on the news. At that point, we just were not able to
comprehend the gravity of what had happened.
We asked a few people with phones if we could borrow theirs, and most
people said their battery was dead or that the cell towers were so jammed that
calls weren’t going through. One woman
told us her battery was low but that we were welcome to use her phone to try to
call our husbands. I asked her “do you
think this is on the news yet?” and she answered, “oh yes, this is all over the
news.” Her tone was full of compassion,
which I now know was because she realized that I was just not able to grasp the
situation.
We
tried to call, but the calls would not go through. I thought one of my attempted calls to Brian
went through, but I heard nothing on the other end when I kept saying
“Hello? Hello?” We soon learned that the secret in this
situation is TEXTING. Texts go through much faster in that situation, so keep
that in mind if you are ever in a widespread disaster. Text, don't call. Texts
went through pretty normally. We finally found a woman, named Janet, who let us
use her phone to text our husbands. My
text to Brian was “It’s Kelly from a kind stranger’s phone. I’m ok and so is BethAnn. Love you.”
He immediately texted back “Thank God. Everyone is calling.” BethAnn was able to text her husband, Gary,
as well.
While
we were stuck there on the course, we finally realized it was bombings and that
it was likely terrorist-related. It was
pretty terrifying knowing that we had no way of knowing if another bomb was
going to go off where we were, or where our several good friends were farther
back on the course. At that point, we
were pretty numb to the reality of the fatalities and injuries. Throughout the whole ordeal, BethAnn was my
rock. She kept me calm, and made sure I
was ok, made sure I stayed warm (I was never so happy to have worn my Mizuno
Breath Thermo shirt), and had I needed water or food, she would have made sure
I got it. We stood for a while,
sometimes on the road, sometimes in the grassy triangle beside the road, and we
sat on the curb for a while.
We
were held there until around 4:10pm at which time we were told by an official
on a megaphone that the marathon was cancelled, and we were instructed to walk east
along the Commonwealth Avenue mall (a park-like walkway to the north of the
course) to our hotels or to Boston Commons.
This was parallel to Boylston Street and the finish line, just one block
north. Fortunately for us, our hotel was
not far past the finish line, so we were headed in the direction that would get
us to our hotel. As we walked along, BethAnn
held onto my arm and it was very comforting to have her with me; I could tell
her priority was to make sure I was safe.
We talked about how awful this was, yet we still had no idea just how
horrific it really was. We talked about
how disappointing it was for this to happen for Richard’s first Boston
Marathon.
Not
long after we started walking to our hotel, volunteers came by on bikes with
backpacks full of heat blankets, and that was the only time I saw runners
acting rudely and selfishly. I think I
ended up getting one only because one of the volunteers saw that I was the only
one who wasn’t selfishly grabbing and knocking people out of my way, so he
handed one specifically to me.
Once
we got back to our hotel, the news was on a TV in the lobby and lots of people,
including runners who had finished wearing their medals, were intently
watching. We glanced over and it was too
horrific to believe… reports of people dead and injuries so horrible I still
could not absorb the reality. We hurried
up to our room. BethAnn plugged her
phone in the charger and I got mine out of my purse and called Brian. We turned on the TV in our room, and as we
saw and heard the details of the fatalities and injuries, BethAnn accurately
commented that it seemed so surreal, so hard to comprehend that what we saw on
the news just happened a few blocks from where we were sitting in our hotel
room. It seemed like a world away on TV.
I
texted Richard and Jennifer to make sure they were ok and see where they were,
but I didn’t get a response. I finally
went upstairs to their room and knocked at the door, and Richard answered. Seeing him and knowing for sure he was ok was
the first time I became emotional. I
hugged him so hard I was afraid I’d break a rib. Soon Jennifer and her family got back to the
room, and it was wonderful seeing that everyone was ok. Randy was there too, and some of his friends
showed up. The support from everyone was
amazing.
I
was incredibly touched to have more texts, voicemails, emails, and Facebook
messages and posts than I’ve ever had in my life. I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook,
but it was a wonderful way to let hundreds of people know all at once that we
were ok. I returned texts and emails as
quickly as I could that evening. The
outpouring of concern and love was wonderfully overwhelming. Between texts and emails, I watched the
news. It was just too much to
absorb. Just too awful.
Our
early morning flights home the next morning went out as scheduled. We were lucky that our hotel was just outside
of the lockdown zone, so taxis were able to get to our hotel to pick us
up. Security at the airport was
definitely tighter. I’d describe the
process as more deliberate and slow. Of
course I always get manually searched anyway due to my prosthesis, but everyone
else seemed to get a more thorough screening than usual. When BethAnn and I had to part ways at the
airport to go to our separate flights home, it was very hard for me to leave
her. I’d felt safe with her, and I
didn’t want to be alone so soon after what happened. But, reality was that she and I both needed and
wanted to get home, to Michigan and Savannah, respectively.
I
was never happier in my life to return home.
Seeing Brian and my dogs was wonderful and comforting. Brian told me that for 40 minutes he thought
I may have been at the finish line in the bombings, because the phone call I’d
made to him but didn’t hear him on the other end actually did go through, he heard
me but I obviously couldn’t hear him. After
the phone went dead, he thought I’d called to let him know we finished and that
the call simply dropped. Only a couple
of minutes after that brief call did he find out that something terrible had happened…
he got a CNN text alert on his phone saying “Explosions at the finish line of
the Boston Marathon.” Until he got the
text from me 40 minutes later saying I was ok, he was trying not to think the
worst. During that time, he got many
calls from frantic family and friends wanting to know if we were ok, and he
didn’t know what to tell them. I hate
that he went through that worry, and I’m very appreciative to his brother,
Steve, and our friend, Nicole Chamberlain, for helping him through that tough
time of waiting to hear that I was indeed ok.
A
local Savannah runner and friend, Tony Varney, organized a Boston Memorial run
for that evening to honor those killed and injured in the bombings and to
celebrate my safe return home. I was
exhausted in every sense of the word, but was so touched, there was no way I
was going to miss being there. I am glad
I went; it was much-needed concern and support from my local running community
and friends.
I
returned to work the following day, Wednesday, only two days after the
bombings. My coworkers were amazingly
welcoming and offered support and compassion.
I’ve never been so happy to be ok to return to work after taking time
off!
In
the following days and weeks, the reality of the deaths and injuries started to
sink in. The things I’ve had the most
difficulties dealing with are the death of the eight-year-old little boy,
Martin Richard, and the fact that there were so many people who lost one of
both legs in the bombings. As of this
writing, 16 people lost one or both legs.
There may be more since some of the victims have leg injuries so severe,
their limb might not be able to be saved.
The concept that I (and Richard and other amputees) run the Boston
Marathon with one or both prosthetic legs, something so positive and
inspirational, the same marathon where there were bombings that caused people to
tragically lose their limbs, is just something I cannot process. I qualify for the Boston Marathon only
because I have lost a limb, and at that same event, people very traumatically
lost their limbs. I can’t find any words
to describe the emotional torment this causes for me. The sadness and grief has been intense.
I
think my significant emotional struggle with this has been not only because I
was there, not only because of the normal human compassion for the victims, but
because I have the obvious connection with the bombing victims who became amputees.
It is just so wrong on so many levels. It
used to be that when anyone used the phrase “the Boston Marathon amputees,” it
was I and other runners with prosthetic limbs that they were talking about, and
it was inspirational and positive. Now
that phrase means something entirely different, something tragic.
My
other struggle in dealing with the aftermath of the bombings is due to the many
runners who were not allowed to finish and were demanding in their requests to
the B.A.A. that they get their medal, finish time, and a guaranteed spot for
Boston 2014. I’ve also found it
insensitive for people to ask me if I finished and/or if I got a medal, in the
case where I’d already explained that I was stopped about a half-mile from the
finish line. Do these people not
understand there were people who died, people who lost limbs, and that the
finish line and the course along Boylston Street was all a federal crime
scene?
My
perspective is that a finish time, a medal, or anything concerning the race is
petty in comparison to the horrific injuries and mental trauma to those who
were injured or directly affected. I
continue to think of the first responders… just the photos I've seen will haunt
me the rest of my life, I can't imagine seeing that in person and somehow still
managing to help those who were injured.
The people who jumped in and helped the injured are absolute heroes. I am just so happy and so blessed to have come
home with my life and all the limbs that I went there with. I would feel selfish to be concerned with my
nine-year streak or finish time or a medal.
However, that being said, in addition to the deaths and grievous
injuries, the experience of crossing the finish line was hijacked for over
5,600 runners.
The
B.A.A. did decide to send medals (courtesy of FedEx), give us projected finish
times (as long we had crossed at least the half-marathon timing mat), and a
guaranteed spot for next year. All of
those things are very much appreciated, and the B.A.A. handled the
communications very appropriately. I am
impressed with their strength in dealing with the tragedy and their patience
with the impatient runners who were demanding things. I cannot deny that getting the news from the
B.A.A. that my projected finish time (6:02:42) would be considered “official” and
they would allow it to be used for purposes of a streak was wonderful news for
me. It somehow made me feel that what we
went through as runners that day was validated.
I
continue to pray for peace and healing for those injured. I will reach out to those who lost limbs to
offer support, when the time feels right, after some of their current support
network may have moved on. I have spoken
with a counselor who is very compassionate and has given me solid guidance on
working through my emotional difficulties from the bombings. I also have a dear friend, Bradley Fenner, (a
Darkside member) who had direct losses in 9/11 (his company had an office in
one of the towers and lost one employee, as well as, obviously, their entire
physical office), who gave me excellent advice:
Don't try to make sense of this, because it will never make sense to
anyone who is sane, and don't try to find closure, because you never will. Just know that it is a horrible situation that
really sucks, it will get easier to deal with over time, but it will in some
way haunt you the rest of your life. Once I accepted that, and stopped
struggling to somehow understand how anyone could have done this intentionally,
the emotions started getting a little less raw at times, although I still have
very difficult times. Sometimes I can
talk about the Boston events without getting emotional, but often, it is still very
difficult.
I
don’t know how long it will take for the victims to heal enough to really move
forward with their lives, but many of them have already started the process,
and that gives me hope that they will eventually be ok. I don’t know how long it will take for me to
feel less of the heartbreaking grief that I still experience. I know that things will eventually get
better. I will return to Boston in 2014
and run my 10th consecutive Boston Marathon. My friend Richard will also return and
experience his first time crossing the Boston Marathon finish line. Completing the Boston Marathon will not give
either of us closure from this year’s tragedy, but it will give us hope that
things can once again be a celebration of the human spirit. Hope.
No one can take that away.
