Tag: Boston Marathon Tribute Section

Boston Marathon Memorials Part X: Allen, Germain, Kanev

Apr. 16 Articles no comments

As we prepare for the first anniversary of the Boston Marathon tragedy, Level Renner is re-releasing the memorials and reflections of the running community written one year ago in the wake of the 117th running (these letters from readers were originally published in our May/June 2013 issue). Our intention is to pay proper respect and tribute to the events of last year’s race. We want nothing more than to handle the tragedy with appropriateness and tact. Because we see ourselves as an open platform for runners, this series is an expression of our audience’s thoughts from a year ago.  Thus, in the following pages, you will find an array of responses.  Some are angry, some are numb, most are just plain sad.  But some offer hope. Most show the strength and resolve of our community. The goal of this series is to remember and pay proper respect to the horrific events of April 15, 2013.  We will release one post per day in this series in the days leading up to the marathon.

Below is the tenth installment of our twelve part series. Gary Allen (ultra-marathoner extrordinaire), Matt Germain (SISU Project), and Svilen Kanev wrote these reflections.

4 Kenyans at race HQ sitting silently, respectfully, and totally bewildered. Sad to see the greatest runners on earth brought to their knees.  Sometimes we don’t even think they are human by the way they run. I can now say for certain they are.

—Gary Allen

photo by EJN

photo by EJN

Running for me is a journey into the purest parts of myself. A race for me is always a chance to spread my wings. Love, light, and passion lift me higher and higher, to places I could not imagine. My primary reason for being is to share experiences like these with others. This is why I founded the Sisu Project. I am beyond grateful that all my teammates, friends, and family members were not injured. This attack infringed on a truly sacred territory. My commitment to my team, this sport, and all those who stand for peace and humanity will remain unwavering.

—Matthew Germain

photo by EJN

photo by EJN

I was on the T today, several hundred meters away from the marathon finish line. I was watching the many finishers taking the train with me, being slightly jealous that I was not able to run this year. In my head I was thinking about the training plan that would allow me to qualify for next year’s marathon, making small adjustments of what seemed possible or not. Ten minutes later, when the train pulled up at Harvard Square, I saw my Twitter feed lighting up with news of the bombing.

To say I was upset is probably an understatement. I have felt like a part of the running community lately and felt personally targeted by what was happening downtown. Heck, I remember being extremely disappointed that I couldn’t get an earlier flight back to Boston, so that I could stand at that exact same finish line.

After unsuccessfully trying to get some work done, I started walking back home. On the way, ambulances and police cars were flashing by much more often than usual. But there were also tons of people just walking their dogs, sitting at coffee shops, or even jogging. Then it occurred to me, the best answer to such acts of fear is normalcy. Of course, this by no way means not respecting the grief of those personally affected, or not wanting due justice for whoever is responsible. But for the rest of us, it is a matter of not giving in to fear and not spreading it. Doing otherwise would mean whoever organized today’s attack succeeded.

So, I will just do the normal thing. Tomorrow, I will go on my Tuesday 13-miler around the Charles, then I will do my speed work the day after and keep going with my qualification plan. This way, a year from now, I will be able to line up at the starting line in Hopkinton, among the thousands of athletes who choose to stay normal. I will power through Heartbreak Hill and eventually reach the same spot around the finish line that was covered in blood today. I will save a runner’s nod for those directly affected, the very least that they deserve. But other than that, I will choose to stay normal. Because that’s the only meaningful response to acts of terror.

—Svilen Kanev

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Reflection

Apr. 15 Articles no comments

Krystle Campbell, Martin Richard, Lingzi Lu, all taken from there loved ones all too early a year ago today. Can’t leave out Sean Collier’s name as well, even though it happened a few days later. It was all part of a crazy week in Boston. Our thoughts and prayers are with them today, along with all victims, first responders, volunteers and the running community in general.

Looking back on that time, it was a blur. It became hard to even write about running and cover the sport that I love so dearly. It was tough to think about running without thinking of the chaotic news footage that was played over and over again.

Instead of once again trying to sum up something that I can’t quite seem to put into words in just the right way, I think it’s more appropriate to share this video that was made last year when the Western Mass Distance Project put on their Run For Boston. Jason Ayr did a great job in addressing the crowd gathered, and his words are prominently featured here.

Looking through material from back then, I didn’t even remember making the video. It’s not like me to flat out not recognize something I put together, but I guess that is just reflective of the time period in which it came from.

There is obviously a different tone to this year’s race. Being reminded of what happened last year still has some sting to it, but the energy I feel from talking to and covering this year’s competitors is more than enough to counter any bad memories. Can’t wait to see the streets of Boston flooded with runners on Patriots Day!

Tags: , , ,

Boston Marathon Memorials Part IX: Lynda Mules

Apr. 15 Articles no comments

As we prepare for the first anniversary of the Boston Marathon tragedy, Level Renner is re-releasing the memorials and reflections of the running community written one year ago in the wake of the 117th running (these letters from readers were originally published in our May/June 2013 issue). Our intention is to pay proper respect and tribute to the events of last year’s race. We want nothing more than to handle the tragedy with appropriateness and tact. Because we see ourselves as an open platform for runners, this series is an expression of our audience’s thoughts from a year ago.  Thus, in the following pages, you will find an array of responses.  Some are angry, some are numb, most are just plain sad.  But some offer hope. Most show the strength and resolve of our community. The goal of this series is to remember and pay proper respect to the horrific events of April 15, 2013.  We will release one post per day in this series in the days leading up to the marathon.

Below is the ninth installment of our twelve part series. Lynda Mules wrote this reflection.

One of the thoughts I had last week, preparing for the Boston Marathon, was that if you run enough marathons you’ll eventually face all of your fears.  I had no idea…

I started my first Boston Marathon filled with excitement, anticipation, and the uplifting words of encouragement I’d received from friends far and wide during the days leading up to the race. As a marathon tends to do, the race brought me face to face with myself, each mile a mirror into my mind and spirit. I navigated through a crowded course, unable to find space to ramp up to my goal pace, fought lower back pain, a headache and muscle cramps, floated at times, struggled at others, trying to soak it all in and enjoy the experience while watching my goal time slip further away. I crossed the finish line in a personal best time but far from my goal, and processed mixed feelings as I made my way, sunburned and spent, to fluids, my gear and my phone, which was lit up with emails, text and voice messages, and Facebook posts congratulating me on a race well run.

Sometime later, as I walked away from the finish area and toward my hotel, I heard a sound that was incongruent with the beauty of the day – a boom of thunder, or an explosion – quickly followed by another.  The street went quiet and all heads turned to look in the direction of the blasts.   Confused and uncertain, I continued toward my hotel, silently praying while the air filled with sirens.  I stopped in a café a few blocks later and saw the reality of the situation broadcast on television.  My phone was again lit up with messages, now of worry and concern.  I called my mother, quickly touched base with some of my teammates who were also at the race, responded to a few emails, and then posted on Facebook to let all know that I was fine.  I talked with strangers in the café.  I sat and sobbed.

photo by EJN

photo by EJN

I’ve known a lot of people in my 40 years on this earth, people from many walks of life with whom I’ve shared a wide variety of experiences and interests.   It’s easy to take for granted the uniqueness and importance of each one of these connections.   Many of you have reached out to me these past few days.  You were thinking of me as I ran the race, and you were concerned about me when you heard the news.  I’m moved beyond measure by your caring and support. Thank you for worrying about my safety.  Thank you for understanding the profound effects of this unthinkable experience.  Thank you, above all, for surrounding me with love.

I expect to be broken, physically and perhaps mentally, by the marathon.  Despite the name of the infamous hill that challenges runners at the crux of this race, heartbreak is not expected.  But my heart is broken.  I think about the child who died moments after hugging his father who’d just crossed the finish line, his mother and sister both seriously injured.  I think about the others who lost their lives, the many who lost limbs, loved ones.  I think about the 27,000 athletes in yesterday’s race, including those who couldn’t finish the race, the millions of spectators along the course, the city of Boston.  I think about myself, what this means in my life, what this might say about the world we live in.   My heart feels heavy and broken.

And yet… I accomplished something special yesterday, something that should not be lost in the shadows of this senseless tragedy.  I ran 26.2 miles, the culmination of months of hard training and dedication, and finished my 1st Boston Marathon, and 5th marathon, in 3:31:22 – a personal best by two minutes, and an improved qualifier for next year’s Boston Marathon.   The initial disappointment I felt at missing an arbitrary goal is now inconsequential.  There is no inherent meaning in the ability to run ‘fast,’ and there is nothing magical or important about running a faster time.   But the resolve to train hard for a pursuit, to persevere in the face of adversity, to dig deep and push through, matters.  This means something.  This is the spirit of the marathon.

 photo by EJN.

photo by EJN.

When I run Boston in 2014, this important and iconic race will have an even deeper meaning. This year’s New York City Marathon will also have new meaning.  Last year, I’d committed to running New York as an Achilles Guide for a visually impaired athlete, a privilege I was unable to experience in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy.  I will honor that commitment this year and dedicate the race to those who lost their lives and were maimed at the 117th running of the Boston Marathon.  And whatever challenges the race presents, I know that I’ll again be uplifted by the love and support of the amazing people I’m blessed to call friends and family.

—Lynda Mules

 

Tags: , , , , ,

Boston Marathon Memorials Part VIII: Jordan Vance

Apr. 14 Articles no comments

As we prepare for the first anniversary of the Boston Marathon tragedy, Level Renner is re-releasing the memorials and reflections of the running community written one year ago in the wake of the 117th running (these letters from readers were originally published in our May/June 2013 issue). Our intention is to pay proper respect and tribute to the events of last year’s race. We want nothing more than to handle the tragedy with appropriateness and tact. Because we see ourselves as an open platform for runners, this series is an expression of our audience’s thoughts from a year ago.  Thus, in the following pages, you will find an array of responses.  Some are angry, some are numb, most are just plain sad.  But some offer hope. Most show the strength and resolve of our community. The goal of this series is to remember and pay proper respect to the horrific events of April 15, 2013.  We will release one post per day in this series in the days leading up to the marathon.

Below is the eighth installment of a twelve part series. Jordan Vance wrote this reflection.

My parents, my brother’s girlfriend, and I tried waiting for lunch at the Arlington end of Boylston Street after I had finished my race (which was a fantastic first Boston experience with a time that was pretty much what I predicted). I decided I was too cold, shivering, and wet to stick around waiting for a table, so we decided to walk back to my apartment where I could shower, get warm, and change into something that wasn’t pre-race pajamas over wet running clothes. When I got out of the shower, I got a text from my brother in the Hancock Tower telling me about the explosions. And with that, the events of the day overwhelmed the day’s event.

I was home when it happened. I am uninjured. But I am still shaken. People’s lives torn asunder, just an hour or so after I’d left the area. I’ve alternated between exhaustion and sadness. I can’t continue to watch the news coverage, but I can’t not watch it; it’s all just so tragic and sad and surreal and very, very real.

 

photo by EJN.

photo by EJN.

I walked through Government Center Tuesday night, on my way to meet Gregory Soutiea for a beer, past what seemed like the entire Cambridge, MA SWAT team, past Army EOD trucks, all in a hope to get back to some sense of normalcy. I was on the phone with my dad, and he asked, as so many have, if we, if I, will ever feel safe again. And the truth is I feel no less safe this week than I did Sunday, or Monday as I was running. Small minded people with guns and bombs and terrible thoughts in their heads and hearts are hard to predict and hard to stop. Like so many acts meant to instill us with terror, it appears at once both targeted and random: targeted towards society as a whole but random in its selection of victims. I have been incredibly sad since the race, often on the verge of tears (both of pride in all the good that everyone performed in the immediate and not so immediate aftermath and of sadness for the lives ruined and lost and forever changed).

But I don’t feel any less safe. I refuse to feel less safe. I love Boston. I love the city and its people. I love the Marathon. I’ll be running again next year and every year I can.

—Jordan Vance

 

Tags: , , , , ,

Boston Marathon Memorials Part VII: Caitlyn Clark

Apr. 13 Articles no comments

As we prepare for the first anniversary of the Boston Marathon tragedy, Level Renner is re-releasing the memorials and reflections of the running community written one year ago in the wake of the 117th running (these letters from readers were originally published in our May/June 2013 issue). Our intention is to pay proper respect and tribute to the events of last year’s race. We want nothing more than to handle the tragedy with appropriateness and tact. Because we see ourselves as an open platform for runners, this series is an expression of our audience’s thoughts from a year ago.  Thus, in the following pages, you will find an array of responses.  Some are angry, some are numb, most are just plain sad.  But some offer hope. Most show the strength and resolve of our community. The goal of this series is to remember and pay proper respect to the horrific events of April 15, 2013.  We will release one post per day in this series in the days leading up to the marathon.

Below is the seventh installment of a twelve part series. Caitlyn Clark of Sisu Project wrote this reflection.

After the events at Monday’s Boston Marathon, I value my family, my team and the running community more than ever. Instead of reflecting on the anger and sadness of the day, I have been trying to focus on the positive. There are so many unsung heroes in this unique community we are a part of; runners taking the shirts off their backs for tourniquets, others racing to the hospital after a marathon to give blood. My own teammate, Maartje, who ran a huge PR, opened up her home and catered to my every need as I tried to locate my mom, sister, and family friend.

The onslaught of text, Twitter, and Facebook messages of love and genuine care is something I will never forget. I thank God for making sure my mom didn’t run her projected time of 4:10, and I’m grateful that He blessed my sister and her teammates, who were spectating at the Crate and Barrel, with the speed to run far enough from the store in the 12 seconds between the first and second explosions. Had they not moved so quickly, I might have a different reflection today….

photo by EJN

photo by EJN

I am so very sorry for the victims, but I know we, as a whole, will overcome. I have never been so proud to wear “Sisu” on my chest, because Sisu was, and still is, everywhere in this city and our community. The running community is one that perseveres, that faces adversity head on, that acts courageously in difficult situations. I am proud of us for our bravery, our unity, our love, and our Sisu.

—Caitlyn Clark

 

Tags: , , , , ,

Boston Marathon Memorials Part V: Carly Shea

Apr. 11 Articles no comments

As we prepare for the first anniversary of the Boston Marathon tragedy, Level Renner is re-releasing the memorials and reflections of the running community written one year ago in the wake of the 117th running (these letters from readers were originally published in our May/June 2013 issue). Our intention is to pay proper respect and tribute to the events of last year’s race. We want nothing more than to handle the tragedy with appropriateness and tact. Because we see ourselves as an open platform for runners, this series is an expression of our audience’s thoughts from a year ago.  Thus, in the following pages, you will find an array of responses.  Some are angry, some are numb, most are just plain sad.  But some offer hope. Most show the strength and resolve of our community. The goal of this series is to remember and pay proper respect to the horrific events of April 15, 2013.  We will release one post per day in this series in the days leading up to the marathon.

Below is the fifth installment of a twelve part series. This reflection was written by Carly Graytock Shea.

Boston 2013 was my first marathon since having my son, Conrad, last July. I was really excited to have Boston be my first one back post-baby. I’ve run Boston twice before and I’ve trained on the course countless times. I logged quite a few miles on the course while pregnant with Conrad last winter. I run for the B.A.A. and I’ve taken part in the marathon every year since 2002 in some fashion – be it as a spectator, competitor, or massage therapist.

My goals going into this race were first and foremost to finish. I had not finished a marathon in over six years. The last marathon I attempted was Philadelphia in November 2011, when I was seven weeks pregnant (I had only found out I was pregnant two weeks before). I ended up dropping out at 17 miles. It meant a lot to be able to try a marathon fairly soon after Conrad, but it meant even more for that first marathon to be Boston. My training throughout the winter went very well. I found myself in better shape than I expected. Most of my workouts were with Sarah Bard, who ended up running a PR of 2:45:26. While I didn’t have a strict time goal for myself going into the race, I thought I was in sub 2:50 shape and would be really psyched to run anything in the 2:40’s.

My race did not go as well as I had hoped. I ran the first 21-22 miles with my teammate, Lou Raffetto, and we were right on 2:46-2:47 pace through about 19 or 20 miles. It was fun to run with Lou and just enjoy running along the Boston course. I had some serious quad cramping issues that got really bad around 19 and proceeded to get worse through 25. Every step I took on anything remotely downhill was absolute misery. My quads were just not functioning. Everything else felt great. I did not feel low on fuel or lightheaded. All my other muscles felt totally fine. For some reason (and I think it partially stems from not being quite back to full strength post-pregnancy and also partially from not running a marathon in a long time) my quads did not want to work. I worked through some pretty bad discomfort and some negative thoughts, but I gutted it out and got through it. Miraculously, just before the overpass at 25, maybe because the course finally leveled out a bit and we had a fairly flat stretch for a half mile or so, my quads loosened up and I was able to resume a somewhat normal stride. I was unable to get back to the 6:20’s I had been running earlier, but I at least was able to run a 7:01 last mile after a few miles over 8:00 pace. Once that happened, I was fairly confident I was going to finish (up until that point I had no idea if I’d physically be able to because it felt like my quads might cause my legs to give out from under me at any moment). My only concern was that stupid little downhill and uphill under Mass Ave (I think that is the cruelest part of the course). Thankfully, I made it through that without any setbacks in quad cramping. I was so happy that things came around (to an extent) that last mile because it really did allow me to enjoy the last 1.2 miles and take it all in. I have not crossed the finish line of a marathon since I ran Houston in January 2007. I’ve had a lot of setbacks and issues with my health and injuries, so it was a big moment for me to just get across the finish line. I had a big smile on my face when I finished. I had just run my slowest ever marathon, but I didn’t care. I was just so elated to finally have finished one after so many frustrating attempts the last few years.

boston marathon tribute card ejn 4.5.14

photo by EJN

It was even more special since it was Boston since we live here and we are part of the B.A.A. I hung around for a little while after finishing. The B.A.A. has a tent about a block and a half past the finish line, right in front of the Fairmont Copley Plaza. The running club members congregate there afterwards to pick up their gear bags, get massages, and just hash out their race experiences. I was inside the tent for maybe 30 minutes after I finished. I got a massage for more achy quads and checked in with friends about their races. Terry checked in with my mom, who was at home watching Conrad. I figured I should head home right after my massage. Terry said he’d walk me to the car (he was going to have to stick around for coaching duties). We met a friend, who was in town from NYC to watch the race, at our car to say goodbye and retrieve from her some of the gloves and arm warmers that B.A.A. members had thrown at her around the 13 mile mark. The three of us lingered at the car a bit, talking about my race and how others did. I finally got into the car and drove home. It was about 2:40 pm. Since there was barely any traffic, I made it home to North Cambridge in maybe 10-15 minutes.

I got home and my mom had just put Conrad down for a nap. She told me to take my time doing what I needed to do and that she’d stick around for a little while longer. I decided to take a hot Epsom salt bath to help my quads and pour a beer to celebrate my finishing. As I was waiting for the tub to fill I did a quick Facebook check on my phone. I saw that Lindsay Willard had posted about a gun scare at the Pru. I immediately texted Terry to see if he was ok and to find out what was going on. He told me he was ok, but not sure what happened. At that moment I didn’t think too much about it. I got in the tub and my phone started getting bombarded with texts asking if Terry and I were ok. I let everyone know that we were fine – I was at home and Terry was still at the race, but ok. At that time I was still not totally aware of what was going on. Then I got a phone call from my cousin in D.C., who normally doesn’t call me unless it’s something major. She asked me about the explosions…I started to realize how bad things were. I also started to get freaked out because so many people were asking about Terry’s safety since most people knew he was likely still at the finish. There was another text exchange with Terry. He assured me he was ok but also let me know that his phone battery was about to die. Crap. That did not make me feel much better. A few minutes later he was able to call me on a volunteer’s phone. He once again assured me he was ok, but asked me to call his parents in Pennsylvania to let them know we were alright.

photo by EJN

photo by EJN

From there things went by in a blur. I went out to watch the TV with my mom. I was simultaneously replying to many, many texts, emails, and phone calls from friends and family. There was a lot of checking in amongst the B.A.A. runners and we were trying to make sure all of the coaches were ok as well. While this was going on I started to worry more about Terry. I didn’t know how long he was going to have to stay over there. I just wanted him to get home. I then worried about how safe the T might be and wanted to convey this to him but had no way of getting in touch with him since his phone was dead. I decided to try and text Michael Pieroni (head B.A.A. coach) because I figured Terry was likely with him. As I was composing my text to Pieroni, Terry walked in the door. I felt so relieved. He was able to get out of Copley before things went on total lockdown. He was also able to get on the T at Back Bay, but had to get off at State to run over to Charles/MGH to hop the red line since Downtown Crossing and Park Street were closed.

We spent the rest of that night replying to emails, texts, and phone calls. We also spent a lot of time in front of the TV once Conrad went to bed. It was and still is hard to process this all.

While initially I had some disappointment with my race (mostly with how miles 19-25 unfolded), now it seems so insignificant after all that has happened. I am so thankful that my family and friends are all safe and I am so sad for the victims. My emotions have been all over the place the past few days. Running, the B.A.A., and the Boston Marathon have been a huge part of my life for a long time. That these things were the target of the bombings on Monday sickens me. Running has always been an outlet from the dark, heavy, scary things in life. Now it has this awful event associated with it. But I know that once my quads have recovered and I am able to start running again, I will be glad to have running to help me work through my emotions and help me process and heal from all that happened on Monday.

—Carly Graytock Shea

 

Tags: , , , , ,

Boston Marathon Memorials Part IV: Harold Shaw

Apr. 10 Articles no comments

As we prepare for the first anniversary of the Boston Marathon tragedy, Level Renner is re-releasing the memorials and reflections of the running community written one year ago in the wake of the 117th running (these letters from readers were originally published in our May/June 2013 issue). Our intention is to pay proper respect and tribute to the events of last year’s race. We want nothing more than to handle the tragedy with appropriateness and tact. Because we see ourselves as an open platform for runners, this series is an expression of our audience’s thoughts from a year ago.  Thus, in the following pages, you will find an array of responses.  Some are angry, some are numb, most are just plain sad.  But some offer hope. Most show the strength and resolve of our community. The goal of this series is to remember and pay proper respect to the horrific events of April 15, 2013.  We will release one post per day in this series in the days leading up to the marathon.

Below is the fourth installment of a twelve part series. This reflection was written by Harold Shaw.

This is not the post I want to write today, but it is the one that I will. When I am stressed, I write. It helps me sort things out and helps me get through what is going on, that is all this post is about.

I. WILL. NOT. LET. THE. BASTARDS. WIN.

After what happened in Boston today:

There are villains – who they are yet, we do not know, but we will and those who speak out to support these despicable acts are and will be considered our enemies. There were victims – people died, others were maimed or injured.  There were heroes – the emergency responders, volunteers, and the runners. There will be recriminations and finger-pointing on what we should have, could have, or would have done. Instead think about what we need to do.

Yes, I am sickened and saddened by the senseless violence against the innocents at the Boston Marathon today. However, the aim of this terrorist act, because that is what I believe it was, is to have us change how we live, view our world and have us believe that we are not safe, wherever we are.

I had originally planned on being in Boston today, so I could watch several people that I know finish the marathon, but at the last minute I changed my mind. Instead I stayed home, watched the start, got very motivated by it and ran 10 miles at a comfortably hard pace on the Rail Trail. When I got back home, I watched more of the race on the live stream. Then all hell broke loose on Twitter and I turned on the TV to find out what was going.

photo by EJN

photo by EJN

The horrific events on the television screen transfixed me as I followed my Twitter feed. I couldn’t look away. I was scared, angry, and more than a few tears were shed for the innocence we lost in the running community today.

When my wife got home we talked and hugged for a while and then she asked me if I still planned to run the Marine Corps Marathon?  I quietly answered. “I have to.”  You have to remember she is very worried and more than a little scared, “Is it worth dying for?”  I simply said, “Yes.”  We talked more, but I have to explain why I said this.  If I allow what happened in Boston to change my plans to run the Marine Corps Marathon, then the bastards who did this despicable act will have won. I refuse to let them win.

It really is that simple.  I will continue to train and prepare for the Marine Corps Marathon and be there ready to run when it starts on October 27th and I will do my damnedest to qualify for Boston that day.

This is my way of honoring those who were at Boston today, not letting the bastards win.  We runners are a resilient bunch and we won’t stop.  This post isn’t about me; it is to remember the events of this day.

—Harold L. Shaw

 

Tags: , , , , ,

Boston Marathon Memorials Part III: Susan Stirrat

Apr. 09 Articles no comments

As we prepare for the first anniversary of the Boston Marathon tragedy, Level Renner is re-releasing the memorials and reflections of the running community written one year ago in the wake of the 117th running (these letters from readers were originally published in our May/June 2013 issue). Our intention is to pay proper respect and tribute to the events of last year’s race. We want nothing more than to handle the tragedy with appropriateness and tact. Because we see ourselves as an open platform for runners, this series is an expression of our audience’s thoughts from a year ago.  Thus, in the following pages, you will find an array of responses.  Some are angry, some are numb, most are just plain sad.  But some offer hope. Most show the strength and resolve of our community. The goal of this series is to remember and pay proper respect to the horrific events of April 15, 2013.  We will release one post per day in this series in the days leading up to the marathon.

Below is the third installment of a twelve part series. This reflection was written by Susan Stirrat of Whirlaway.

Nina and I went over to the Milton track to run today (Tuesday, April 16). It was breezy but it felt good to be out there. This was supposed to be a recovery run but I felt the need to run hard just a couple of miles to get some relief from the pain in my heart from yesterday’s events.

Nina, Mike, Carolee, and I were at the Family Meeting Center waiting for Reno to come in. He made it in 2:47:16. We were all so thrilled. Reno trained through a troublesome hamstring, severe back problems, and the beginnings of self-doubt (probably the worst issue) this winter. Top that off with lots of cold and snow and it was quite a challenging Boston Marathon training year. Reno also got a job this year. It was a blessing after being without work for 3 years, but it certainly had an effect on us. One shared car also cut into both of our training schedules. Reno got up in the morning and went out at 0500 to run in shorts just to get his body used to training in the cold because that is what his hamstring liked the least and he was trying to make it stronger. We kept junk food out of the house (or at least I kept mine hidden!) and we started incorporating lots of anti-inflammatory foods so that we’d both recover more quickly from our runs. The slippery ground made it impossible to do the weekly hill repeats and usual speed workouts, so instead we ran Stu’s hard and did the long runs hard to make up for that. Reno saw a chiropractor for his back. He did everything right and more so that he’d be able to give Boston his all. Still, you never know, even when doing everything right, what the day is going to bring.

 photo by EJN.

photo by EJN.

We saw Reno, Ephraim and Helen off at the start in Hopkinton after having hung out at the Tumbleton’s that morning. Then we drove to mile 12 to see them go by. We got to mile 12 and as we were getting our phones ready to take pictures we heard Reno’s voice. We almost missed him! Then we hopped back in our cars and drove to the finish. We parked in the Copley garage.

As we waited at the finish line the automatic timing service texted me that Reno’s predicted finish time was 2:47. OMG…he was going to do it! After what seemed forever, Reno came prancing through the finish in 2:47:16. His feet hardly touched the ground. He had a big smile on his face. He had accomplished his goal. We went home to watch the video of the marathon because we had seen very little of it.

Suddenly I got a text from my son Liam: “Are you ok? There are bombs going off in Boston at the finish line.” We turned on the news and heard what everyone now knows. Runner dressed simply in shorts and running shoes scrambling in terror. Who would do something like this? What kind of a world have we become? Why kill innocent people?  God forgive me but I just don’t understand.  My beautiful Boston…my running family. This is the thing we do. It is all spirit. It is where we find peace. Where we find God…where we find ourselves. Whoever did this certainly was not a runner. He was a demon. I am praying for my running family and the spectators who were injured and the families of those who were killed. Everyone who ran or was present is surely traumatized by the events. Healing is going to be slow.

—Susan Stirrat

 

Tags: , , , , ,

Boston Memorial Series Part II: Derderian & Haber

Apr. 08 Articles no comments

As we prepare for the first anniversary of the Boston Marathon tragedy, Level Renner is re-releasing the memorials and reflections of the running community written one year ago in the wake of the 117th running (these letters from readers were originally published in our May/June 2013 issue). Our intention is to pay proper respect and tribute to the events of last year’s race. We want nothing more than to handle the tragedy with appropriateness and tact. Because we see ourselves as an open platform for runners, this series is an expression of our audience’s thoughts from a year ago.  Thus, in the following pages, you will find an array of responses.  Some are angry, some are numb, most are just plain sad.  But some offer hope. Most show the strength and resolve of our community. The goal of this series is to remember and pay proper respect to the horrific events of April 15, 2013.  We will release one post per day in this series in the days leading up to the marathon.

Below is the second installment of a twelve part series. Two responses are within, one from Tom Derderian, president of USATF-NE and one from Nich Haber, founder and president of the New England Distance Project. 

Like nearly everyone touched by the bombings at the finish of the Boston Marathon we are shocked, angered, and sad. We are shocked because we are the governing body of sport, recreation, and essentially, play. People compete in the marathon and follow the race as something aside from the horrors of the world but are now part of those enormities. We are angry because people have been hurt and murdered for reasons that cannot possibly justify the crimes, and we are sad because of the pain and loss in our community. Most officers and employees of USATF-NE were at the marathon. Some worked as volunteers at the finish line so were quite close to the explosions. Others were racing or watching. We are relieved that none were hurt. At USATF we have held safety in the utmost importance in conducting events when we issue sanctions. As we wish the best recovery to those injured and their families we will spend the coming months thinking hard about how to make our sports the safe and joyous events they are intended to be.

—Tom Derderian, President of USATF-NE

boston marathon tribute 2 flags ejn 4.5.14

photo by EJN

My heart goes out to the victims and their families.  The marathon is personal. Everyone who connects with it has a personal experience with the event. It was what rescued New York City back in 2001 and reminded everyone what was important: How we individually strive to be our best. How we can collectively bring out the best in each other. How people from all over the world can come together and celebrate life. How we can get inspired watching others do something simple and beautiful.

Yesterday was an attack, not just on these ideas, but on the actual way we prove these concepts are valuable.  I have no doubts that the person or people who did this will be caught. I hope it is soon.

I am upset that the marathon as I know it will forever be changed and be linked to violent craziness.  Not sure what else to do right now, so I guess I’ll go for a run.

—Nich Haber, founder of NE Distance

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

Boston Memorial Series Part I: Joe Navas

Apr. 07 Articles no comments

As we prepare for the first anniversary of the Boston Marathon tragedy, Level Renner is re-releasing the memorials and reflections of the running community in the wake of the 117th running (these letters from readers were originally published in our May/June 2013 issue). Our intention is to pay proper respect and tribute to the events of last year’s race. We want nothing more than to handle the tragedy with appropriateness and tact. Because we see ourselves as an open platform for runners, this series is an expression of our audience’s thoughts from a year ago.  Thus, in the following pages, you will find an array of responses.  Some are angry, some are numb, most are just plain sad.  But some offer hope. Most show the strength and resolve of our community. The goal of this series is to remember and pay proper respect to the horrific events of April 15, 2013.  We will release one post per day in this series in the days leading up to the marathon.

Below is the first installment of a twelve part series. It is a response from Joe Navas who ran last year’s Boston Marathon.

The mind remembers but the body recalls and the two seemingly speak a different language in times of distress.

I ran a marathon two days ago. I always feel tired after running a marathon, in all ways. I always enter new territory psychologically, because I am not the person I was when I ran the last one.

I am older, though not wiser or less so. I am built differently, though neither faster nor slower. I am always slightly more fearful, no matter how well the previous one went, as if I feel like I’m either cheating the odds by hoping to have continuous “good” ones or getting what simply must eventually happen per order of the nature of the beast.

But today, I am simply exhausted. My legs ache, but I am neither pained nor frustrated by that. My brain, normally a whirlwind of thought, creative processes, lists of tasks, and anxiety about things important and trivial, is a shapeless bag of gray quiet.

My legs and my head began to speak illegible bits of prose to each other at 3:00 pm on Monday. They haven’t communicated properly since.

Is it because the legs are waiting in vain for the joy from the head to arrive, in order for them to feel ok about the pain? Is it the head all caught up in itself? Seeking to feel anything besides the languid, wrung out fatigue it’s working in and looking to the statistics on the page to relieve it?

Instead, all it sees is the look on my wife’s face when we heard the first blast. All it sees is my naiveté reflected in her eyes when, even after the second one, some idiot inside my mouth actually said, “Maybe it was a transformer getting overloaded.” All it sees is her making a game out of getting to the car to try to distract our 15 year-old son from the fact that we were both panicked, frightened, and claustrophobic.

We didn’t see smoke, as we were somewhere behind Copley. We didn’t see panicked onlookers, as word hadn’t gotten to them yet. We quickly decided that the only thing to do was to get through the crowd, get to the car and try to make it out. It wasn’t “Every man for himself,” so much as it was “I want my family to be safe from whatever this is and oh my god I love them.”

For two days I’ve talked about it, read about it, listened to everything I could about it. I’ve gone from trying to find out details to somehow make it more fathomable to looking for stories that can prove to me that the world has real, healing good left in it, not just slogans  pretending everything will be ok. I need acts that show me that the first instinct of the human animal is to love, and to love is to help and to help is to sacrifice. I keep watching the video of Tommy Meagher just instinctively going right in to help, without even giving it a second thought and I convince myself that there are more people like him, even though I’ve been quite certain for years there’s only one Tom Meagher.

Would I have helped and sacrificed if I was there and not a mere 600 yards away? I won’t say “I’d like to think, yes,” I can say, “Yes.” But here I was, afraid of what came from a sound, a big sound that rattled my guts and forced me to run on legs that had sat unused on a palatial, swallowing mattress in a luxurious room at the Fairmont Copley.

I’ve been riddled with a feeling that is heavy like guilt, though I cannot for the life of me figure out why. It’s as if I would prefer to transmit the collective pain of this action through something familiar, so I try to call shame from incidents that litter my life as they do anyone’s, perhaps as an alternative to facing the full brunt of the reality that is this inexplicably cruel cowardice perpetrated on people who never knew their own killers.

But I don’t have the energy. Not now. I am exhausted. So I go back to the trivial, that on which the legs and mind can agree.

I ran a good race. Not my fastest, but the most satisfying marathon I’ve had in years. I don’t know why it felt like this. I had to stop three times to use the Bouse House. I never got a good groove going. I felt like I was carrying a large water balloon somewhere just north of my bladder. Somehow, it didn’t matter. I was satisfied, and tremendously so. But of course, this is all well before any of the bad stuff happened. I am no believer in anything besides this physical plane, but I do have a part of me that wonders if my body felt a hinting rhythm that it translated into “You won’t be able to enjoy any of this soon enough, so you’d better soak it all in now.”

I usually follow a race with a lengthy poring over of statistics, stories of others’ travails, rehashed and rehashed memories of the tiniest minutia regarding the event. All running, all the time.

I don’t want to know how the Sox did, I want to see Reno beaming about 2:47 at age 58, and Ian, and Chris and I want to talk about how I saw Brendan Lynch after the ½, because it’s not Boston without seeing Brendan. I want to hear about Sim. I want to know if Lindsay’s leg held up (seems it did).

I want to hear the stories of people of all shapes and speeds and I love them because to simply pay attention to my own experience amidst something so huge and shared en masse is little more than a one-dimensional take on the whole thing. This is my recovery, this is my connection, this is my psychology, my massage, my stamina returning. My legs get the ok like a phone call from my brain and they start to feel better, as the aches that remain recall specific hills and the ones that retreat brace themselves for a return to those same hills.

boston marathon tribute card ejn 4.5.14

photo by EJN

But the above connection is not there, or if it is, it’s passing information that I cannot decipher. So I sit back as a bystander and read the papers, the newsfeeds and try to find a way through the bad to the good.  It’s tough to find this path when the mind and body ache in a way that cannot simply be healed with time or Advil or bananas or recovery runs.

Time does nothing. Time is merely space decreasing the volume of a sound that has bludgeoned your ears and soon enough becomes little more than a taunting distant echo, but one that is constant and you can’t figure out why it won’t finally go away.

It’s because time doesn’t erase it, it just moves it further afield, spreads it out, allows it to become diluted and dispersed into everything. Just like the only way to get over the wall is to go through it. If you try to run around it, you’ll just keep making it wider.

To get over this pain, you’ve got to go through it. But going through anything takes energy, and for right now, that energy is…exhausted.

—Joe Navas, Senior Columnist for Level Renner

 

 

Tags: , , , , ,
Contact Form Powered By : XYZScripts.com