4-15-13

4-15-13

Below is a reflection from my dear friend Elizabeth with whom I went to Boston to run the marathon. It helps to paint more of a picture of the gravity of what we have experienced.    

"Dear friends and family,

Though I am sending a group email, I want each of you to know that I have been deeply touched by individual emails, texts, face book messages and calls that so many of you sent over the past 24 hours. 

I wanted to respond to each of you, but I also wanted to have a chance to sit, write and process for myself. I hope you do not mind me doing this in the form of a response to you all.

 Yesterday was the most striking juxtaposition between an outpouring of human generosity and a senseless act of horror. 

Intellectually I know that the world is filled with both of these but to experience these extremes over the course of 4 hours is not something I will ever forget.  

I had been planning to run the Boston Marathon for many months. My family tolerated my long training runs, Anne (my generous coach and encourager) helped me prepare my body for this event, and everything was going according to plan.  Arriving on Saturday I was eager to spend time with my friend Emily and run the race.  Though I have run a number of races, I had no idea how unique this event would be.  From the moment I entered Boston (two days before the race) it seemed that everyone was preparing to either run or support the race.  For Patriot’s Day, the coming of spring and the tradition of the Boston marathon, there seemed to be excitement everywhere we went.

On Sunday morning we went to Trinity church.  Is not hard to sense the sanctity of this place founded in 1733 and richly decorated from floor to ceiling with sacred art. Even in church service the spirit of the race was palpable as the minister concluded with a blessing for the runners. 

“Oh Lord and giver of life and strength, be with these your sons and daughters as they prepare in body and mind to run this race.

Guide their feet and hearts.  May they feel your delight in each stride. 

Encourage them and refresh them through the cheers of those who will witness their running tomorrow.

Lord, we see your glory revealed in the human person fully alive.  

Strengthen each of us to show forth your glory today, tomorrow and always.  Through Christ our Lord. Amen”

We were called to the front of this cathedral, received this blessing and then found our way back to our seats as the organ played Chariots of Fire.   

Monday started with a gloriously sunny morning.

I expected and embraced the excitement at the starting line as so many runners were bouncing, stretching and chatting waiting for the starting gun. 

However, I did not expect to have 26.2 miles of course PACKED with spectators.  These spectators were passing out oranges, licorice, high fives, popsicles and even kisses.  They were holding signs that said “your perspiration my inspiration”,   “I am so proud of you runners!” and yelling things like “go lady in the green tank top, yah!” 

“Really?” I thought, “all of these people are out here for 5 + hours giving everything they have to encourage us—the common man and woman.  Later I asked someone who lives in Boston why so many people care so much.  I understand crowds along the sideline at races; I have been there.  I understand that people come to see the graceful front runners, or to play music, staff a water station, or hold up encouraging signs with bible verses on them. But this race was different. So many people just seemed to pour out joy on their fellow man.

Quite literally these crowds powered my legs over the last 6 miles as I was starting to cramp and flail.  I crossed the finish line so happy to have done my best, so tired and so joyful to be a human fully alive.    

The finish shoot was deeply satisfying and I eagerly awaited my friend Emily to join me in the festivities. Minutes after we reunited, about 200yards from the finish line there were two explosions behind us.  Smoke and flames rose up in to the air.  That moment started a series of fragmented memories that I will share in a less composed way.

I--and the hundreds of people around me--had the same reaction: our senses were in conflict—utter fatigue having just finished a marathon yet suddenly alert with confusion and fear.

“It is something with the subway…a transformer explosion…cannon for Patriot’s Day”

Our minds full of gratitude could not fathom anything beyond these options. But really these options did not seem practical.

Minutes passed.

I feel nauseous, cold, disorientated.

We are moved with the crowd away from the explosions.

We go into a hotel where it is warm and we can sit down.

A woman comes into the hotel crying, holding her mouth, and shaking.  She tells me that they were bombs, there is blood, she can’t get the words out.

There are sirens, shouting, the hotel doors are closed to any more people coming in.

Everyone is looking at each other and at their phones, trying to figure out what is going on.

I get a series of text messages from my friend Kristin in Seattle:

Kristen: “Just looked up your time, awesome congrats!”

“Wow, watching news, what was the explosion?”

Me:      “I don’t know can you tell me? We just heard it.”

Kristen: “CNN is showing footage, lots of smoke, people running, 6 people hurt so far.  Right at the finish line….” 

And she proceeds to report CNN to me as I am sitting locked in the hotel lobby.

Texts, voicemails fly in and land on my phone.

Everyone is looking at each other and at their phones now wondering if they are the only ones that cannot communicate out.  

The outgoing cell service is cut off.

My mom calls, leaves a voice mail, crying, I can’t reach her.  There are so many people I can’t reach.

Everyone is looking at each other and at their phones, some people lose battery power to their phone, they are cut off.

Eventually our guardian angel came to pick us up and took us quickly out of the city.  Large armored vehicles passed and crossed us, the radio bringing reality to our worst fears.

I hear an 8-year-old boy has died.  This is someone’s Liam.

 I spent that evening about an hour outside the city, warm, safe, trying to reach as many people as I could and sitting in disbelief of what had just happened. 

Emily and I were able to leave Boston just fine this morning and I am now home. Bill and the boys are in rural Oregon on a rafting trip. Not only do they not have cell phone service, but they will likely not see another human until Thursday.  I miss them dearly and hope they are safe.  But I cannot get over the fact that it could have so easily been my 8-year-old Liam there cheering for his mom at the finish line.  

The world is filled with human generosity—I am so thankful for the human spirit that I witnessed during the marathon at Boston.  I am so thankful for all of the pre-race support and encouragement from you all.  I am also deeply touched by the post-race concerns. 

This has made me want to be a person more generous with my enthusiasm toward others.

On the other hand so many people in the world experience senseless horrors and I am just so sad.  There are no answers to this now or ever. 

I hope to be in touch with you more personally over the next days and weeks. 

All my love for now,

Elizabeth"