Steady State

For endurance athletes, a steady state workout is a constant effort that can be sustained over a long period of time. Coming out of a week of tragedy that flipped our lives upside down, I suspect that many of us are approaching our daily lives the same way we would this type of workout. Feeling steady is requiring some effort these days.

Saturday morning, completely free from soreness in my muscles, I set out for my first post-marathon run. It was a warm, gray day, and for the first time in months, I stuck in my headphones to drown out my thoughts while I was running. I took the same route I have most days for the past year since I started this journey, but something felt different. Drivers actually stopped for me at crosswalks. Runners gave a more substantial greeting to each other than the customary wave. I smiled and waved at the police officers who were managing traffic, and called 'thank you' to them as I crossed the street. 

I let all the stress and panic of Friday fall away. I let the confusion and frustration of Monday fade. For the first time in months, I didn't leave the house knowing how many miles I was going to run. I didn't care about my pace. I just ran. I jogged easily up a hill that used to leave me winded and dizzy, and thought about how far I've come since I first set foot on these sidewalks a year ago. I've grown stronger, and not just physically.

As I rounded the corner of my street, my legs picked up and I began to sprint, just as I have at the end of most weekday workouts. I flew past the homes of my neighbors who have supported me and cheered me on throughout this journey. I slowed down at the end of the street, and as I turned around to walk home, the sun suddenly came out, revealing a new spring landscape in front of me. At the same moment, this song started to play on the station I was listening to. And all I could do was cry.

    

May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground.

Unfinished Business

Thank you all for your concern. I am just beginning to be able to put into words what we went through yesterday.

Confusion. I was perhaps half a mile from the finish, feeling unstoppable after reassurance from a co-worker and my Mom, when all runners in front of me suddenly stopped, as though waiting for a traffic light to turn green. No one knew why we weren't moving.

Pain. My calf muscles were cramping already and the sudden stop was extra hard on them. My overworked muscles convulsed in the cold breeze.

Shock. Word began to get around that there had been two explosions ahead of us at the finish line. The amazing spectators had been cheering so loudly for us that we hadn't heard a thing.

Disappointment. We began to realize that we would not complete the marathon, and I couldn't help but feel disappointed that the moment I had envisioned for months, crossing the finish line on Boylston Street, wouldn't be happening.

Isolation. Still no word from anyone outside the race about what was happening. All of the nearby police had taken off toward the finish line long ago. No one could make calls or send messages, but phones all around me were buzzing with worried questions. My phone was waiting for me at the finish line.

Terror. Larger and larger rumors began to spread. Two bombs. Two buildings went up in the explosions. Marathon Sports was hit. Westin Copley (where I was planning to meet my family, friends, and teammates) was hit. My mind began to race toward all the runners I knew who were seconds, minutes in front of me. My family and friends who were waiting to find me. No way to reach them. 

Relief. I happened to find my cousin through the chaos, and with her phone I managed to get in touch with my boyfriend, who could tell my father that I was okay. I talked to my mother and planned to retrace my steps back to her. I got word that most of my teammates were accounted for. The bombs were outdoors and everyone at the Westin was fine.

Frustration. My mother and I walked around for nearly an hour trying to get access to the Westin. Every turn we took was blocked by yet another law enforcement officer who offered no information and urged us to go another block and then try again. No one would say, "Please clear the area and go home," which is apparently what public officials were saying. They just said, "try again at the next block."

We weren't able to get to the Westin. I wasn't able to hug my teammates and tell them all that I was proud of them and glad that they were okay.

Several hours later, at home, finally able to see the scene at the finish line replayed over and over again, I felt immensely grateful. Grateful for the calf cramps and head cold, without which I might have been just five minutes faster. Grateful that I was fortunate enough to be with my cousins in the chaos. Grateful for the anonymous woman who ran out of her apartment and threw a blanket around my shoulders before running off, presumably to help someone else. Grateful to finally hear that everyone on my team was safe. Grateful for the amazing response of everyone at the blast site that could attend so quickly to the many friends-of-friends of mine who were injured, some critically. Grateful for all the calls, e-mails, and messages from friends, family, and acquaintances. Grateful to be able to go home at the end of this day.

Today, it's not my legs that hurt. Not even my calves. It's my heart. Running a marathon, for me and for so many others, is about proving to yourself that you are capable of more than you ever imagined. It is the ultimate test of grit, perseverance, and hope. To see such unspeakable horror at The Marathon, in my home city, is heartbreaking.

This week, those of us who were stopped before the finish will have an opportunity to collect our belongings, and even our finisher's medals. For us, those medals will mean something different than we imagined they would when we started out in Hopkinton yesterday. I think I speak for many of us when I say that we have unfinished business in Boston. We'll be back.

A girl of about 6 years old said it best yesterday as we ran by her in Framingham. She turned to her younger brother and said, "It's not a race; it's a marathon."

Update

I don't yet have words for what happened yesterday. For now, I will defer to my friend and fellow blogger, John. Thank you all for your concern and kind words.

http://sherbornpastor.blogspot.com/2013/04/after-marathon-we-are-ok-we-are-not-ok.html

Tracking Info

So, friends. I just want to start this mostly informational post by telling you that my life-long dream did not come true. Ok, I'm exaggerating, but I was REALLY hoping that I would be assigned bib number 24601. And I came SO CLOSE! Don't know the significance of this number? Watch this video and then we can continue to be friends.

 

Anyway, if you see the winner of said number, a one Michael Simoneau, please give him my regards.

My real bib number is 24390. 

To stalk me on race day, text "Runner" to 345678, and you will be prompted to respond again with my bib number. You should receive a text back with my name!

My super-stalkers will receive updates on my progress at 10k, halfway, 30k, and the finish line.

More info to come as we get even closer to Monday... 5 days and counting...