Posted on April 16, 2013 under Storytelling with no comments yet

I know exactly what it is like at the finish line of the Boston Marathon.   I was there last year and the year before.  If you are a runner, it is sacred ground.  It is the Holy GraiI.  It is always a chaotic scene.  It is an area filled with people and emotion.  For runners, it is a mixture of pain, relief, exhaustion and joy. There are thousands of fans and family on Boylston Street.  And of course, there are hundreds of volunteers and medics who comfort you and keep you upright so that you can get to the family meeting area with a shred of decency.

As of April 15, 2013, you can add one more chapter to finish line stories; tragedy.

Every time that there is a natural disaster or a man made one we struggle to process what is unfolding on the television.  When I received the initial call from my daughter in Montreal, my very first thought was a gas leak or some accidental explosion.  I could never imagine that what I was about to witness over the next four hours was an act of wanton violence and destruction.

Like many other runners and friends, I was following the race very closely.  My long suffering running partner was competing for the fifth time and three other friends were making their maiden voyage over hallowed ground.  Knowing you are tracing the steps of all the great marathoners in history is a very humbling experience.  I was charting my friends’ progress online.  By the time all hell broke loose I knew that three of the four had completed the journey from Hopkinton to Copley Square in downtown Boston.  For some reason the fourth, Lori, had disappeared off the radar.  My initial thought was that she had succumbed to injury.  I know her well.  She is a tough old bird but it happens to the best of runners.

When I turned on the television the reality of what was happening hit home.  I stared in disbelief at the confusion and carnage.  I watched in shock as the concussion from the blast leveled runners right in their steps, yards from the finish line.  I saw the smoke, the fireball and the blood on the sidewalk and realized that the venerable Boston Marathon had changed forever.

The next several hours were a blur of phone calls, texts and e-mails.  I contacted all of the runners first.  My running partner was actually in the finish area when the first explosion hit but came away physically unharmed.  Two others, a husband and wife team from a neighboring community, were safe as well.  This journey was to be the fulfillment of a lifelong dream; to run in the Boston Marathon as a couple. The dream quickly turned into a nightmare.

I turned all of my attention and worry to my friend who was still unaccounted for.  I knew she should have been close to the finish line at the time of the explosions according to her earlier splits.  And I was aware that her husband, an Ironman competitor and former Boston marathoner, was supposed to be at the finish line to witness her monumental achievement.  It was well over an hour before I received a text that they were both unharmed.

The marathon, for those of you sensible enough never to have done one, stretches 26 miles and 385 yards.  I know from experience that the last few hundred yards can be the toughest.  Your muscles are utterly depleted, screaming for you to stop.  You might also be suffering from major league blisters on your feet and severe chafing on many body parts.  And most of us have experienced the joys of several blackened toes after blood vessels burst under the toenails from the incessant pounding.

Lori told me that she came around the corner on Beresford Street and entered Boylston Street.  This is about 300 yards from the finish line but it feels like 300 miles when you are near the end.  With only a few moments remaining in the race, the achievement of her lifelong goal, the second explosion struck just steps away. As it was Patriot’s Day, she thought at first that cannon had gone off somewhere.  And then she was swarmed by police and medics removing her and all the runners from the course.  Unharmed.

Under normal circumstances, to be so close to the finish line at a marathon and not to finish would be devastating for a runner.  Only a marathoner understands the preparation that is required to get to Boston.  I spoke with Lori a few hours after the tragedy and she was both philosophical and circumspect. The expected disappointment of being “so close yet so far” was replaced with shock and sadness at the loss of life and the shattering of limbs and lives.  I assured her that she had indeed finished the race, in her heart and in her soul, regardless of finish times and medals.

In 2012 we ran Boston in blistering heat, spurred on by a community of friends and strangers alike who supported us in so many ways.  On April 15^th 2013 this community reached higher and farther in response to unspeakable tragedy.  Goodness must prevail.  Boston will be forever changed but we cannot and must not lose its spirit and soul. 

 

 

 

Posted on April 15, 2013 under Storytelling with no comments yet

Long distance runners are a strange lot. Driven, disciplined, self absorbed, stubborn, dedicated, often injured (!), half crazy and goal oriented are words often used to describe marathoners. The 116^th. edition of the Boston Marathon on April 16,2012 revealed another quality not often seen: compassion. More than 25,000 runners from nearly 65 countries around the world arrived at the starting line in Hopkinton, Massachusetts with a singular mission of getting to Copley Square in Boston and crossing the finish line. Virtually every one of those runners had met the stringent time requirements to qualify for Boston. Several days before the race, all eyes were on the weather forecast as Boston was anticipating an unprecedented blast of heat for one day: marathon Monday.

Three days before the race, the runners received the first official warning from the Race Director: do not run the marathon if you have any underlying health issues and  do not run if you have come from a colder climate and are not acclimatized. That alone would eliminate most of the field with the exception of the Kenyans and Ethiopians. Throughout the weekend the communiqués became more alarming and it was obvious to everyone that the organizers were very concerned about casualties. Not that long ago a few runners attending the Chicago Marathon succumbed to the heat.

Attending all of the pre-race activities it was clear that all of the runners were reassessing the race, recalibrating their goals and trying to decide to run or defer their entry for one year. In the Athletes Village prior to the race one could sense something very different was about to happen. Nobody was talking about personal bests, race pace, negative splits – the usual pre-race banter . Everyone was urging everyone else to take it easy, to run in pairs, to be on the lookout for fellow runners who might find themselves in difficulty.

The half kilometre walk to the start line resembled cattle being lead to the slaughter. The temperature had already reached 75 degrees and many people  already had a pretty good sweat going before the race even started. And then something magical happened. As the runners crossed the start line, one could sense that there were others concerned about the runners – 1,000,000 fans lining every inch of the road from Hopkinton to Boston.

Runners are focused and normally pick the shortest path to complete the 26.2 mile ( 42 kilometre)marathon route. They look straight ahead,  not all that conscious of their surroundings , and rarely utter a word to their fellow competitors. It’s not that they’re anti social, but talking requires energy and every ounce of energy must be conserved to go the distance. It became obvious very quickly that the competitive veil of the runner had been  discarded , and it was now about survival. As the Race Director said in his final e-mail before the race, “ This is no longer a race. It is an experience”. When you take 25,000 runners and shift the focus from self to the entire community of runners, great things can happen… and did.

By noon, the temperature peaked at 90 degrees and stayed there for the duration. Trying to stay hydrated and body temperature regulated became an obsession. Luckily help was to be found in the throngs of spectators. Around the 5 mile mark garden hoses started to appear regularly along the route. Local fire departments opened fire hydrants, young children with water cannons and  water guns laid waste with direct hits to the runners. Misting tents sprayed blessedly cool water and provided temporary relief from the scorching sun. There were very small children wanting a “high 5” and others with small buckets of ice cubes. Runners are also finicky in regards to their intake during a race. The usual menu of water, Gatorade and gels was supplemented ( not in order of importance! ) by gummi bears,  freezies,  m@m’s, fig newtons, watermelon, oranges, bananas, and yes, at the base of Heartbreak Hill, small cups of ice cold beer. Many runners consumed some or all of the above. It needs to be pointed out that when the competitive level was stripped aside at the start of the race, all the rules of long distance running changed. There were no rules.

In a normal race, a runner draws inspiration from many sources, most of them internalized and well rehearsed. And when the pain begins, as it always does, you look around you. Invariably and tragically, many  runners are running for a loved one, torn away by the scourge of cancer. A man we pass laments the passing of his dog a week earlier. Another has a T-shirt that says -” If you think you are in pain, try chemo”. Of course there are many other shirts that are in a much lighter vein… some not fit for print! And then there are the bands. Rock, Country, Jazz, the Blues, Gospel, a 30 person drum group and of course, Elvis… and Santa Claus.

There are not many races where runners toss glasses of water in the faces of their fellow competitor, or dance on the road, or kiss the young women of Wellesley College. But as mentioned earlier, this race was about survival and the power of the human spirit. To be lifted up and carried on the shoulders of a million people is a spiritual experience that is very hard to articulate. The countless small acts of kindness extended by so many created a tidal wave of goodwill that was palpable.

They often speak of the “loneliness of the long distance runner” and most times that is true. But when you draw strength from family, friends, wellness providers ( physiotherapists, massage therapists, strength and flexibility coaches, yoga instructors ,physicians) , and complete strangers, anything is possible. An astonishing 96% of the runners who started the race, finished the race. And what was the most common sentiment at the end, besides relief? Gratitude. No one accomplishes anything in life alone. And when the human spirit is elevated to unprecedented heights, anything is possible.

A final passing note to fellow runners. You can run Boston or you can experience Boston –  or any other race for that matter .You can run your worst time and have your best experience. You don’t have to run fast to have a good time. Be grateful and blessed to have the health to do what you do.

Posted on April 15, 2013 under Storytelling with no comments yet

My heart is in Boston today. It is marathon Monday and several of my friends are running in this iconic race. I had the privilege of running in Boston in 2011 and 2012. It was an awesome experience. If you are a long distance runner, this is the ultimate goal.

Last year the temperature soared into the low ’90’s for the race. When I returned home, I penned a story about that experience which was published in three newspapers and The Running Room magazine. If I can find the original, I will post it later today. While the story is about running, it is much more than that.

The weather will be perfect in Boston today. Before the race begins ( around 10:30 Atlantic time ) I will hum a few bars of Neil Young’s tune ” Long May You Run”.

Best of luck to my fellow runners.