I just made it into my friend's car, still freezing and pale with blue lips after the ordeal when my friend's phone rang. It was our mutual friend who was still at the finish line. apparently there had been two explosions. I couldn't believe it at first. Of all places for this shit to happen. A marathon. Citizens from all US states, and dozens of countries around the world coming together to undertake a joyous expression of the human spirit and togetherness. I was taken aback. All of the preoccupations with my personal race outcome had vanished and my sense of celebration were wiped away. The next thing I thought about was how lucky my friends and family were to not be there during the incident and how awful it was a young boy and a woman were killed. I was talking with my buddy after the race a good 5 minutes in the finish chute area. This New York Times photo shows the area I'm talking about: 
All I can say is that I hope they catch those responsible and that this act of terror doesn't destroy the great marathons of the world. My personal journey through the Boston Marathon was one of those self defining events. Everything started great. I was in the athlete's village, I had went to the restroom nearl 10 times that morning. I was hydrated and feeling good, having had two Power Bars within the four hours before the start. I couldn't believe how big the event was and how tiny the road start was. I was in the third corral of the first wave and I still couldn't see the start line (this is from someone who always starts near the start in every local race). I shed my clothes and we were off. Hit 6:45 for the first mile, 13:00 for two, and not much faster for 3 and 4. I then ate my sports beans and grabbed some water. I felt good and relaxed. My shoes were too tight and my feet were numb...this sucked. Blisters were already starting. By 7 miles I decided to leave my buddy and inch towards 6 flat pace. I was fine for a bit but at that point I was getting really warm so I began drinking at nearly every water stop. Right after the girls at Wellesley I knew something wasn't right when I got a side stitch. It had to be from too much sugar....those damn beans...I should have not eaten anything until 15 but I was too afraid that it would be too late by then. My stitch subsided a bit and I paced a smaller older woman who I quickly identified as Joan Benoit Samuelson. I said great job Joan like everyone else and I was off (she came back at the end to pass me ---experience is a huge factor in marathoning). A few miles later a different stitch was back. My pace had slowed and I held it there. By 16 I was dizzy and nausious....I contemplated stopping but chugged on at my slow pace. I knew I was in for one hell of a race and threw my race plans out the window. This was going to be a gut churning struggle within myself to pull this one out. By mile 18 I was feeling sick, with side stitches and thoughts of dropping out. For some reason my legs kept moving and I looked down and continued on. My form was shot and I must have looked pretty bad at that point. I didn't care. I was going to finish this race. I finally made it over Heartbreak at a slow plod and I wasn't even excited or enjoying myself because of how shitty I felt. It took everything I had and I was chugging down water at this point. Luckily there was plenty available since the course had so many fans to motivate me and pull me along. Early in the race I slapped 20+ kids hands and they thought it was the coolest thing. This was awesome and what the marathon was all about. Needless to say at 20 I was in no mood to smile or talk to anyone. I just kept chugging along, getting passed by swarms of runners, unable to move my heavy legs any faster. I was hot and just wanted it to be over. I felt as if I was in another world, absent from my body in a dream like state. Once I saw that Citgo sign I knew I would gut it out. At the finish I could barely stand. I was so happy to get my medal and my blanket! The course workers were the best I've ever seen at a marathon. After chugging four cups of Gatorade a woman asked me if she needed to call someone because I wasn't looking good. I told her I was ok but the pain eminating from my legs was bad. Made it to the family area and sat down. My friends said I was really pale and my lips were blue. I told them I felt like I was about to faint, like my blood sugar was low....but I had plenty of fluids and sugar. I'm not sure what it was that got me...but I know one thing...my training is what enabled me to make it all the way through. The marathon if one hell of a race and should never be underestimated. I surmise I am no marathoner....but I'm not done with the marathon and I'm not done with Boston. After the incidents that occurred I knew I would be finding myself lining up in Hopkinton in 2014. Runners share a commraderie of spirit that no terrorist can take away. Being able to enjoy the event without fear is our way of fighting back. I want to thank all of my friends and family and the amazing Boston race. I've never been to a race that well run and with so many fans. I had a great time despite the events that transpired. However, I am not very satisfied and my marathon doesn't feel like much after what happened to those poor people. My thoughts are with their families. 
at the expo  during the race
Mom and Dad | 