Remembering Boston 2013

Reliving the Boston Marathon bombing

  through Patriots Day was challenging but cathartic.

Remembering trying to qualify for Boston—

  because I thought that was important.

Remembering registering—

  because I thought that was important.

Remembering planning the trip—

  because I thought that was important.

Remembering traveling with two runners from Baltimore—

  because running is about friendship—brothers and sisters in shoes.

Remembering the expo and meeting my future coach—

  the first being necessary and the second because I love to learn.

Remembering finishing in a respectable time—

  because I thought that was important.

Remembering finding the bus with my stuff—

  because that was necessary.

Remembering meeting up with my two friends—

  brothers in shoes reunited.

Remembering taking the time to gather stuff and change—

  because we didn’t want to be cold.

Remembering getting on the subway—

  because that was necessary.

Remembering the first news as we were on the T—

  because it forever changed my running.

Remembering sending a brief message home—**I’m okay**.

Remembering posting to social media—**I’m okay**.

Remembering the chaos of being forced off the T—

  because of the uncertainty.

Remembering the chaos of the emergency vehicles

  headed on streets headed toward the finish line.

Remembering the crowd at the hotel

  staring at the TV in the lobby in disbelief.

Remembering the adrenalin as we drove back—

  because we all wanted to see our families.

Remembering the black SUVs on the high speed roads—

  because they wanted to solve the mystery.

Remembering hearing that an eight year old

  had died in the bombing—my youngest son was eight.

Remembering the pain of knowing that someone

  had lost their eight year old.

Remembering the uncertainty for days—

  because I was scared and angry.

Remembering the feeling of “runners will be strong”—

  because I wanted to be defiant.

Remembering to hug family and friends more tightly—

  because that is what truly matters.

Remembering my first professional trip back to Boston—

  because I was so emotional.

The movie put the human cost in stark relief.

I continue wondering why people ever do this to each other.

Pondering whether I will ever want to run it again—

  because I’m not sure it is important for me.

Knowing that I will keep on running, whether Boston or not—

  because running promotes life and love.

Twelve More Miles, One Year, Lots of Realizations

Since the last time I wrote, I ran 5 miles easy outside near home and 7 miles on a treadmill at a hotel in Cleveland, OH, starting at 3:35 this morning.  Thus the 12 more miles.  I enjoyed every minute of both runs.  This puts me at 612 miles after 15 weeks of the year.  On my virtual pilgrimage I remain on Indiana Route 46 and am now on the outskirts of Bloomington.

The reference to one year--one year since the Boston Marathon bombing.  When I started the day on the treadmill, I have a very early network news program on.  And they spent a lot of time covering the remembrance of the events in Boston.  I felt emotions come quickly.  They came even more rapidly once they mentioned the eight year old who died last year.  Then, I was asked to be on a local public radio program this afternoon.

On that program, the host asked me what I will be doing next Monday.  I hadn't even looked ahead to my calendar for next Monday yet.  It turns out I will have a lot of meetings.  That is actually a very good thing.  Because otherwise, I would probably be at my desk all day watching the internet on pins and needles.  Waiting for the many runners I know--some through Back on My Feet, some through Charm City Run, and some through other local connections I have made over the years--to see their times and to see that they are safe.  And to wait and see that nothing happens.  I realize now that we will never be able to take safety at an event like this completely for granted again.  Especially after someone left a backpack there today after the end of the remembrance activities.  Being in meetings most of the day will force me to focus on something else.  Not that I want to ignore the issue.  I want to face the issue.  The best way to deal with it is to face it.  And to face it squarely.  The fact that it happened.  And the fact that I must do something about it.   

So, what else did I learn about myself and life today?

First, I still like the idea of playing music but right now I get no joy from playing.  I committed to play for a Good Friday service and for an Easter Sunday mass.  I had hung up the towel last year.  I have re-engaged three times since.  I think this is it.  I am not saying I am any better than any of the other musicians.  I certainly am not.  I'm just not feeling it any more.  And that will help no one.  Life is too short to do volunteer activities that I don't enjoy.

Second, the events of last year are still closer than I thought they were.

Third, the group of running friends I have really does look out for and care about each other.  One friend I have run many miles with sent a message today indicating that she has to take some time off.  She has had a series of injuries and felt something different enough that she feels she has to pull back. It is unfortunate as she has waited since 2011 to run another marathon and is in for the Marine Corps this year.  I hope that she overcomes whatever has started to affect her.

Earlier in the day, I heard from a friend with whom I often run track workouts on Tuesdays.  She called me asking if I was okay.  I hadn't even realized that she might be thinking that I was not okay because of the anniversary of the bombings.  It is simply that we have been doing track workouts as a group (varying from 2-12) since the fall of 2011 when she and a student of mine from Ireland ran a 3200 meter time trial together with the two of them expertly pacing me.  In any case, this was one of the first weeks when I didn't send out any email--even one saying "I won't be out" in almost three years.  She noticed and wanted to make sure nothing was up.

Then, for one friend who is running Boston this year, I had sent a brief hand-written note.  When I dropped it in the mail (people still like getting real mail every once in a while), I didn't realize what day it would arrive on. I also hadn't thought about my friend's relationship with the events in Boston last year.  Her mother was there.  As was I.  And numerous other friends.  She felt relieved as she heard from each one a year ago.  But she posted late in the day today how raw some of those feelings were.  And how much she appreciated getting my note encouraging her to make the most of the opportunity to run Boston.  To run strong.  And to find in the experience the meaning she needs it to have for her.  

In closing, Anthony on his program today asked me why so much running.  I gave my answer that has nothing to do with community first--immediate feedback and lots of numbers.  But the community I am a part of is an amazing one.  One that is strong.  One that faces the issues we must overcome head on.  And one that I will continue to be a part of.

While I acknowledge that I want to run more races--and not just train endlessly--the many feelings of insecurity do haunt me.  And it is not even so much my own feelings of insecurity.  I can get over those.  Every major race I run for the rest of my life, I will have to ask the question--how will I get news to my family that I am done?  If anything happens, how will I let them know I am safe?  And is the risk worth it.  

I think I will answer yes.  But that is a question I never had to ask before.  It is a shame to have to ask it now.  But family as community is even stronger.  And the risk cannot be ignored.

I am sure I will run and write next Monday.  And I am sure on the day of this year's Boston Marathon I will have even more to say about the feelings that are still there.  This is one time when being 612 miles away in reality rather than just virtually might help to ease the hurt that is still there--the easing through distance as well as time.  Or perhaps not as this may transcend any distance as long as the pictures, the story about the eight year old, and my memories live on.  

When Do I Reach the Finish Line?

The answer to this question may seem patently obvious.  I reached the finish line on Boylston Street on April 15.  I crossed the finish line around the same time as one of the two gentlemen I traveled and spent the weekend with.  I crossed the finish line behind several people I knew and in front of a lot of other people I knew.  I crossed the finish line after nearly 5,000 others, but that was much better than where my qualifying and bib number (7827) would have suggested.  I crossed the finish line that several thousand runners were never able to cross.  And after I crossed the finish line I did not stop immediately as I had done after at least one of the four other marathons I ran.  I kept walking—as everyone who was not physically ill or otherwise incapable of walking/running any further was asked to do at the finish.  I kept walking—glad to have crossed the finish line.  I stayed on my feet—strong enough to keep myself going after the finish line.  And I thought that my Boston experience (aside from getting my medal, getting sa shower, and driving home) was done. 

Finish lines are usually black and white.  I am either on one side of the finish line or the other.  I know exactly where it is.  I know whether the tape has been broken or not if you have any chance of being first.  On a track it is particularly easy since the finish line is almost always in the same place.  The only difficulty on the track is sometimes is keeping track of how many times I have gone around.  For an 800 meter race this is not a big deal.  For the mile it sometimes is a challenge to count.  And for anything longer it is a bigger challenge.  Of course, indoors is even more challenging even for the mile to keep track of just how many times I have gone around—although it has been many years since I had to worry about that.

Sometimes in longer races it can be a challenge to understand where the start and finish lines are.  However, even there it is usually easier to figure out where the finish line is as the finish line usually has some time of inflatable “gateway” that everyone passes through.  And whether it is a large inflatable arch or just some balloons, there is now mistaking where the finish line is. 

When I crossed the finish line I thought it would be black and white.  I was not finished, then I was.  But the attackers actions led to a much different outcome.

It has now been almost five weeks since the Boston Marathon.

I am still processing.

I am still writing.

I am still thinking.

It is not as constant as it was.  I went running with a friend this morning with whom I had not had the opportunity to run since early February or late January.  We managed to go for approximately a one hour run with no mention of Boston—or only the briefest mention.  We had plenty of other things about career and kids, running and fellow runners to catch up on. 

But when I am alone, I still ponder.

When I hear new news, it still grabs my attention.

I’m not sure what the symbolic finish line for the attackers was.  Was their finish line planting the explosives?  Was their finish line detonating the explosives?  Did they have an even bigger finish line in mind with supposed plans for New York city?  I am sure that they did not think their finish line would be death in a shootout and lying in a boat waiting and being captured. 

I imagine they did not ponder how their actions would influence the finish line for so many others.  Obviously, detonating the explosives near the finish line they realized and intended to affect many at the finish line.  Their tiing suggests they did not really understand when an explosion at the finish line would be most harmful—and for that I am thankful.

But their action certainly changed my finish line for this race experience.  Not for the race itself—that ended on Boylston street just as clearly as expected. 

However, if we think about the race experience as a whole, it definitely has extended my experience.  The news coverage following the initial explosions also affected my race experience and the continuation of the race experience.  Every time it makes a top of the news headline again (although the coverage has mostly become inner pages material at this point), the situation again becomes front and center in my mind.

So, in some ways, this feels like a bad dream where the finish line keeps moving further and further away.  The finish line keeps changing.  The rules keep changing.  The expectations and realizations keep changing.

So where will the finish line be for the experience?  I may never reach an absolute finish line.  The race experience finish line will never be as black and white as the race finish line. 

I never would have guessed that this would be the case.

I know that people sometimes talk about achieving some closure.  In this case, I guess it is sort of like asking whether I will cross the finish line.  If I really did achieve closure, then, yes, I would believe I had crossed the finish line.  However, I think I may never get anything more than very close to the finish line.  There will never likely be complete closure.  I can appreciate so much better how people who have suffered a tragic loss talk about things like finding the accused and achieving a conviction make them feel better but don’t necessarily bring closure.  When we finally get all the details of the investigation.  When we finally understand—as best we ever will—the motivation of the brothers.  When we finally have some legal system outcome of the case.  Then, I will feel like I have come very close to the finish line.  But deep inside somewhere, the pain and anger and helplessness that I felt that first afternoon will always be there.  And if there is a black and white I am not sure that I will ever cross the finish line and achieve complete closure on this one.  The best I can hope for is to be within sight of the finish line with no one moving the line ever again.  I’m not sure when I will be there, but I’m not quite there yet.

© 2013, Kevin D. Frick 

The Medal

When I crossed the finish line on April 15, I received at least two other things prior to my medal—a bottle of water and a heat blanket.  It was interested because my Sunday School 3^rd graders six days later asked why anyone would want a blanket.  Well, after running 26.2 miles and sweating a lot and then stopping and feeling a cold breeze, you might be surprised to know just how important that blanket us.   It is also hard to describe to third graders how the blanket is sort of like aluminum foil (but not exactly) that a runner wraps around himself or herself after the race.  It makes a big difference in at least some races and the race on April 15 was one time.  I know that it made a difference as it helped me to feel more stable and then there was the volunteer who asked if I was feeling okay and I answered her by saying just a bit cold.  That was an unusual response for me in my five post-marathon experiences but it was absolutely accurate.  And since it was before the post-race and post-explosion adrenalin kicked in, I really was focused just on how my body felt at the time.

The third thing I received on what still seemed like a glorious afternoon at the time was my Boston Marathon 2013 finishers medal.  The water was important.  Despite finishing all the water I had carried with me (and I did actually carry the water with me for this marathon which was different than an of the previous four in which I’d relied entirely on water stops) and drinking even more, I was still in need of water.  It felt good going down.  The heat blanket was important for reasons described above.  The food (which came after the medal) was also incredibly important as I’d taken my gooey nutritional bite sized snacks but I had not had anything else since very early that morning.

However, it was not any of those other than the medal that mattered most.  I had my Boston Marathon finishers medal.  I have other mementoes of that day.  I have my 2013 Boston Marathon program.  (I didn’t see or hear anyone shouting “Programs!  Get your programs here!”  But the image of that happening was quite amusing.)  I have my Boston Marathon jacket.  It is blue and yellow with numerous Boston Marathon symbols on it.  Many people even outside the running community know what it is and have asked me about it when I have worn it since then.  And within the running community it shows that I am a member of a relatively small fraternity of individuals who have qualified for and gone to Boston—the reference to a fraternity is how one of my companions for the weekend described it although I never was and never really had any desire to be part of a fraternity when I was in college.  It doesn’t signify only qualification.  It signifies going and at least attending the expo.  I also acquired a nice ring that doesn’t signify anything other than the fact that I purchased it but I do like it and my wife commented that it is sort of like a Super Bowl ring for runners.  That analog only goes so far as to get a Super Bowl ring you have to win.

The medal is actually a bit more like a Super Bowl ring, although unlike a ring a runner does not wear the Boston Marathon finisher’s medal every day after the race.  It is also like the Super Bowl ring only in limited ways since everyone who completes the race gets a ring rather than only the winners.  Yet, it is the ultimate symbols of accomplishment.  You do not earn that until you have qualified, registered, come, and run.  And only when you are finished and have proven that you can make it through the challenging course do you actually receive the medal.

I had the medal placed around my neck and wore it as we were on the way back to the hotel.  I think that one of the main issues I have worked through with the bombing that day was feeling that my opportunity just to enjoy the experience and, if you will, “bask in my accomplishment” was taken away from me.  Given the explosions, the injuries, and the deaths, even by the time I returned home that night the medal was no different but its meaning was diminished.  I brought it to work and put it where people who walk to a particular part of my office can see it but did not choose to highlight it beyond that.  I am not ashamed of the medal, but the desire to call any type of attention to it was completely reduced or even removed.

It went from being something that I was overjoyed to receive.  Something that I took pride in.  Something that I might even have wanted to show off a bit.  To instead being something that is important to me but that I really wanted to keep much more to myself.  Yes, I did it.  But that is all. 

It became a simple statement of fact rather than a big deal. 

I have certainly spoken of the race in glowing terms to some people in the time since.  But it is only when asked.

The nature of the experience changed from something that I thought I would want to share with anyone who would bother to listen to something that I only share when asked and even then only in very guarded terms.

One of the biggest accomplishments of my life outside career and family suddenly and the easiest way to show other than I had accomplished what I set out to accomplish suddenly became something that I chose to not focus on and not share.

Avoiding being a braggart about it—good thing of course.  Avoiding sharing unless asked—may or may not be good.   I like to think that my story is at least somewhat inspirational.  I like to think that other runners who may aspire to run Boston some day could benefit from hearing how exciting it is.  How wonderful it is.  How well organized it is.  But instead, I speak of it only in hushed tones. 

It is interesting to see how I let external events shape my life and my attitudes toward things.  Moving ahead, one key will be to live my life, experience my attitudes, and share my ideas with others on my own terms.  Following social norms as appropriate. But not letting external events over which I have no control get to me and have an undue influence on how I behave.