I was in Wave 1/Corral 5, which meant I started at 10 am. My wife, Jordana, was in Wave 3/Corral 1, which started at 10:40am. As I will recount in a later note on the race itself, I ran my slowest marathon -- a 3:43:48. I finished, then, around 1:43. Once you cross the finish line, you pass tables with water, then tables with gatorade. Then you get your space blanket, then you medal. Then you pass tables with post-race food, after which you head to the bag buses.
I had done all that, gone to my bag bus and retrieved my drop bag. I had put on my sweatpants and sweatshirt, retrieved my cell phone, and even called my Mom to say that I had finished. It was about 2:20 by now.
Before the race, either on Sunday or on the bus to Hopkinton, Jordana had mentioned that her principal (or maybe it was the head of the IB team) hoped that they could get some pictures of her running to post at her high school. I joked that we'd have to break down and fork out the money for some MarathonFoto professional shots. But I also mentioned that maybe I'd take some pictures of her, since I had planned to run with a camera. Indeed, during the early part of the marathon I thought that maybe I'd go back to the finish line to take pictures of Jordana as she crossed -- what else was I going to do.
As it turned out, I ran much slower than I thought and there was not a lot of time before I expected Jordana to finish. So I stood near the intersection of Boylston and Berkley Streets, just past the food tables and just before the baggage buses (see finish line map above). I figured I would be able to meet up with Jordana as she headed to get her drop bag. Indeed, I saw several of my MCRRC friends pass by -- Ken, Julie, and Bill. We exchanged pleasantries and "how did it go" and they went on to get their bags and then the bar where the club runners were all going to meet.
Jordana had thought that maybe she might run around a 3:50 or so, but had gotten an IT band injury three weeks before the race so didn't know how fast she would go. I figured that her pride would drive her to at least run sub-4:00 even if she were having an off race.
So there I was, leaning against a structure in the middle of the intersection gazing down Boylston in the direction of the finish line. Scanning the oncoming runners for Jordana. I figured she had finished by now if she ran as she planned, but who knew...
Then I heard a tremendous BOOM and saw a large white-grey cloud billow up over and around the finish line apparatus. A few seconds later, I heard another BOOM and saw another ominous white-grey cloud a little further behind the finish line.
Below is a picture of the finish line taken the day before.
As you can see, there is a large structure right at the finish that the runners run under (the structure, among other things, holds the various marathon photographers taking pictures of the runners). Because of that, I could not see the fireball caused by the explosions. Nor could I see any victims. All I could see was the smoke from the explosion. If you look at the map above, the first explosion occurred just in front of the finish line (about where the second yellow arrow was located). The second explosion occurred further away, just past the edge of the map.
At the first explosion, I thought: was that some sort of ceremonial cannon going off? But they never did that in the past 3 Bostons I had ran. Maybe it was an electrical generator or transformer that had blown -- I recalled seeing lots of electrical equipment around the finish -- powering sound systems, the timing mats, jumbotron. Honestly, friends, the thought that what I saw and heard was a bomb was not even in the realm of possibilities in my mind.
But when the second explosion went off...then I knew this is not good. Sort of like on 9/11 -- when the first plane hit, you thought horrible accident. But when the second one hit, you knew everything had changed. Same here. For 12 seconds, I thought horrible accident. Then it became, oh my God, those were bombs. Indeed, other runners around me with smartphones all started commenting -- those were bombs.
There was confusion and unsubstantiated rumors began flying past my ears -- hundreds dead, no dead, hundreds wounded, no one hurt. Nobody knew anything. The yellow jacketed volunteers were as in the dark as we were. But strangely there was no panic -- no mass running. The runners kept moving on, moving past, obviously trying to get to safety, but there was no panic.
Almost immediately after the second blast, the sirens came. You could hear them on both side streets. I could see them at the finish line, through the smoke, only 2 1/2 blocks away.
At second number 13, I snapped out of my confusion. One thought now filled my brain: where was Jordana? where was my wife? Was she safe? Was she hurt? Was she...no, I refused to allow myself to continue down that line of thought. I don't believe in ESP but something told me that she had crossed the finish line -- I kept looking at my watch, doing the mental math. She had to have finished. But where was she? A mass of silver blanketed runners kept streaming past -- I could not advance up Boylston. The side streets were no easier -- firetrucks and ambulances were racing down them. But in any event I had no idea where she was, how to find her.
I looked and searched and worried. I climbed up a lifeguard stand for a better view but had to come down because it had to be moved out of the way for rescue vehicles. She had no phone. How would I find her? I knew she would be scared. Did she think I went to the finish line?
I don't know if it was 5 or 10 minutes. It was the longest, scariest time of my life. Then my cell phone started buzzing with a number I did not recognize. Part of me did not want to answer the phone -- what if it was that dreaded call no one ever wants to receive? I pushed that thought out and answered the phone. It was Jordana -- she was crying. "I'm scared. What's happening? Please get me." "Where are you?" I asked. "I don't know," she sobbed, "I'm lost. I don't know where I am." "I'm near the bag buses" I say, "Can you tell me what street you are on?" "I don't know." "Give the phone to its owner, maybe they know" "St James I think" and then the call dropped.
Thank God - she was safe, and she knew I was safe. I knew she was on St. James street, whereever that was. I found a yellow jacketed volunteer and asked where St. James was. It was the next street over (see the above map). But where along that street? I walked down Berkley street towards St. James. Race staff were yelling into megaphones to clear the street (St. James, that is) as rescue vehicles raced down.
It was at this point that I saw the only instance of panic. All of the sudden, I turned around and looked in the direction of Boylston. There was screaming and people running for the lives down Boylston away from the finish line -- some kept running down Boylston, others turned on Berkely and ran past me. I felt a wave of panic but struggled to remain calm. I had to find Jordana -- she was somewhere out here, scared, waiting for me. But where. Meanwhile, that panicked crowd dissipated within a minute and the strange quasi-calm among the people returned.
I resumed scanning the streets. I walked back to Boylston to Jordana's bag bus (about halfway between Berkely and Arlington Streets on Boylston). I asked if her bag was still there, maybe she found her way. No, the bag was still there. Meanwhile, I keep pressing redial over and over -- trying to call the number she called me from. But no signal. I knew everyone was trying to call -- overloading the system. I was shouting out her name over the noise "Jordana! Jordana!"
I walked back to Berkley and headed back to the intersection at St. James. I was just about to climb up a barricade for a better view when I saw her on the other side of the intersection. She was wrapped in her silver heat blanket sobbing, a yellow-jacketed volunteer had her arm around her trying to comfort her. I hope I never see that sight again. I ran across the street and took her from the volunteer. "Take me away from here." she said, "I don't want to meet up with our friends. I just want to go back to the hotel. I just want to go home." "It's OK" I said, "we're safe. Let's get your bag." "Forget my bag, let's just go." "We have to walk past it to get to Boston Commons."
So we walked up Berkely to Boylston to her bag bus. We retrieved her drop bag. She was shivering, so I made her put her sweats on. I grabbed her gear and we started walking towards Boston Commons. Every so often, I turned and looked behind me -- in the growing distance, the finish line was ablaze with the flashing blue lights of emergency vehicles.
As we were walking, Jordana was able to give me details of where she was. She had crossed the finish line only about 10 minutes before the bombs went off. She kept saying that if she had stopped to walk . . . But you didn't stop, I would remind her. Anyhow, she had just received her medal when the first bomb went off. If you look at the map of the finishers area (above), she was about 2 blocks away from the first bomb. (I was at the intersection of Boylston and Berkely, about 1/2 block further away.)(Today, Jordana and I were watching and rewatching the FBI surveillance videos of the finish area. The videos show both bombers still with their backpacks at time stamps 14:37:34-45. Jordana crossed the finish line at 14:38:39. Thus, Jordana ran past both bombers as they were about to place the bombs!) She turned around to see what happened and saw the second explosion further down. As with me, the structures at the finish line prevented her from seeing anything more than the white-grey cloud of smoke. She said that almost immediately, security personnel were rushing to the scene. The barricades that separated the runner's area from the sidewalks in the finishers area were removed and runners were directed off Boylston. She said it was very confusing, but thinks she was directed through Copley Square onto St. James. She was scared and frightened. She had no phone and no way to contact me. She was worried that I might have gone to the finish line to take pictures of her. Jordana said that she asked several runners if she could borrow their phone to try and call me. The first time, she could not get through. The runner hugged her and said everything would be OK. Then they were separated in the confusion. Jordana asked at least one more runner if she could borrow his phone. That time she was able to get a connection and we were able to talk with each and know that each of us was safe.
These small acts of kindness are what struck me about the day. Yesterday (Thursday), a colleague forwarded me a video on CNN. http://www.cnn.com/video/?hpt=hp_t2#/video/us/2013/04/17/pkg-kaye-acts-of-heroism.cnn The video was entitled Acts of Heroism. At 1:40 into the video, CNN interviews a runner by the name of Julie Jeske. The narrator notes that she had finished about 10 minutes before the bomb blast and lent her phone to a runner franticly searching for her husband. Ms. Jeske says she gave the runner a hug and assured her everything would be OK and that her husband was safe. Then the video went on to interview others. That was the same time as Jordana. I forwarded the video and, indeed, Jordana recognized the woman. Amazing. Using the BAA's results page, I was able to learn the town where Ms. Jeske lived. I googled it and sent her the following email. I won't deny that my eyes welled as I typed the email.
I wrote:
Julie,
We've never met, but you met my wife on Monday. I was watching video on cnn.com (Boston Bombings: Acts of Heroism). You were interviewed in which you mentioned you had lent your phone to a frantic runner searching for her husband. That was my wife, Jordana. THe narrator mentioned that you had finished about 10 minutes before the bombs, as did my wife. I forwarded a link of the video to my wife and she recognized you.
I just wanted to say thank you for letting her borrow your phone and for comforting her."
I had started in Wave 1 and was waiting for her near the baggage buses when the bombs went off. Jordana was scared that I had gone to the finish line to watch her. We found each other and made it home safely.
I've always believed that running brings out the best in people, and that marathoners are one large extended family. Monday confirmed that.
Again, thank you for your kindness to my wife. Congratulations on finishing the marathon. And best of luck in your next race!
Regards,
Gregory Ashe
To my surprise and pleasure, Julie replied back. She wrote:
I am so glad to hear you are alright. Your safety has weighed heavily on my mind. I think about how we witnessed the worst of humanity and the best of humanity in 12 short seconds. I am humbled by your email as it was such a small gesture to comfort someone who was so distraught.Shortly after the email exchange, I dialed the number of the phone on which Jordana was able to get through to me. It went to the voicemail of Neil Gottlieb. I left a message thanking him for his kindness.
Take care and thank you so much for reaching out to me.
Julie
Really, it was the least I could do -- these strangers, who probably were as much worried and scared as Jordana, did not have to stop, did not have to lend their cellphones to a stranger, did not have to give a brief moment's comfort. But they did. And that means worlds.
Back to the story. It wasn't long before we reached Boston Commons (which was along the way to our hotel). I took out my blackberry and somehow was able to get through to my Mom. She proceeded to describe in detail what she was hearing on CNN: that it was a terrorist attack; two bombs; at least three dead; hundreds wounded; airports closed; subway shutdown; bridges and tunnels in and out of Boston on lockdown. I assured her we were OK. Meanwhile, our personal cellphones were buzzing away with incoming texts from friends wanting to make sure we were OK. But the Verizon network was jammed and we could not send out any reply texts saying we were safe. Somehow, I was able to get emails out with my blackberry. I took a picture of Jordana and I with our medals in Boston Commons, and emailed it to my folks, Jordana's folks, and our siblings.
Meanwhile, my brother posted on Facebook: "Many thanks for inquiries about my brother and his wife. They finished the Boston Marathon and are safely on their way home. Our thoughts are with those hurt in what appear to be deliberate attacks." And tagged our names. At least our friends on Facebook would know that we were OK. Indeed, Rebecca, a friend at work, sent this email to my division: Subject: Greg is fine. Message: Leah just told me about at the attacks at the Boston Marathon. From Greg's facebook page: and she repeated my brother's post." So at least, word was getting out through the confusion to our friends and family back home that we were safe.
Now, all was not total gloom. Here, I think, is a somewhat amusing anecdote of when I tried to call my own family. I was trying without luck to call my older daughter. Her phone would ring once or twice, but then the calls kept dropping. Eventually, the call connected. "What?" my almost 14 year old asked in a somewhat exasperated voice. "Why do you keep calling and hanging up!?!" I replied, "H***, I wasn't sure if you had heard there were some explosions near the finish line. Mommy and I are safe. We're heading back to our hotel" Nonplussed, she replied (and I'm paraphrasing somewhat), "OK, great, anything else? Bye." Okay -- didn't want to interrupt whatever her busy 8th grade life! Relatedly, when we finally got home, the first thing my 11 year old son said upon seeing us was "Dad! The Nationals are beating the Marlins 10 - 0!" To her credit, I don't think my 13 year old knew what was going on when I first called. About an hour later, I got a text from her: "The bombing is all over the news and social media and call this number if you see anything suspicious 617-222-1212." Great, from unconcerned teenage to McGruff the Crime Dog! These anecdotes were a welcome respite to an otherwise anxious afternoon.
We finally made it back to our hotel. Keep in mind, we had both just run 26.2 miles on a very grueling Boston course. Our legs (quads particularly) were shot. So this was a slow and somewhat painful walk. Back at the hotel, we and other runners were gathered around the hotel computer and TV in the lobby watching CNN trying to learn what was happening. The front desk called the airport for us and we learned that, in fact, the airport was not shut down (the airspace over finish area was restricted). We also learned the T was not shutdown (only the Green line). A cab driver also confirmed that the bridges and tunnels in and out Boston were not, in fact, on lockdown. But we didn't know if that would last.
We were supposed to fly out at 8 that night, but decided to just get to the airport and see if we could catch an earlier flight. Our cab ride went without incident. At the USAir desk, the agent said there was a 6pm flight available (it was now around 5pm) and that given what we had went through he waived the $75 per ticket change fee. Of course, Jordana was still in somewhat of shock and fear -- questioning everyone if security was being increased. I tried to reassure her that flying was probably as safe right now as it would ever be. We got through security and to the boarding gate. The agents allowed all the marathoners (there were a few of us) to pre-board. Jordana was a little nervous (sometimes very nervous) during the flight. Every bit of turbulence threatened tears. "I just want to get off this plane and get out of the airport in DC then I'll feel safe" I tried to calm her down "We're fine," I said "for whatever reason the terrorists targeted the marathon; not planes, not subways. We're safe. Besides, if you get too frantic they'll make an emergency landing and we don't want that!" Indeed, at one point during the flight the flight attendant came over to me and asked, somewhat seriously, "is your wife OK? does she need anything?" "She's OK" I assured the attendant, "maybe a glass of water." Needless to say, the flight was uneventful. We landed at National. Took the shuttle to our car, and drove home.
We were very glad to walk in the door and hug our kids. Almost as glad as the hot showers we took later, to finally wash off the days blood, sweat, and tears.
Since then, we (as with most everyone else -- race participants and others alike) have been trying to process what happened. Would we ever run a large marathon again? On the plane, Jordana swore she'll never do another one again but I doubt she means it. I've been largely distracted at work --- spending an inordinate amount of time on CNN watching developments. I've been mostly successful in avoiding the game of mental what ifs. What if she had run slower? What if I had gone to the finish line to take pictures? Writing these notes has been helpful.
And as my legs become less sore, my mind becomes more at ease. And my determination to run more marathons has not faltered. I won't be running Boston next year. Not because of two "stunted little people" to quote our President. But for more mundane reasons -- it falls on Passover next year and (and to my chagrin) I haven't run a Boston qualifying time yet for 2014. Because that is what Boston really is about: striving and pushing yourself to the limit to run that qualifying time. But don't worry, I'll run Boston again sometime in the future. To again quote our President "you can bet on it!"
