Qualifying for the spectators. My radical supporting spectators...

Item Information

Title:
Qualifying for the spectators. My radical supporting spectators...
Creator:
Crystal
Date:
April 15, 2013
Format:
Documents
Genre:
texts (documents)
Location:
Northeastern University Library
Collection (local):
Our Marathon
Series:
Public submissions
Subjects:
Boston Marathon Bombing, Boston, Mass., 2013
Places:
Massachusetts > Suffolk (county) > Boston
Link to Item:
http://hdl.handle.net/2047/D20264392
Terms of Use:
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Contact host institution for more information.
Language:
English
Notes:
Submission text: I didn't run the Boston Marathon this year. I didn't know any spectators. All of my running friends got through the first hour after the blasts to say they were safe. I live all the way in Texas. So why was I in physical and emotional pain? In training for my first marathon (El Paso 2010), I learned of what it would take to qualify for Boston. "That's insane fast!" was my thought. I wasn't sure if I could hold out 8:30 for a full marathon, let alone faster than 8:00. In March 2010, I took off the starting line of the El Paso Marathon with a slight discomfort in my knee, but managed to keep a steady pace behind the lead female. Finishing second, journalists at the finish asked if I was upset I didn't win. I joyfully exclaimed "I think I just qualified for the Boston Marathon!" My first Boston Marathon was labeled as my worst race ever. My training didn't include as many hills or mileage as it should have and I had very little knowledge of proper hydration and nutritional intake during the race. It was the first time in my life I actually had to stop running for about a quarter mile. I never spoke of my time until a year later. Yet this was the year I fell in love with Boston. 26.2 miles. That's the distance of any marathon. But not every marathon has practically the entire city shut down and show up to watch a 2 or 6 hour race. Thick crowds lined the entire 26.2 mile course of Boston. People set up seats in front of their homes, in front of shops, wherever there was room on a sidewalk. They sat or stood there for hours at a time, watching thousands of runners fly by. Posters encouraging mom to "Kick some a**!" or claiming "Black toenails are hot!" were scattered throughout, along with hundreds of others. I've never seen so many people show up to watch a distance race. My distance race. People even cheered for the "little girl in green", and I had to constantly remind myself to slow my pace and stop getting so excited for the consistent motivation. Even in the anger of my performance, a spark pulled me back to the race a year later. The year of the 90 degree heat. Being a Texas girl, I knew the odds were in my favor since I had trained in 80 degree temperatures. I knew I had to hold back from planned pace, so my goal changed from a specific time to just running nonstop. Non. Stop. Hitting close to mile 22, a runner I had met at the village asked if I was good to keep going. My body was warning me that I was pushing too hard, so I just nodded, afraid that saying anything would take all my energy away. But I came through strong and finished my race with no stopping. This was the year I fell in love with Boston. Again. Boston Marathon 2012All over the Firemen had huge inflated water tunnels set up throughout the course. They had fire hydrants spraying water at the passing runners. Volunteer tables were upped to be located at every single mile with extra volunteers, non complaining. Residents and spectators came out with their water hoses, bowls and bowls of orange slices, water-soaked sponges, and children eagerly held out open popsicles to runners (along with lifted hands, the hope of a high-five). It was close to mile 16 when I knew I had to cut back a few seconds per mile in order to sustain my rhythm. My solution? I enjoyed the crowd. Along with other runners, we would grant each kid the much desired sweaty runner high-five. Runners grabbed American flags and waved towards the spectators to get louder. On a day where people expected to have the worst race of their lives, spectators honestly made it the most enjoyable race I have ever experienced. They called my bib number. They cheered for the "girl in green". They looked directly into the eyes of passing runners, faces full of smiles and encouragement. Even for those who opted to stop and walk or struggled to stand, they cheered louder in motivation. My ultimate goal has always been to break 3 hours. My current PR is 3:12:56, and the best at Boston was about 3:33:00. My brother knew the kind of course Boston was, and convinced me to look at flatter courses to improve my pace. Looking around the internet and doing my own research, I chose to skip the Boston Marathon in 2013. The pain was strong during registration, knowing I had a BQ and forcing myself to stay away from the computer. The window came and went, and I did not register. Searching the web for marathon results on Monday afternoon, I was in the middle of reading stories of Shalane's disappointment and looking for Kara's story when suddenly my browser refreshed, showing an update posted 44 seconds ago. The press room was on lockdown. There were two loud booms at the finish line. "WHAT??!?" The next minute was the slowest as I searched frantically for more information on the internet. It just happened. Nobody has any info because it just happened. Finally, Bing refreshed the results to include someone's tweet about 2 loud booms. I was expecting to read information. Not see a picture of the second blast. Immediately I turned on my TV. The news was already on, along with the blast replay. The remote dropped from my hand. We've all seen the news, we all know how the rest of the story goes. In my case, I sat in shock for about 3 hours, unable to move. My phone flooded with phone calls and texts from people who weren't sure if I had ran this year or not. I wasn't understanding why their relief angered me. What do you mean, "Thank God you're ok"? People are hurt, how could you be happy I'm fine?? Friends posted on facebook of how lucky or blessed I was. I found myself unable to respond, a tactic I use when I'm too angry to say anything good in reply. The day went past with worse information coming in on the victims, and it wasn't until the evening that I understood my anger. The spectators. Our spectators. Our biggest supporters. To get a spot that close to the finish, most must have been waiting 6 to 8 hours to cheer on their loved ones. They could have slept in, they could have tweeted a congrats to their friend or family member who ran. But they showed up. They always showed up. They're the most radical supporters I have ever seen for the marathoning community. They understand our struggles and offer to help the best they can, as was apparent in last year's heat. They see you standing on the subway after the marathon and get up themselves to offer you a seat. They see you wear a marathon jacket or shirt and have to stop to congratulate you or buy you a drink at a restaurant. Can I continue to list on pages and pages how much the people of Boston show their support and love for the running community? I don't know what words I can express to explain the feeling of having thousands of encouraging smiling faces push me towards my goal, delighting in my achievement. They didn't attack America. They didn't attack runners. They attacked our spectators. MY spectators. A worse point I can place on that? They attacked my BOSTON spectators. Runners are dedicated and not easily pushed over. A fire was lit in our souls, and just like America joined together to unite after the tragedy of 9/11, runners all over the world are more united than ever. Spectators, we praise you. We never tell you how much you mean to us, how much we appreciate you. My long blog more than likely does no justice to show that appreciation. My last status update for that night summarized my emotions the best I could: "My race in 2012 taught me just how much Boston is a spectator race as much as a qualifying runner's race. The entire city shuts down and shows up to line the entire 26.2 mile course and cheer on runners from around the world. Even though runners weren't hurt, my heart truly aches at the fact that our spectators, our radical supporters, were the target for this horrid attack. My prayers will not be silenced, they're all in my heart. They are the reason I have and always will love Boston."
Crowdsourced submission originally received via the Our Marathon "Share Your Story" page.
Notes (historical):
Contributor Name: Crystal; Contributor Age: 24; Contributor Race: Puerto Rican; Contributor Gender: Female; Contributor Twitter Account: @runchinea; Current Location: 76015