Running the Boston Marathon

The marathon is a tribute to the Athenian messenger who ran from the town of Marathon to Athens to announce the Greek victory over Persia. According to legend, he announced ”Rejoice!  We conquer!” before dying of exhaustion. The story is filled with conflicting feelings of triumph and tragedy.

Monday was also a day of triumph and tragedy. 17,584 runners, smiling or grimacing, crossed that finish line to feelings of overwhelming pride. At 2:50 p.m. two remotely detonated bombs exploded. 4,496 runners did not cross the finish line. More than 170 people were injured. Three people did not survive.

At 2:51 I was stopped a few blocks from the finish line by a dense crowd of runners. Through the confusion, a woman shouted, “Stay loose, runners!” So, disoriented and with nothing else to do, we all started stretching. Then I overheard the words “bomb threat” from a man talking to his wife. I walked over to the spectators as the crowd of runners began to swell. Apparently, someone reported a bomb. Then I saw the smoke, the police, the firemen, and the worried faces. Next thing I knew, I had scaled a fence and was running on adrenaline and unyielding legs towards shelter across the Charles.

I remembered running the Boston Marathon last year in 90-degree heat thinking this was the worst it could get. How could I have been so naïve? But then, how could I have known? I ran right into my Spanish class about 20 minutes late. The professor interrupted his lecture to kindly inquire, “Cómo fue el maratón?”

I could not describe how the marathon was, let alone in Spanish. All I could muster was, “There was a bomb.”

But Monday was not just a tragedy. There were stories of inspiration as well. There was heroism and ingenuity in the wake of the horrific bombing.  As I ran for shelter in the safety of my campus, others ran on to donate blood at local hospitals for the wounded. Within a couple hours, Google and the Red Cross had created websites to locate lost loved ones after the disaster. I received emails from alumni who opened their homes and hearts to stranded runners in Boston as bomb threats continued to roll in across the greater Boston area.

And there were the “regular” heroes, who perform quiet acts of inspiration routinely.

I saw runners running for the cure of nearly every known disease. There were runners running in memory of loved ones, or expectant parents for expected loved ones. I paced a friend, vicariously experiencing the pure joy and wonder of a first time marathoner. I ran alongside the visually impaired, the handicapped, and their guides. I watched with a mixture of admiration and embarrassment as men three times my age ambled past me. There were military personnel of all stripes running in their heavy packs and boots.

Just as inspiring were the spectators along the sidelines. There were drum circles, dances, costumes, and megaphones. There was a constant outpouring of support from the Wellesley Scream Tunnel to the entertainingly inebriated Boston College students.  All along the course there were signs reading, “The Kenyans are behind you!” or “Run like you stole something” or “Kiss me because-I’m Irish-I’m Jewish-I’m Italian-I’m Presbyterian-Just because!” Little children handed out cold otter pops to weary, grateful runners.

The marathon showed the heroes who rose to the occasion, and the heroes who needed no occasion to rise.

Both kinds of heroes inspire us by the sheer magnitude of their individual willpower.  If we are tempted to despair in the face of the horror caused by a few contemptible individuals, these thousands rescue us and awe us by the spectacle of their humanity and resilience.

Perhaps tomorrow or in a few days we will see the face or faces of those behind these attacks. They will flood our minds with hate and disgust. But let us not forget that it was also a day of triumph.

For many, finishing the Boston Marathon is something to cross off a bucket list. For others, the Boston Marathon is their chance to find a cure. A few run to win, some run for time, most run to finish. Ultimately, however, the marathon is about the endurance of the human spirit. Yesterday there was tragedy. But the human spirit endures, and by enduring, triumphs.

Rejoice, we conquer.

Sarah R. Siskind ’14, a Crimson columnist, is a government concentrator in Adams House.