Jerel Calzo was a runner last year. He was stopped on Comm Ave just before the turn onto Hereford Street. This is his story.
It’s 9:46pm on 4/15/14. A year ago today, probably at this same time, I was lying in bed, unsure of how I felt about my Boston Marathon experience, feeling too exhausted physically, mentally, and spiritually to organize that mixture of emotions into something meaningful. A year later I’m still not sure how to process the events of last year. I wore my marathon jacket today in solidarity on the anniversary of this tragedy, but I still feel ambivalent about whether I’ve earned the right to wear it. I didn’t finish that race that I had spent so many weeks fundraising and training for. I expected to feel triumphant today, but instead the feeling I kept returning to was that sickening, two-hour-long period where I waited and wandered through the eerily still, but packed streets of Back Bay and the South End wondering when I would ever get to see Michael and Cora again.
But I also remember beautiful little snapshots from throughout that day. The nervous excitement of boarding the buses in Boston Common and how lucky I felt to sit next to a four-time Boston Marathon runner who urged me to just enjoy the race. My surprise at being able to find and sit with Fred and Gina in Athlete’s village as we waited for our waves to get called into the corrals. Realizing that people weren’t joking when they said that there would be spectators every inch of the course. How the first 10 miles passed in a blink. That perfect combination of 50-degree weather and abundant sunshine. The joy of seeing Kara and Kendrin at mile 17. That minor heartbreak of missing Michael, Cora, and Deborah on that same stretch of the course. I remember feeling so disappointed at that point, and somewhat angry at Michael for not being where I thought he should be (even though I never told him exactly where to wait). That resentment probably contributed to the horrible cramping I experienced on the Newton Hills, and that terrible moment of self-doubt when I thought that I might not be able to finish the race. Then I remembered the crowds, the unbelievable number of people who cheered my name (and said it correctly!) and all those children who gave me candy, bananas, and Dixie cups of water to renew my leg muscles and my resolve to finish the race. I remember the BC college students who were surprisingly supportive and who encouraged me to press on despite my humbling run-walk. And then I remember seeing the CITGO sign and feeling that sense of pride that I was actually going to finish. But I didn’t.
When I finally got in touch with Michael he told me that he and Cora were at Club Café. I was so delirious I didn’t even remember where it was. I felt so guilty for having those negative thoughts about him on the course. The relief I felt when I saw Michael and Cora is something that I still can’t describe. Looking back on it now, though, it’s a reminder of how running isn’t a solitary sport, and that the Boston Marathon is really about love, family, and community. The tragedy brought Bostonians (stereotypically cold and hard to read) together. Although I know the “Boston Strong” sentiment has since received criticism, this one-year anniversary was an opportunity to remember how we all united in our compassion for the victims and our courage to press on. Preparing for the Boston Marathon helped me reconnect with so many people and to forge new friendships. And this process continues as I prepare to run again this year. This year I will be running with close friends. This year I will be running with Michael.
In the taper madness leading up to 4/21/14, I find myself watching footage of last year’s events, reading the testimonies of survivors, and praying that everyone is able to run a safe race Monday. I know it’s a new year and a new marathon, but I feel like this year will give me closure. Who knows how I’ll feel when I run that final .40 miles of the course. I’ll be an emotional mess, most likely. I’ll probably be so dehydrated I won’t shed any tears. I’ve also accepted that I may never feel closure about 4/15/13. Healing is a process. Luckily, running is a great way to work through pain, growth, and complicated emotions. Running makes you stronger in every respect. And running helps you connect.
See also Kendrin’s story.
Kara Cooks and Eats 