Exactly one year ago, the unthinkable happened.
A holiday in the city of Boston became a day marred by tragedy.
Me and my friends the morning of the marathon last year.
Marathon Monday, as the Bostonians call it, is one of the biggest days of the year in Beantown. The race has traditionally fallen on Patriot’s Day, so most schools in the area have the day off. My university is located at Mile 21 of the marathon, and most students wake up at 7am (which is extremely early for a typical college student) to begin celebrating the iconic race.
Me, Stephanie, and Kelly cheering on runners.
Around 2:45pm, I was playing corn hole at my friend’s house along the course of the race. People came out to the deck where I was and rushed me inside. As I reentered the house, everyone was silent and staring at the TV. I was puzzled to why everyone’s spirits had so quickly faded. As I began to piece together what had happened, tears began to roll down my cheeks. My good friend, along with many other BC students, had just jumped into the marathon at mile 21 to run the remaining 5 miles. Thankfully everyone I personally knew was safe; however, that was not the case for all. Three people died and 264 were injured.
As a triathlete, as a runner, that day’s events really hit me hard. A sport that I loved so much was hurting. Many of my fellow runners had taken their last steps.
Copley Square; a place I visited regularly to eat dinner, shop, and even just to walk around; was now a memorial. How could such a great event turn into one of chaos and sorrow?
A small piece of the infinite amount of flowers in Copley Square a few weeks after the marathon.
The way the city of Boston came together was amazing to watch. Directly following the bombings, many bystanders risked their lives to tend to the injured. Citizens who lived near the race course welcomed runners into their homes to keep them safe. Policemen worked day and night to ensure the safety of the people.
Kam, Alex, me, and Romée celebrating Boston following the capture of the terrorist. Everyone on campus wore red, white and blue that night.
The days following Marathon Monday were very sad, yet incredibly inspiring. Everyone here was so proud to live in such a unique, historic city. There’s something special about Boston that words cannot describe. There is just so much love for this city. The Bostonians are strong, tough, and brave. They love their sports, their food, their history, and most importantly their freedom. Despite only living in Boston for less than two years, I feel an incredible connection to this area of the country and I will always consider it my second home.
So keep running, Boston, as you have been doing. This is our city and we decide how to run it.