My biggest personal tragedy was the Boston bombings. I was about 200m from the second bomb; I ran the marathon that day.

Marathon Monday has always been one of my most favorite days of the year. It was one of the most beautiful sunny days, and the city was alive. My marathon felt euphoric, I never hit ‘the wall’ and felt like I floated down to the finish line on Boylston Street. I finished, hugged my aunt and cousins, and went to our hotel to change and grab some banana bread. Usually, I walk back down Boylston to meet friends, but I decided to take the street running parallel. I called my girlfriend Jenn and was chatting with her, telling her all about the race.

Suddenly, I hear it, like a loud cannon. All I saw was smoke, and then police officers running everywhere. A policeman grabbed my shoulders, spun me around and said “get out, run...!” I had no idea what had just happened. I started running in the other direction and tried to call my family but the cell service had been shut down. Luckily, I ran right into two guys I went to college with and we all started running together. We were confused and scared and trying to call anyone. Not being able to know my parents were okay was terrifying. Fear had never felt so real.

Once cell service returned we got word of the bombings, but we didn’t know many details. We ran into a friend’s boyfriend - he couldn’t find his girlfriend and didn’t know if she was okay. He was planning on proposing to her at the finish line.

I finally got a hold of my parents, and we planned to meet in the hotel lobby. The second we saw each other we all cried, and for me the crying did not end for a good few hours. The lobby of the hotel looked like a movie set; a crime scene and a funeral all at once. The TVs had the news on telling people to evacuate the city - get out - and that they suspected more bombs were planted but didn’t know where. Outside, people were on stretchers and there were sirens everywhere, but we didn’t want to leave. My sister’s husband was still out on the course. We didn’t know where he was or if he was okay. My most vivid memory from the day is sitting on the floor watching my sister balling, my parents hugging her as the chaos unfurled around us.

I was thinking “I am ok. If I die, I am ok, I am with my family and life has been good.” We eventually found my sister’s husband and got out of the city before it went on lockdown.

That day took many things from me but it also connected me closer to being an American, a runner, a Bostonian. As cliche as it sounds; it gave me a deeper appreciation for life, the ability to walk out the door; run out the door. I only take with me the terrible images and thoughts while others’ lives were permanently altered. I feel so lucky for the 2 years I ran Boston before the bombings, because since then, it has never felt the same.

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