What Happened at the Boston Marathon Bombing? A Personal Tale: When Just a Few Minutes Matter

It was my mom and she’d managed to get her cell phone. She texted that she was on her way to the hotel and I told her there’s no way we’d get in. We wearily navigated toward each other and finally met up. I was too tired to be emotional, but I was emotional anyway. We both cried.

The hours that followed are a bit of a blur. We wandered around. We found a woman shivering, alone on a street corner. She said she had a rare disease and her muscles and lungs were starting to seize up from the cold. She implored us to not get medical help — she had a ride coming and the EMTs wouldn’t know how to respond to her disease. So we got her blankets and waited with her. Eventually, her ride arrived.

We started to get cold and found a burrito shop. I had $10 in my pocket, but the kid behind the counter said he’d charge us for a couple of coffees and give us a large burrito along with it. Chalk one up for the much-maligned younger generation.

I continued to field a humbling torrent of concerned texts and Facebook posts. I began to feel guilty — don’t worry about me, I’m fine. There are people that are dead. There are people that will never walk again. Yet, physically tired, emotionally wrung out, still clad in my race clothes, and smelling really, really bad… I appreciated it all.

We made our way back to the hotel eventually, but it was still locked down. The manager at a nearby Marriott welcomed us and allowed us to stay warm in the lobby. He brought us sandwiches and lent us cell phone chargers so we could continue letting family know we were OK.

Around 9 p.m., we were able to walk through the parking lot of police and military vehicles and two officers accompanied us to our room in the Lenox to retrieve our belongings. We packed quickly and nervously chatted with the officers. One was visibly angry — I thought he’d start spitting as he talked. He couldn’t imagine what kind of animal would do such a thing. The other officer was a born-and-bred Bostonian. There was more optimism in his voice. Boston would pull together. They’d show their true colors, and next year, the race would be a testament to that.

We were ushered back out of the Lenox just as quickly as we’d gone in. We booked a room at the Marriott and schlepped our bags up to our new, 10th-floor room. I went back out into the cold night, back past the police checkpoints, past the barking from the SUVs emblazoned with “K-9 unit,” past the hazmat trucks, the hordes of jabbering media, and the screaming sirens.