by Larry EderThis day is April 15, 2020. On April 15, 2013, I sat in the Boston Marathon Media center, as I had since 1990. I had my media pass and finish line pass as well. I rarely went to finish lines. My hotel, the Charlesmark was ground zero for the Bombing. This column was written on May 7, 2017 from London, England, The city of Manchester had experienced a bombing and I was considering both.
Jim Gerwick and Larry Eder, 14 April 2013, photo from Jim Gerwick
My thoughts and prayers are with all of the athletes, fans, first responders, and media who were in Boston, MA. I am thinking of Jefferson, the fine bartender at Charlesmark, who kept people safe after the bombing.
So, I have been working through my thoughts on the Boston marathon for some two years now. It was only after my walk in Manchester, England today that It started to gel.
Lots to put into perspective.
Lelisa Desisa wins Boston, April 2015, photo by PhotoRun.net
For most of the past thirty years, I have been covering the Boston Marathon. I ran the race in 1986, after three days working the Runner’s World booth, and set PBs at five miles, 10 miles and fifteen miles. By 20 miles, I was still around 2:50 pace, but went down from there and ran 3:23.
This was two years after I ran my PB of 2:48.17, after a 2:51.08 two years before that. It had taken me six marathons to figure out, that to break three hours, I needed to negative split. Of my eighteen marathons, I negative split nine.
After 1987, I did not compete in another marathon until 2002. I ran on and off during that time. After 1996, I did not run, and added close to two hundred pounds to my racing weight of 1986.
It was not until 2002 that I took some action to lose weight, and lost one hundred pounds walking at night, with our dog, Brutus and my son, Adam. In November of 2002, I walked the Columbus marathon in just over eight hours, with John Bingham, aka the Penguin, walking every step with me. I cried at the end of the race. Thanks to John, the the race director, my friend, Mike Collins, I was allowing myself to live again.
In 2013, I covered the Boston marathon the way I had done for many years: from the Media room in the Fairmont Copley. It was nearly five hours into the race, nine hours into our digital coverage, that I was about to call it a day. I was sitting next to James O’Brien, long time friend and publisher of NYAC Winged Foot when two explosions happened. James noted, “Laa, those were explosions.”
He was right.
Just after the second explosion, John Hancock Security team came in and Marc Davis, BAA Communications team, noted ( I thought it was Marc) that the Media Room was under lock down.
The next couple of hours (actually, four hours) were surreal. Pictures of the explosions came up on our live blog, as my brother, Brian, located in San Francisco pulled them down. Some were horrific. There were many rumors as the JFK library also caught fire. What the hell was going on?
The strength and the surrealness of the web also was experienced, as rumors became facts, and facts became hard to decipher.
I was reminded of the Atlanta 1996 bombing at the Olympics. Several media were given information on the name of the suspected bomber. It smelt bad to me and I declined the information. I had been right to listen to my gut on that one. The lawsuit by the man unjustly accused cost the media who ran the story a reported collective seven million dollars.
In 2013, I just tried to stay with the facts as we knew them, and we wrote about the bombing, as wifi went on and off during the time in the Fairmont. After nine in the evening, James O’Brien and I walked out the back door, said hello to several of Boston’s finest, and found a beer and some dinner.
My hotel was the Charlesmark. It was the crime scene and no one was allowed in or out of the hotel. My passport and possessions were in the hotel, which is my home away from home.
The Fairmont found me a room in another hotel, their sister property. My hotel was closed, and by the time I got to the hotel that night, all I noted was over thirty media organization trucks around the Fairmont. The Boston bombing had gripped the country and the world within hours of the actual event.
Adam, my son, then 26, flew in a day early to see if I was okay. We were going to London marathon together. I was happy to see him when he arrived the next day. By then, I had submitted and received a new passport in Boston. In a record setting 90 minutes, I applied, and was given the new passport with no extra fees. The staff felt that what I had experienced with the bombing was enough. That night, we went to Little Italy and found a quiet restaurant and a wonderful meal. It was just nice being together.
In 2014, when I returned to the marathon, I was having a difficult time about the marathon. I had not really spoken to Adam about the race, and I had not admitted to myself that I could have been sitting at the finish, or been walking into the Charlesmark as the bombs went off.
But, as fate would have it, I was not at the site of the bombing in 2013. I was about 300 meters away.
In 2015, it was the reading of the testimony from the Boston bomber’s trial (I will not name this sub human, as I believe that giving this person any recognition is wrong) that I found my emotions once again. Considering the pain the father went through, knowing his eight year old boy was dead and his daughter in need of trauma surgery or she would die, overcame me.
All I could think of was my son…and I was reminded of nearly twenty-eight years ago.
When Adam was six weeks old, I was working at Runners World. I was working in the office, when Adam’s mother called. She was crying, she could hardly speak. Something was wrong with Adam, please get to the hospital. Danny Ferrara, one of my buddies, rushed me to the hospital. I was terrified.
For 72 hours, we slept in the room, and I looked at my six week old son, into his eyes, trying to reach him as the doctors could not tell us what was wrong. He was “failing to thrive.”
It was then, that I truly bonded with my son. But for Christine and I, it was agony. We were helpless.
Adam started gaining weight on the fourth day, and it seemed he just needed some extra nourishment. But I was haunted. I knew that I could not protect my kid from everything.
In the month of March 2015, I was home for five straight weeks. Five to six days a week, Adam, now 28. walked with me about six miles each day, with his dog, Hachi. During those two hours each day, we communicated, and after a week or so and Adam’s insistence, I actually listened.
I think of the father who lost his eight year old son. He will never hear his son remind him, ” Dad, you are not listening.” He will not feel the pride of seeing his son grow up, make his own decisions and have those discussions that make all of the challenges of being a parent worth it.
After reading the Guardian articles on the Boston Bombers’ trials, I have come to the conclusion that I want the convicted murderer to live. My suggestion is that, for twenty four hours a day, the family films of everyone one killed, maimed and injured should run on his walls in his jail cell. It will be hell on earth. The death penalty is an easy way out for this sub human.
What did 2015 Boston mean to me?
I covered the race like I always do. And after the race, I walked in the cold rain to the finish, dropped my computer in the Charlesmark as revelers continued to revel, and Jefferson, the world’s best bartender, and Curt, the best hotel manager I know, did their thing. Jefferson and I have had some quite poignant and honest conversations about Boston in 2013.
Adam, Mike Deering and Algernon Felice were there. They are my digital team, the Shoe Addicts. They had the room above the finish in the Charlesmark and took some remarkable pictures. I asked them to stay away from the finish area. The father comes out in me even at 28.
The last time Adam was at the actual, he was sleeping in my arms, in between my moderation of the Boston Marathon clinics (it was 1987). Twenty seven years later I still worried about him. But, he is alive for me to worry. I am very grateful.
Back to 2015.
Lelisa Desisa, who won in 2013, gave not only his medal, but some of his prize money for the Boston fund. In 2014, Lelisa dropped out. In 2015,
he won, fighting hard all the way to the finish. Caroline Rotich, who had never won before, won the Boston marathon in 2015: her smile told all one needed to know: this win was personal.
Funny thing was, two days later, we shared a flight with Lelisa to Frankfurt. He spoke to my son, Adam, for a few moments and I congratulated him a couple of times. He was carrying a gold box with his award, and his bags, all by himself.
The smile of a race well run, and the exhaustion that comes from that could be seen.
Sitting in my room in Manchester, England, two weeks after the race, a smile comes to my face.
The 2013 race is about to be finished. Lelisa Desisa finally has a winner’s medal to keep for himself.
It took two years, but that is the marathon for you.
And, it was good.
