IIt was late 2013, six months after I ran the Boston Marathon—the year two men detonated two bombs near the finish line, killing three people and injuring hundreds. Back in my home country of Germany, I had been struggling with my mental health for months, but I was determined to complete another marathon and perhaps return to Boston. I had signed up for the Frankfurt Marathon that month, but didn’t tell anyone except Christina, my therapist.
Just a few minutes before the race started, I was standing at the starting line. I felt good in the first half. The sun was shining. My head was clear and I ran faster than ever. Then I felt a breakdown coming on. I couldn’t run anymore. I cried the rest of the way. People kept stopping to ask if I needed help or to comfort me. I knew their intentions were good, but I felt like I was in another world. All I could think was: Why am I here, running, while others were killed and many more were injured and could never run again?
About a mile before the finish I started running again, but I didn’t feel like celebrating when I crossed it. I went to get my medal and then waited outside alone for about ten minutes. I expected something bad to happen. When I realized I had nothing to fear, my world changed.
I I started running about 15 years ago and loved it. I really wanted to run the New York Marathon, which I did in 2010, and then I wanted to check off other big cities, so I signed up to run in Boston. I went with a friend, Inga, who was there to support me. The day of the marathon was amazing: the weather was beautiful and the atmosphere was incredible.
A few minutes after I crossed the finish line, there was a deafening noise unlike anything I had heard before, followed by total silence – no more cheering. Then I saw smoke rising. My first feeling was that this was not an accident. Then the second bomb exploded.
I tried desperately to find Inga, who was waiting near the family and friends area. Then I saw her running towards me. Everyone looked stunned or in tears. Police shouted at everyone to leave the area. Our hotel was a block south, so for the next three hours we sat in silence in our hotel room watching the news. When I heard that an eight-year-old boy had been murdered, my heart sank. We would later discover that two others were killed in the blast, a police officer had been shot, and more than 200 people were injured. (Another police officer died in 2014 of injuries related to the attack.)
The next morning I started experiencing feelings of depersonalization – in the bathroom, while shaving and showering, it was as if I saw myself doing that. Later I heard that it was a stress reaction. At first I felt like I had to leave Boston right away, but then it felt important to stay. I had a jacket with the marathon brand; people on the street came up to us and we talked and cried together. It felt like we were part of one big family.
Back in Berlin a few days later, I felt like I landed on another planet. I know life goes on, but it felt strange that everyone seemed happy. That was hard. I met Christina and we talked for three hours.
She worked with me for the next few months. I had returned to my job as a sales manager for a hotel group, which was good because it meant I wasn’t thinking about Boston all the time, but it continued to affect my daily life. If someone came towards me with a backpack, I would cross the road; I would avoid rubbish bins on the street. I could no longer run; even after a short distance it felt like my muscles had given up. I remember once going for a jog and then sitting in the street and crying.
Most of the time I couldn’t stop the thoughts: why had I survived and others hadn’t? I had been running faster than normal, which meant I wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time, but why had I done that? And would something bad happen again?
The organizers of the Boston Marathon organized a global video conference with therapists. I discovered that I wasn’t the only one finding it difficult to come to terms with what had happened. Hundreds of us were struggling.
It was important to me that I could start running again. Christina helped, she came with me on the bike a few times a week and chatted the whole time. The next step in my recovery was running another marathon. A friend said Frankfurt was probably the most important race of my life; I think he was right.
Since then I’ve done a few more races and I’m looking forward to the London Landmark Half Marathon next month.
In 2015 I went back to run the Boston Marathon. As I picked up my bib, the young woman asked, “Is this your first time running Boston?” I told her I had run it two years earlier. She came around the table and hugged me. We were both in tears.
The day of that marathon was rainy, but it was the same great atmosphere as before, with lots of people cheering us on. For me it was about telling the bombers that they hadn’t won.