Kelly Dickerson, Campus Carrier Managing Editor

I’ve only run a half marathon, but I’ve gotten a taste of what it must feel like to finish a full one: pride, joy, an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. This feeling was robbed from the 27,000 participants in the Boston Marathon and its spectators on Monday.

I was in Boston, just over a mile from the site of the two explosions. It was a beautiful day: perfect for sightseeing, perfect for celebrating Patriot’s Day (a Massachusetts state holiday) and perfect for running a marathon.

Just an hour before the explosions I stood at the rails of the 25-mile mark, cheering on the runners and making preliminary plans with my dad to run the marathon next year if I decided to attend Boston University.

I entered Boston University’s College of Communication just five minutes before the explosions.

I was meeting a professor from the school to discuss the graduate program. My dad stepped out of the room to answer a call, and I knew something was very wrong the second he reentered the room.

He told us the news. The professor stared at him in disbelief. “Nothing like this has ever happened,” he said. “This race has been going on since 1897.”

We exited the building and even a mile from the site of the disaster the streets were chaotic. Police cars were pouring onto the scene. I caught snatches of conversation: “…at least two dead, dozens hurt” and “How could something like this happen?”

We rushed into the nearest bar to watch the news, hoping to find some kind of explanation. The reality of the situation hit hard as I stood there watching the horror unfold, knowing it was happening just down the street.

The city was beginning to shut down: the subway stopped, streets around the immediate area were blocked and people in Boston were urged to go home and stay there, while marathon runners and spectators were urged to return to their hotels. The streets could not be considered safe.

We caught a cab back to our car in a parking garage just outside the city center. The driver turned the radio on and we listened to the story develop. My phone was dead and I wondered how worried my family and friends were since I had no way of contacting anyone.

Stories began unfolding about the incredible bravery of the volunteers, police, National Guard and medical personnel. The bombs detonated and while everyone else was running away, volunteers and police officers ran straight toward the blasts. They took the injured to the race medical tents and did all they could for the victims until they could be transported to hospitals for professional care.

I am amazed by the rapid response of these individuals in the wake of such an unexpected tragedy, but I am brokenhearted for the victims and their families. The question that spectators, emergency responders, news reporters, everyone, seemed to ask and are still asking is “Why?”

There is no satisfying answer. No explanation could ever be good enough. Not for a tragedy like this. I am grateful I wasn’t at the scene to witness the sheer panic, the blood and severed limbs. Had the timing of my meeting with the professor been different, I easily could have ended up at the scene, watching that feeling of pride, joy and accomplishment splash across each face as it crossed the finish line. Until the first explosion. 

Now that the shock of such senseless violence has faded, I am left with only a deep sadness. I hope that those affected by this tragedy find peace and comfort, and that those responsible are brought to justice.