Dear Editor,

I shared this with family and friends on Facebook, and I was encouraged to share with you as a Saluki alumnus and former cross country team member.

25.86 miles. Roughly two laps of a high school track from the finish line. That is how far I made it in my first Boston Marathon when we were stopped for reasons we did not know and could not comprehend.

I stopped only seconds after I had just mentally reassured myself that nothing could keep me from the finish.

I didn’t see the explosion, or hear it. What I did hear was insane fan cheering eerily turn to stunned silence as we were stopped for reasons unknown to us.

Confusion. What could possibly stop the Boston marathon? I thought maybe it was protesters blocking the finish.

I actually took a photo when we first stopped, slightly annoyed but thinking as I took it that this ought to be newsworthy. Little did I know the disaster ahead.

I started to notice spectator faces of joy slowly turning to faces of uncertainty, to a mix of fear and terror as they seemed to know something that we didn’t.

Then the rumors spread of an explosion at the finish. Very quickly there were desperate and concerned spectators running back away from the finish, scanning the runners and shouting names while looking for loved ones as they tried to decipher whether they already had passed to the finish, or “were they yet to come.”

It was a calm fear that swept the field as we stacked up in the thousands. Ambulances, helicopters and swat vehicles swept past us toward some unknown, unfathomable disaster.

Many of us had phones, but no service. Once I knew what happened, I was most immediately concerned about my family knowing I was safe and then to friends that I knew were in the area.

Shortly later, ambulances in the scores swept back past us with lights and sirens — a not-so-subtle clue that this was a disaster of immense scale with many hurt and injured — sending a new fear through the group.

I took guilty comfort knowing my family was safely in D.C. Most around me were expecting their loved ones to greet them at the finish and now did not know their fate, so I tried to comfort those I could.

Strangers one second, a community bonded in disaster the next. As minutes turned to hours, spectators in our area became supporters, comforting runners and providing aid. Runners turned to comfort each other, sharing clothing, water and phones.

Eventually we were told to wait for buses to take us away to get our things on the other side of the finish. Those that could manage were allowed to walk the half mile back. I ran.

I ran to get ahead of the scores of other runners in hopes to get a cell signal. What would normally be a packed area with proud runners receiving their medals and collecting their checked bags, looked like a semi deserted war zone with police, bomb-sniffing dogs and now a few runners trickling in to a newly secured crime scene only after showing our bibs.

When I reached the bus area I was able to connect with my wife, Heather, about 90 minutes after we were first stopped.

This was important as I knew she and other family members were watching the runner tracker. I knew the tracker would show me in the vicinity of the finish. I knew the tracker also would show that I had not finished.

Shortly after, with only a few runners making it into the bus area, we were immediately cleared out by police with renewed fears of a newly found suspicious package about 10 yards from where I was sitting. Now we know this likely was cautionary.

I hung up with Heather and quickly snapped a photo of a distressed TV personality as he was told of the suspicious package in our immediate area.

In all, police, spectators and even fellow runners were amazing in comforting each other at every turn. It seems irrational to me to be as emotional about this as I seem to be. Those that know me, know I don’t usually get very emotional. I wasn’t a hero or a victim. I was just another bystander in a terrible event, so to be so distraught seems irrational to me.

I didn’t see the blast; I didn’t have loved ones hurt. I was ultimately thankful a knotted calf had me on pace to my slowest marathon ever and kept me from harm’s way. It is now my lucky calf.

I have since learned of one friend who has two friends who lost limbs in the event. My heart aches for them as well as the others and their families. I can only imagine what they are going through.

The most common question I have been getting, including from a couple of reporters when I arrived back to D.C. Tuesday, is whether I would run Boston again or if it is a big deal not to have finished in the grand scheme of things. It originally wasn’t a big deal not to finish, and I was slightly annoyed at the question given the event’s severity.

As some time has passed, not finishing has become a very big deal — more for the idea that terrorism prevented the finish.

I think I am not alone in believing most runners would re-race Boston tomorrow if we could, simply to send a message that we (America) won’t be stopped or intimidated — that we are strong as a group, and we rally around each other.

Completing the race has even more value than ever before — not for the originial motivators such as time or personal fulfillment, but for unity and determination against those who would cause such terror and for those not as lucky as I was.

I now run for those that can’t.

Sincerely,

Shannon Kraus, 1995 SIUC alumnus