Why Minnesota runners feel so connected to the Boston Marathon 10 years after bombings

Ten years on, after the darkest day for the world's most prestigious marathon, the sound of a heavy bang! or even firecrackers transport one runner to a "weird place" that didn't exist before.

Another acknowledges anxiety about finish lines.

"What ifs?" haunt a third.

But almost to a person, they and other Minnesota marathoners who were at the 2013 Boston Marathon are unified in a special kinship and by their affinity for a race and a city — and its people — that responded to shattering bombs with grace and fierce strength.

Monday, race day, will reflect that anew, and the North Star State will be represented.

At least a dozen Minnesota marathoners who were at the 117th running of "The Boston" are returning for the 127th. They are among more than 360 Minnesotans entered for the start in Hopkinton, Mass.

They aren't the only ones changed by the experience. The U.S. running community, already tight-knit, felt duty-bound after the 2013 attack, said Virginia Brophy Achman, the former longtime executive director of Twin Cities in Motion (TCM), which puts on the Twin Cities Marathon and a variety of other races.

Brophy Achman recalled sports organizations across the country that met in 2014 at the Houston Marathon to hear from the National Center for Spectator Sports Safety and Security (NCS4), formed after 9/11 to educate people about policing and security at major public events. The group would add "marathons and endurance sports" after Boston's bombings, which killed three people and injured more than 260 others. She still sits on a related advisory panel.

Race organizers and their partners developed training from the same playbook, to drill down on best practices and even uncover what was missing from their security.

"You are not going to stop someone. How you respond is more important," she said of the takeaway.

For Minnesota runners, the response is mixed and reflects the strength, unease, determination and affection that are so much a part of running, and forever more associated with Boston.

A few weeks ago, as they throttled down on training, some of the marathoners gathered for a shakedown run at Lake Harriet and, under a warm spring sun, reminisced and even created new friendships.

In-person and through email with the Star Tribune, several reflected on 2013 and the subsequent years. Perhaps longtime Boston devotee Ken Rosen of Plymouth spoke for all: "The show goes on, regardless of the circumstances. We don't let the forces against us keep us from living our lives to the fullest. So we keep running and we keep living."

Here is a window into some of their stories:

Kresky-Griffin was with running friends in the finishers' chute when the first bomb exploded at 4:09:43 on the race clock. It shook her, but she thought it might be celebratory. Thirteen seconds later, a second bomb exploded. Fear replaced jubilation. Plus, she couldn't reach her husband, who was close to the site of the second blast on Boylston Street. Hours later they reunited at their hotel near the finish line.

On lasting effects: "I don't think that I will ever forget the sounds of the bombs that day. Anytime I hear fireworks or gun/cannon sounds by surprise I go back to this weird place. I get a sense of panic and anxiety. I do feel that I have become much more aware of my surroundings and now always have a plan in case of an emergency. We are much more prepared when traveling."

On going back: "When I have returned to run the Boston Marathon, it certainly brings back some deep emotions, especially walking along Boylston and seeing the memorials. I also feel a sense of pride and strength being there. It's impossible to hold in the tears on race day when you turn left off Hereford Street and onto Boylston Street. I lose my breath there every time."

. . .

Weyrens had just finished and met up with her husband, Jeff, when the mayhem struck. "I was able to get a call to my mom and tell her something is happening at the marathon it will be all over the news but we are OK. I was not able to get any more calls out after that."

On their emotions: "We decided to leave Boston the next day and went to Arizona. We were not ready to go home and face everyone. We needed some quiet time together to process it. It was hard for me to leave Boston. I felt I needed to be there with everyone. My husband wanted to get out of there."

On races today: "It's hard to say how this affected us. I do get more anxious before marathons. I now always have my cell phone in my warm-up bag so I have it when I finish. It was just minutes that really made a difference in me meeting Jeff."

. . .

Ede and her husband started a family in the in-between years. Now, she said the timing felt right, with a chance to reflect on 2013. "This is when I could make it happen and really set the goal," she said, while adding that not having been back carries its own weight. "Place matters in your reactions, and I have been away from it."

On personal impact: "I'm still nervous about finish lines. On [Monday], I'll ask my husband to stop watching me a couple miles before the finish and meet me at the hotel after the race. ... Instinctively, that is just how I feel. When you are in a marathon, you control the controllables. It might not be rational, but we'll do that."

. . .

Callanan said 2013 was odd from the beginning. He nearly scratched with food poisoning or a gastronomical infection and told his extended family in Boston not to come out because he wouldn't be running. He rallied after receiving three IV bags the day before, but his fans stayed away. In hindsight, he's thankful.

On personal impact: "It did change the way that I look at the world. Something as sacred and historic as the Boston Marathon was impacted so drastically. I definitely felt less safe. I felt less optimistic about the world.

"I grieved with Boston over the next few years. I watched as my family and friends in Boston continued to process this. I rejoiced when the 2014 marathon was won by an American man (Meb Keflezighi) for the first time in 30 years. Then again, when the 2019 marathon was won by an American woman (Desiree Davila) for the first time in 35 years. It made me want to go back to run the marathon again and again and again."

. . .

In 2013, Rosen had finished and was in his hotel room when news struck. He left the hotel to look for his running partner, Elinor Scott, who still was running when the race was shut down. Sirens blared. Traumatized runners passed him. He thought: "They ruined it."

On the ensuing hours: "As I walked back to the hotel, I decided that this would be my last time running the race. I changed my mind that evening, when it occurred to me that, of course, we (distance runners and spectators) were all going to keep coming back."

On 2014: "It was a beautiful, sunny day, and it had a triumphant feel to it, with the returning runners, the returning spectators and the law enforcement personnel who made it all possible. We were all in it together. We were a team. Meb's winning that day was a big bonus for a lot of people."

. . .

Nelson recalled tears of joy at the finish, which was doubly special. Her father, enduring chemotherapy, embraced her with flowers. Her future husband — retired military — knew instantly the source of the commotion.

On her connection to the race: "The Boston Marathon will always have a part of my soul and that is why I have run it every year since the bombing. I love the marathon, the city, the people and their spirit. I believe in Boston Strong. I am Boston Strong. I can finally talk about the event without tears."

. . .

Iverson said the terrorists weren't targeting runners but, sadly, looking for attention. He's unbowed and happily keeps at it. He has completed 54 marathons and 15 ultramarathons.

On soldiering on: "I have run many events where there are people I meet from all over the world and have made many new friends because of running and that makes running even more enjoyable. What happened at the Boston Marathon that day just makes me continue to stick to the plan of treating other people the way I would want to be treated."

. . .

Trueman is reminded of 2013 frequently. He has laminated copies of the front pages of the Boston Globe and Chicago Tribune on a wall in his home. On April 2, he brought the reminders to the meetup. They were pored over by some of the group. Other reminders have come at races for him, some of which have added layers of security.

On race day changes: "The impact is not just on me, but all runners and athletes in several other sports. The rules at every major event have changed. Just like going to the airport, nowadays everyone has to arrive early to line up to be searched and scanned by metal detectors before being allowed to participate. What exactly are we looking for? Before April 2013, we were not searching for anything. Since then, we have to be suspicious of everything and everybody. It's sad."

. . .

Stascavage was long finished when the first bomb exploded. Still, while leaving a bar with family near the finish area, "all hell broke loose," he said of first responders speeding through the narrow streets. "The rest of the day was surreal, as we walked around the city and they continued to expand the perimeter."

On the day's effect: "I am from the New England area, so the Boston Marathon has a special place. I don't feel I have been impacted by the event. With that said, the heightened need for security at such events is a bit of a bummer."

. . .

Lendino recalled never feeling happier when she returned to Minnesota. She was relieved but still heavy with emotion, while watching the drama and police pursuit of the bombers Tamerlan and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev play out. "I remember a neighbor asking me how the race was and I started crying."

On perspective: "I think, when I am training and things are tough, I am just grateful that I can run and breathe in the fresh, cold air and thank my lucky stars that I am still here on earth to do tough things."

On inspiration: "I remember posting on Facebook about how all the uniformed men and women were helping and were amazing in trying to keep everything under control. Not to mention people volunteering and doing good deeds like an off-duty limo driver driving my family and me to get a nice meal after the race. … You really can find the helpers in any tragedy. There were many, and that's what makes Boston Strong."

. . .

DeVries was on Boylston Street, a block from the finish. Like others, she thought the first boom might be celebratory, but 13 seconds later the boom was louder and she recalled shrapnel in the air. Still, she was determined to finish as police hollered for runners to flee. "I stood there thinking, I didn't come this far to leave without a medal and tried to move forward. Impossible!" A good Samaritan gave her his jacket and a restaurant worker pulled her into an establishment in the manic flight from the area.

On paying homage: "When I run Boston, I bow at the place I was stopped in 2013 and pause to think of those that died and the many injured on that day."