Boston Marathon 2013 - A JayMichael Yockey Story

 

Training for anything in life takes time and dedication. Running is no different. While I may not be a professional athlete, it was a goal of mine to reach the high ability and potential of a runner I had been gifted with. That meant putting in miles upon miles in every condition possible, including watching my nutrition intake, but also trying to push my body to its limits. I also always said I never wanted to run a marathon. Ever. I was an 800 and mile guy in track and that was a huge jump. Until one day I knew I needed to challenge myself.

You see, if I was going to run a marathon it wasn’t just going to be for the sake of running one and checking it off the bucket list. I wanted to be competitive and see what I could accomplish. So I set my sights on Boston.

Boston is a unique race in that not just anyone can register and run. You have to qualify, meeting a standard that is set by the Boston Athletics Association. This makes the race truly an elite one and is the most sought-after marathon to compete in, in the world.

I qualified for Boston after running the Toledo Glass City Marathon in April of 2012 with a 9th place finish and a time of 2 hours and 47 minutes, bettering the qualifying time of 3 hours and 5 minutes by almost 20 minutes. The day after I started setting my goals and desires for Boston, with official training beginning on Christmas Day 2012. This meant being regimented in my diet, evaluating my workouts/workout plan, being disciplined to get my mileage in, and pushing myself beyond the limits of my body.

Training was off to a great start. My long runs were up to 20 miles, and I was truly enjoying it. However, one Saturday I had a feeling of death come over me. I know exactly where I was. I had just rounded the turn from Bacon on to Rauch road and was starting the 10th mile. I began to pray and come against the thought; I honestly didn’t know what the thought meant or what it would lead up to, but being a man of faith prayer was the only answer. This feeling would go on to come back to me every time I had a long run, so every Saturday.

Now between this Saturday and Boston I would lose an aunt to heart and kidney disease. It was at this time I believed the feeling of death I had was about this. The loss of a loved one. My grandpa had died just after my qualify day and then my aunt, as a family we felt surrounded by death. It was a hard pill to swallow, but also a sense of relief as I believed the feeling of death was for me.

Fast Forward to the weekend of Boston, the atmosphere is one to experience. The moment I stepped onto the plane on Friday in Detroit I was surrounded by runners. You could tell by the bottles of water, granola/clif bars, and the clothes they were wearing. The air was electric and you could sense the anticipation, nerves, and excitement build. When the plane landed in Boston I was ecstatic. Everything I had dedicated my life to for the past year and a half were starting to come to a culmination. I made my way to the convention center where I would pick up my bib number, racing packet, running apparel, and memorabilia. I was able to meet my favorite runner at the time, getting his book autographed and a picture as well.

The next two days were spent laying low, trying to not expel all my energy, and staying off my legs. I stayed with my coach from college and her family that live in Haverhill, MA. They were warm and welcoming. We watched movies, had numerous conversations about everything and anything. On Sunday night they had a huge spaghetti dinner with homemade sauce, meatballs, salad, the whole nine yards. They were such wonderful hosts. By the way, Bostonians truly have the accent that is depicted in movies and TV.

Sunday night was restless. The wondering how the race would go played out in different scenarios in my mind. I wondered if I had done enough training, if my body would hold up (it was only my second marathon ever), would the infamous Heart Break Hill get me?

I woke up for the day around 4:30. My coach and I were meeting up with a local running club that was taking us to the starting line in Hopkinton. I had my usual breakfast that I ate before long runs, oatmeal and 6 pieces of toast. The bus ride seemed to take forever, causing my nerves to amplify and cause my legs to bounce. I had my music going through my iPod, which helped calm my nerves.

When we pulled into Hopkinton it was like a mini-shanty town made specifically for runners. As I sat on the sidewalk outside the school entrance I could feel the warm sun on my face. It helped me to relax and I anxiously waited for time to pass to go to the start line. Since Boston is such a big race, they do a staggered start. The first wave goes off at 10, and then people are sectioned in two corrals. I was in wave one, corral one, one of the top 1,000 entrants, an elite runner. I slowly made my way towards the start line around 9:30 as I could see all the different runners in their racing tops and shorts. It was truly a sea of color. One guy was wearing a bright pink morph suite; he also spoke French. We would later run miles 9-15 together.

As I entered the corral I began to pray even more, just asking for a good day and experience. The corral began to fill with other runners, it was like stuffing cattle into a jam-packed space. As the 10 o’clock hour drew near the Star Spangled Banner was sung, and the elite professional runners were paraded out of the church by the starting line. I remember standing in awe of them and the athletic prowess we were all about to witness and be a part of.

As a runner, your nerves build like that of a pop building pressure in a bottle. However, when the gun goes off all of the nerves go away and you focus on the task at hand. I remember the first mile going by so fast and thinking I needed to get myself in check and under control otherwise the next 24 miles would be pure torture. I can still see the towns and cities that we passed through. Boston is one of the coolest races I have ever been a part of. What makes it stand out is that the whole course, except from the 12.5 to half-marathon mark is filled with people. That’s because there is a river that flanks the other side of the road at that point. It was after the half-marathon I began to struggle. I went out too fast and had a long way to go.

The Newton Hills start at mile 16. I can recall taking the right turn into the hills. This was one of the most spectator-filled portions of the race. But it is also where my quads started screaming at me, and I desperately wanted to walk. I also grew very discouraged. It seemed all I had trained for and the massive PR I was on pace for was quickly falling away.

When I came to Cambridge I made the biggest mistake I ever did in a race. I walked. I felt I needed to or my body was going to give out. I walked for a good 20 minutes or so. But the thing that kept me going despite dreading the remaining four miles was the crowd. It was still filled with energy and excitement. Strangers who I will never see again kept calling out my bib number, encouraging me to finish. I can see the train rushing by the spectators trying to reach the finish line at Copley Square, I wondered if they would beat me there. I contemplated dropping out, but I persevered and found within me a strength I never knew and haven’t experienced again to this day. I pressed on to reach the finish line. I remember all of a sudden being at mile 24 and thinking two miles is nothing. Turning onto Boylston Street was exhilarating. It gave me hope that I was almost done. The last .2 of the race was literally the best. I could feel my legs screaming at me even more, begging me to stop. I actually came up the left side of the Boylston, something I remembered later.

When I finally crossed the finish line, tears of joy, pain, and exhaustion streamed down my face. I was so relieved to be done. Being handed my medal for conquering the infamous Boston Marathon is something I will never forget. But, what quickly should have been a celebratory moment changed forever.

I need to insert here that prior to my race my mom started a Facebook group; Jay’s Run to Boston. It was dedicated to prayer and encouragement.

One friend even commented after the bombing that “Audrey started a prayer group for the marathon, when in reality she started a prayer group to cover and save Jay’s life.

My parents were not able to go to Boston with me. It was part of the original plan, but due to certain events, they had to cancel their plans. Knowing my mom, I believe she would have been in the vicinity of where the bomb went off.

We firmly believe that this group and their prayers saved not only my life but countless others. We never know what our prayers are covering, praying for or against.

I had finished the race a little after 1. After meeting up with my coach after her race, we slowly and painfully walked to a hotel a mile or so from Copley Square. Literally, as I put my hand on the door handle we heard the bombs go off. Not knowing what it was, we figured it was a Patriots Day celebration, and we went into the hotel. As we reached the 13th floor and the running club we joined, the room was filled with a sense of accomplishment, food, laughs, and tears as we all shared our racing stories. We all took turns taking showers and getting massages (the huge blisters on my incredibly swollen feet were thankful for that).

The mood and the atmosphere quickly shifted. I came out of the bathroom from my shower to read the TV screen out loud, “bombs go off at Copley Square,” and the room went silent, midsentence for some. You really could have heard a pin drop. People were at a loss for words. Some cried. Some sunk down onto the floor in disbelief.

That’s when my phone started going off like crazy. I had text messages, phone calls, voice mails, Facebook messages, you name it. All people trying to get ahold of me to make sure I was okay and safe. I couldn’t answer them all, so I resorted to answering and to only call my parents. However, 13 ABC, a local news station from home, called, somehow they knew I was there. I took their phone call to make sure good, factual information was getting out there. I left the hotel room to take the call and headed outside. When I walked out of the hotel, what was once a booming and bustling city, turned into a ghost town. All you could hear were sirens in the distance, but not a single person or vehicle could be seen.

As I walked back into the hotel I learned the whole city was on lockdown, hotels and buildings were told not to let anyone in unless they had reservations, the airport was shut down, and there were rumors of other bombs in the city. When I got back to the room, everyone was sitting, with their duffle bags in the hallway, unsure of what the next hour would bring. All of a sudden I felt an urgency from God to get to the airport. So I grabbed my stuff, said goodbye to my coach and her family, and made my way to the shuttle.

When I got to the shuttle, which was the first and the last sent to the airport, I found two other men in there. They happened to be the race and health director of the Houston marathon. This was just a cool experience of being able to speak with them for 20-30 minutes.

When I arrived at the airport they had just reopened TSA, but it was still a ghost town. I made the decision to get right to my gate and sit and wait for my flight out. As I sat waiting, I had a view of the city of Boston and its magnificent skyline. But what made it feel unsafe and sent my heart racing was that the Coast Guard, police, and other military helicopters were circling the city. If I remember correctly there were somewhere between 5-8. At this time about 2.5-3 hours had passed since the first bomb went off.

What’s shaking to this day is that at this moment it was still unclear what all the damage and carnage had been done at the finish line and how many lives had been lost. All we knew was that madmen were running loose in Boston.

All I could do at that moment was try to digest what had happened. It was in that moment of quiet I shed the first of many tears in the coming days; in all honesty, I still get choked up thinking or talking about the day. Side note, the movie Patriot Day is a great depiction of what happened that day, minus the language. I bawled watching it.

Anyway, in the airport I was able to start responding to some messages. The amount of love and well wishes I received that day have yet to be matched. I know people care for me, but that day many people reached out and shared their concerns.

Towards the 6 o’clock hour, the airport began to become more busy as marathoners and other travelers made their way to their scheduled flights. There was a somber feeling in the atmosphere. No one looked at each other or talked about what had just happened. It was as if someone said anything there would be a break out of tears and emotions. But it was at this moment I couldn’t get home fast enough. I just wanted to be with my family.

I had a flight out of Boston into Chicago. Because of the bomb and the airport shutting down, flights were behind schedule and I almost missed my connecting flight to Detroit. During the flights I was mindless. I couldn’t think of anything or really process. I just felt numb. When I landed in Chicago I had 5 minutes to get to my next flight. Moving quickly in a crowded airport when your legs are almost nonfunctional made for a difficult process, but I made it. Only to sit in a small chair for another hour and literally feel my legs tightening as the plane flew.

When I landed in Detroit it was almost midnight. Usually whoever was picking me up would wait for me in the pick-up line outside. But my parents met me at the baggage claim. I remember them both running up to me and hugging and crying. Strangers watched with tears in their eyes as they knew what I had just experienced that day. It’s a moment that will live forever in my mind and heart.

The next day I would like to say I was glued to the TV, but I wasn’t. I was only allowed to be informed by my family what was happening. Watching newsreels was not anything I wanted to see. It was too real. Too raw. Too emotional.

I had not only just witnessed a terrorist attack, I had survived one.

I didn’t like to talk about the race itself or what happened. I just felt numb, almost depressed. I felt guilty that a 9-year-old boy lost his life and I walked away with mine. But I know, without a doubt, because of my obedience to cover things in prayer, and those who were praying for me that day, God had His hand on my life.

I was interviewed by the local tv station regarding my experience. Putting everything in perspective and giving God the glory for my life gave me the courage to speak.

A few days after the race I decided to do something crazy, but felt in my heart it was the right thing to do. I decided to run the Glass City Marathon. It was 13 days after the Boston Marathon. This is something people raise their eyebrows at because typically you take 2 weeks completely off from all physical activity after a marathon because of the toll it takes on your body. Shoot, it was a good 6 days before I could walk normally. But I knew I HAD to do this. I had a special racing shirt made, signed up, and toed the line. That day ended up being vastly different in every sense of the word. The weather wasn’t perfect. It was a cold, gray, and rainy day; which makes for a miserable race condition but it’s my favorite to run in. But there was something else different. People were fearful there would be repeat offenders. Races now had to take extra precautions.

The race and ending were different as well. I ran probably the most freeing and best race of my life. I placed 10th and ran a PR. At Boston I ran 3:04:59. At Toledo I ran 2:46. I felt like I had done Boston proud and showed myself I’m not only physically tough, but emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. I didn’t let fear or the horrendous actions of others keep me from doing something I not only love but am gifted in. I also decided that I, along with 36,000 other runners would run Boston in 2014. Which turned out to be the most freeing race ever. To see people from all over the world band together to stare evil and terrorism in the face. We didn’t let others dictate what we were capable of doing.

What the devil meant for harm for me, God to proclaim his sovereignty.

It wasn’t until more than a year later I allowed myself to watch news footage of that day. It tore my heart out. Ripped it to pieces. I lost it. I couldn’t control my emotions. Even to this day news reels of it does my emotions in.

As for the brothers who committed these heinous crimes and stole our moment of celebration, and lives. I’m thankful for a justice system that has carried out a swift and fair trial for the younger brother.

To this day I am grateful for my experiences in Boston, both 2013 and 2014. I will forever be Boston Strong.

Submitted by Audrey Yockey