From Harvard to home
I remember glancing at my phone at 1:56 p.m. on Monday, April 15. I was walking in Copley Square with another marathon volunteer, trying to find an entrance to the subway. We had both been stationed at the starting line of the Boston Marathon in Hopkinton, Mass., earlier that morning and had taken a bus back to Boston after our shift was over. I had agreed to babysit for one of my professors at 3 p.m., and I knew it would take me at least a half hour to walk there from Harvard Square, so I began to move a little faster.
However, as we attempted to make our way through the human maze, we stopped momentarily to take in the surroundings. Hundreds of exhilarated runners crossing the finish line, receiving blankets, water and food to begin replenishing their exhausted bodies. Some of them had just finished their first marathon, and some had completed their 20th. We saw kids running to hug their dads, husbands embracing their wives; everyone celebrating one of the greatest physical endeavors of our time.
I finally found the Arlington Street subway entrance, made my way back on the crowded train, and arrived on campus at about 2:30 p.m. I ran back to my room, grabbed a sweatshirt and a bottle of water, and headed back out to make the two-mile trek to my professor’s house. On the way, a friend texted me, asking if I was at the finish line yet. Oh no! I thought, I had completely forgotten to tell him I wasn’t going to have enough time to stay and watch our friends finish. I quickly replied, apologizing and saying I was back on campus.
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