Editor's Note: Suttons Bay's Forest Jarvis, a student at Middlebury College in Vermont, was in Boston on Monday to watch his father Michael run the Boston Marathon. He posted this account of that experience to Facebook Monday night.
In the hospital now, phone recharged, and finally have a laptop. I might as well post a longer update while everything is still fresh in my head. Though I doubt I'll ever forget much of it.
The funny thing is, the race was going really well up until everything happened. My mom and I waited to cheer my dad on at the 18-mile marker. He passed through right on schedule, ahead of most of the people with similar qualifying numbers. We handed him a protein shake, took some clothes he didn't need, and then hurried over to the train to try and catch him at the finish line. The train was ,of course, packed with people trying to do the same thing, and we had to let at least three go by until we could find one with enough space.
After a long, sweaty train ride, we got to the center and followed the string of people along the final neck of the marathon. From the numbers of the runners going by, we guessed that my dad had already finished. Pretty much all of the runners were giving the last half mile their best try, and both sides of the road were packed with hundreds of people loudly cheering them on. There's something unique about the joy on people's faces when they can tell they're on the verge of finishing a marathon. As we got closer to the finish line, the crowds got thicker, and we could barely move forward. We pressed on, until finally we'd had enough and decided to cut through a mall to get to the welcome area instead. If we'd decided to stick on the street, we would have arrived at the finish line right about the same time the bombs went off.