Putting the pieces back together

The Holy Grail of long distance running is qualifying for the prestigious Boston Marathon.  Every April for the past 116 years, runners have gathered in the sleepy little town of Hopkinton to line up for one of the most brutal foot races on the planet.  On April 21st, I will be returning to run my 9th Boston Marathon, but this year’s race is particularly special.   

Many amateur runners spend their entire life trying to qualify for the Boston Marathon, a goal that becomes increasingly elusive as the race organizers continuously tighten up the qualifying standard.  The course itself is not particularly pretty; the entry fee is astronomical, not to mention the inflated cost of hotel rooms on marathon weekend!  If you talk to anyone who has run Boston, (s)he will tell you how challenging and technical the course is.  It starts with several miles of relentless downhill that turns your quads into jello.  Just when you get some relief from that, you enter the Newton Hills, cresting on “Heartbreak Hill”, when you hit what is commonly referred to as “The Wall”. 

At this point, you are probably asking yourself, “Why is JP going back there for more of this insanity?”  Well….. I’ll try my best to convince you that I’m not “crazy”. 

I started running marathons about 15 years ago—It was my attempt to take up a new “addiction” while battling another addiction, alcoholism.  I trained for my first marathon with two other gentlemen I had met in my AA meetings.  We would get together every Sunday morning and do our long training run together, but really it was an opportunity to whine, laugh, and belly-ache about how bloody hard it was to stay sober.  Something “magical” happened during that training cycle.  We learned to rely on each other, and we started to show our families that we could actually follow through on something for a change.  All three of us managed to qualify for Boston at our first marathon, and we celebrated after the race with rice pudding and not beer!  Things had definitely changed in my life. 

I’ll never forget my first Boston Marathon experience:  walking into the most massive race expo I’d ever seen, slipping on my first Boston Marathon race jacket, walking around downtown Boston amidst a sea of boney-assed runners and their families, boarding the yellow school bus to be shuttled out to Hopkinton, sitting around on the grass trying to quiet the butterflies in my stomach, walking towards the corrals about 45 minutes prior to the race, singing the American national anthem as an F-16 buzzed overheard, winding my way along the race route lined with almost a million spectators screaming encouragement, seeing the Citgo sign in the distance marking the one mile to go mark, turning onto the homestretch on Boylston, and finally feeling the weight of my first Boston Marathon medal hanging around my salt-stained neck.

Three weeks before last year’s Boston Marathon I disclosed to friends and family that I was a survivor of childhood sexual abuse.  A few days before my wife and I were to fly down to Boston, I registered for a support group at a treatment centre that specializes in working with adult male survivors of childhood sexual abuse.  I was so eager to just get to Boston and “escape” all the emotions that were surrounding me at home.  As you all know, none of us expected the tragedy and horror that would mark the Boston Marathon on that sunny Monday afternoon.  I had already finished my run, showered, and had just gone back onto the street to grab a bite to eat with my wife when the bombs went off.  The devastating events that I witnessed, coupled with my disclosure of sexual abuse, sent me into a PTSD spiral that resulted in my taking a 4-month medical leave from work. 

I’m heading back to Boston this year with a goal of not only putting some personal demons to rest, but also with a special mission to raise money and awareness for the treatment centre here in Toronto that has given me my life back.  My plan is to arrive at the Finish Line of the marathon at 5am on race day, run the 26.2 miles to the Start Line, and then turn around and run the marathon with everyone else.  One way is to undo the past, and one way is to move forward. 

I’d like to end this post with a poem that I wrote 3 days after the Boston Marathon bombing.  Like so many others, I was grappling with trying to understand what could have motivated two young men to carry out such a brutal act.  


"Patriots Day"  (by:  JP Bedard)

You arrived to a place much better than this

Escaped fear, bombs, and gunfire

For much needed bliss

You were looking for freedom

A simple respite
Instead you found resistance,
Incomprehension, and fright

So you built it day after day

That weight on your shoulders

Made you push us away

Grasping out of desperation

For the American dream

Got a wife, built a life

But things were not as they seem

Imported a loathing

Bred from abroad

Nothing that comes from Allah or God

Vindictive and evil

Your cold heart became
Seeking to kill, damage, and maim

A plan you did hatch

With your brother conscripted

Attack on the day of patriots

When our spirits are lifted

Along sleepy streets the families did come
Cheering on comrades for this heralded run

Meanwhile a dark shadow crept over

This innocent crowd

The bombs burst the innocence

Jarring and loud

We learned that your isolation

Has come with a cost

Bodies were strewn

Our innocence lost

From the blood rose heroes to the fore
While we all held our breath

Lest a patriot, even the score

Grieving we tried to comprehend

Where your evil was born
Secure in knowing,
You planted only strength
Neither hatred, nor scorn

A lesson we seek

But a moral we find,
Do unto others,

Be gentle and kind

Next April we will take to the streets yet again

With each step we will honour

Our most dear fallen clan

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