When the healing began
Meb Keflezighi reflects on special 2014 victory
There’s a church on Main Street in Hopkinton, just steps from the start line of the Boston Marathon, inside which the elite athletes make their final preparations for the most hallowed route in running.
Mary Wittenberg, former race director of the New York City Marathon, was on the second floor ahead of the 2014 race, on a balcony that overlooks the basketball court where the world’s best runners settle themhadn’t selves for what’s ahead. Athletes were roaming and stretching, pinning bibs, and shaking out nerves.
In the corner, she spotted Meb Keflezighi, two weeks short of his 39th birthday, a decade removed from an Olympic silver medal in Athens, and five years past his crowning as the first American to win New York in nearly 30 years.
He lay there, eyes closed, feet up on the wall, unfazed by the commotion around him or what lay ahead. Seemingly at peace.
The church floor was an apt place for Meb, a devout Christian, to spend his final moments before taking a crack at history. Few knew he was chasing a win that day; he even told Hawi, his brother and manager.
Two nights before the Marathon, as Meb grappled with how to honor the victims of 2013 on race day, he met with the Martin Richard Foundation at the Harvard Club near Kenmore Square. He had a private moment with Bill and Denise Richard, whose story had touched him so deeply — not only as someone who had departed the finish line grandstands just a half-hour before the bombing, but as a father whose daughter was close in age to the Richards’ son, Martin.
On the walk back to the Fairmont Copley Plaza, race director Dave McGillivray asked what the goal was for Monday, and became
one of the few who knew what Meb had in mind.
Retracing steps
As he prepares to run Monday to raise money for his foundation, Meb had a chance to reflect on that day in 2014, when the eyes of the world returned their focus to Boston.
“My best version of myself was behind me in terms of the time, but Boston is all about the competition,” he said. “And I was ready to do that that day.”
Very little of consequence happens in the first half of elite marathons. The pack stretches and thins, but the favorites are usually still in it for 20 miles before a significant move is made.
So when Meb and Josphat Boit had gapped the field by 10 seconds at mile 10, it was a surprise. When Meb dropped Boit at mile 15, he was all alone, and anyone who tuned in for the second half couldn’t believe what they were seeing.
The pack let Meb go. The favorites were content to let him burn out.
“There was definitely stress. Did I go too fast? Did I go too early?” Meb said. “But I remember just saying, internally: ‘They’re making the biggest mistake of their lives.’ ”
By the time Marty Walsh got to the finish line, Meb was reaching Heartbreak Hill with a full minute between him and his competitors, and another 6 miles between him and history.
It had been a busy week for the new mayor, overseeing his first Boston Marathon in unique circumstances and under unprecedented security. At a memorial ceremony on a rainy afternoon six days out from the race, he visited with the families of the victims.
He’d met the Richards before, but Lu Lingzi’s parents came from China, Sean Collier’s mother and stepfather were in attendance, and Krystle Campbell’s parents joined, too. Then-Vice President Joe Biden spoke.
Walsh didn’t know what to expect out of the weekend, and in particular from race day.
Walsh got his answer when he got to Boylston Street. The crowds were deeper than ever, louder than ever, more joyous than ever; not just on Boylston and Hereford, but all along the course.
It was a good thing, too. With a couple of miles to go, Meb was struggling.
“That Citgo sign could not come fast enough,” he said with a laugh.
The chase pack had whittled the gap to 10 seconds at mile 24. With a mile to run, Wilson Chebet was within six seconds. Meb kept looking back, trying to gauge the margin. He thought about easing off to save energy for a final kick, but Meb knew if Chebet caught him, all the momentum would be lost.
“I’m like, ‘Man, if he was feeling good, he would be with me,’ ” Meb said. “‘But he must be hurting. Am I willing to hurt a little bit more?’ ”
Meb was at his limits, physically and mentally. The thirddegree burn on the bottom of his left foot was screaming, and any more exertion seemed like it would end in him stopping to vomit on Commonwealth Avenue.
Meb hit the right turn onto Hereford hard, trying to extend the gap while Chebet couldn’t see him. He hammered the tangent to the corner of Hereford and Boylston, crossed himself, and found one more gear.
Halfway down Boylston, he knew he had it. The crowd did, too, as chants of “USA! USA!” accompanied Meb to the finish. His race kit was red, white, and blue. Four names were written on his bib, one in each corner, in black Sharpie: Martin, Sean, Krystle, Lingzi.
He lifted his shades and pumped his right fist, then his left. He signed the cross one last time, as he passed the site where the first bomb went off, and held his arms wide as he broke the tape.
“It was the thrill of a lifetime,” Meb said.
‘I just went to tears’
His wife, Yordanos, reached him first, nearly knocking him over. Meb hugged finish line coordinator Tom Meagher, then McGillivray, before bowing to each side of Boylston as the words reverberated over the loudspeaker: “Your 2014 Boston Marathon men’s champion: Meb Keflezighi of the United States!”
“That’s when it hit me,” Meb said. “And I just went to tears.”
He climbed the podium, an American flag draped around his shoulders. Walsh placed the golden wreath atop Meb’s head, worrying as it slid, its wearer wobbling from exhaustion. The tears flowed again as the national anthem played.
He’d been whisked from war-torn Eritrea at the age of 11, raised in San Diego, and naturalized as an American citizen two days before Independence Day in 1998. He was an American not by birth, but first by circumstance, then by choice.
“That’s the American Dream,” as Hawi puts it.
Some survivors of the 2013 attack who’d lost limbs, who’d faced grueling recoveries, chose to come back, to reclaim the finish line for Boston.
A year on from unspeakable tragedy, those survivors signaled that it was OK to smile. It was OK to celebrate. It was OK to be joyful.
“The way I describe it is: On April 15, 2013, Boston and the world wrapped their arms around the victims of the bombing,” Walsh said. “And on April [21] of 2014, the survivors, the families that lost loved ones — they wrapped their arms around us.”
Quiet descended on the course only for 60 seconds, at 2:49 p.m., the moment the first blast had shaken the city. Boston held its breath, waited for the clocks to tick past 2:50 p.m., exhaled, and roared louder than it had all day.
“That day, and that weekend leading up to it . . . it was pretty emotional,” Walsh said, pausing for several seconds, holding back tears. “But it was incredible . . . People came from all over the world. And they were running for Krystle, and Lingzi, and Martin Richard, and Sean.
“It was incredible. It was healing.”
Back in Boston
Meb retired from competitive marathoning in 2017, but his bond with the city and its famous race has only strengthened.
Meb ran in 2018 for Team MR8, founded in Martin Richard’s memory. He’s running again Monday, 10 years on from his crowning day, for the MEB Foundation — for whom Martin Richard’s brother, Henry, ran New York in November.
People still remember where they were when the Marathon’s darkest day was followed by its most joyous.
“I think that’s what makes it feel like it was just yesterday, because people are still recounting the memorable moment that we all had,” Meb said. “Of course, for me, it was memorable. It gives me goosebumps.
“And for the city, hopefully it gave you a little bit of a healing.”