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Student’s Boston Reflection in Esquire

Posted on Thursday, April 25, 2013

Molly Doris-Pierce '15 wrote a guest essay on the Boston Marathon tragedy that appeared in Esquire Magazine on April 16, the day following the event. Doris-Pierce, who is from Newtonville, Mass., recalls the many marathons she's watched - noting "Monday was only the second marathon I've ever missed." She learned of the bombings when she received a voicemail from her mother reassuring her that her family was safe.

She writes, "And then I remember crying."

"Crying that cry that could be heard internationally today. For Marathon Monday is not about America or Boston. It is not about politics. It is not about Islamic radicals, North Korean warheads, domestic extremists, or security breaches. It is about people supporting people. It is about holding out cups of water to complete strangers. It is about shouting out names you would not know had they not been written on arms and legs and T-shirts. It is about dressing up in a chicken suit and running 26.2 miles. It is about running to raise money for fighting cancer, or Alzheimer's, or childhood leukemia. It is about humanity. It is about acting as we're always preaching. It is about lifting up your fellow humans regardless of where they're from. It is about supporting all the feet running past you."

Doris-Pierce has been named to Dean's List. Her full article follows.


Esquire
The Politics Blog with Charles P. Pierce
We All Run Together

Molly Doris-Pierce • April 16, 2013

I remember sitting on the 21st mile mark. I remember sitting on the curb eating a hot dog. I remember hearing "Celebration" and "The Boys are Back in Town." I remember the cowbells and seeing a man run by in a ballerina suit. I remember watching the ground as the runners flew by. I remember how it looked as though the ground was moving beneath them. I was probably six. It was probably my sixth Boston Marathon.

Monday was only the second marathon I've ever missed. I remember ignoring my mom's phone call. I remember getting ice cream on one of the first spring days at my college in Upstate New York. I remember sitting in the quad. I remember seeing that I had a voicemail. I remember checking it. I remember hearing my mother's voice: "Hi Molly. This is tough news. You're probably going to hear about two explosions that happened at the finish line of the marathon. I just wanted to let you know that Dad's okay. He wasn't at the finish line...We're okay."

And then I remember crying.

Crying that cry that could be heard internationally today. For Marathon Monday is not about America or Boston. It is not about politics. It is not about Islamic radicals, North Korean warheads, domestic extremists, or security breaches. It is about people supporting people. It is about holding out cups of water to complete strangers. It is about shouting out names you would not know had they not been written on arms and legs and t-shirts. It is about dressing up in a chicken suit and running 26.2 miles. It is about running to raise money for fighting cancer, or Alzheimer's, or childhood leukemia. It is about humanity. It is about acting as we're always preaching. It is about lifting up your fellow humans regardless of where they're from. It is about supporting all the feet running past you.

But today, Marathon Monday has been tarnished by the inhumane. Today it has been scuffed by footprints running from danger. And in moments like these it is easy to question the hearts of individuals, of humankind. However, to do so would even more damaging to Marathon Monday. Because Marathon Monday is about camaraderie. And today, that camaraderie was not just about giving out water. Today it was about running past the finish line to the local hospitals to give blood. It was about giving shelter to strangers. It was about helping others locate loved ones.

Today cannot be about our divisions. Today must be about our unity, because if it is not then the blasts succeeded in tearing our hands from high-fiving random runners passing by, in causing our faith in people to falter, and in making us forget our underlying common humanity.

I look forward to making sure I get home for Marathon Monday next year. I look forward to sitting on the 21st mile mark. I look forward to sitting on the curb eating a hot dog. I look forward to hearing all those clichéd tunes blasting from the Newton firehouse. I look forward to the sound of cowbells and seeing men in ballerina suits. I look forward to reaching my hand out to strangers and screaming names I wouldn't otherwise know. I look forward.

 

 

 

 


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