Boom. The sound is decidedly not normal on a day with perfect blue skies and the shoes of thousands of marathon runners smacking the pavement. Thirteen seconds pass. Boom. We lock eyes. In the medical tent the ground trembles not with runners now, but with fear and with confusion. Minutes pass. Or seconds. Then we know. We move. We grab blue gloves and we run. Into the street. Into the acrid smoke. Into the crowds moving away, running away. Our feet slam into the pavement toward the sea of blood ahead. Hearts beating as we run. Then we were there.
Elizabeth Mitchell is an emergency physician, writer, and musician living in Boston. Find Elizabeth at www.lizmitchellmusemd.com and on Twitter @emitchel.