She sips an energy drink as she calls at the appointed time. Three weeks before the Boston Marathon, she has just finished the longest run of her life, a 24 mile run on the dot in Colorado Springs. She pushed herself further than the program she was following suggested.
She wanted to get as close to the full distance as she could, because the last five miles were really painful. I want to finish in four hours.
She knows there are limits to how prepared she can be nine years after the tragedy. She will count on the training to get her through the course.
On the day of the marathon, on April 15, Devin ran the wrong way across the finish line and pushed an empty wheelchair. She was told to move toward trouble. She knew what she heard, but not what she would see or what she would be asked to do as a volunteer.
She ran back in the opposite direction and pushed the chair that Jeff Bauman was in. An EMT, Paul Mitchell, and a Good Samaritan named Carlos Arredondo helped her ferry Bauman to the medical tent. Bauman lost his legs in the bombing, but his quick response helped save his life.
The aftermath of a violent attack that killed three people and left more than 260 wounded would cause an emotional price for Devin. She was thrust into the spotlight before she had time to process what had happened. She turned inward, took time off from school, sought counseling, and avoided media requests, remaining officially unidentified in the famous photos for several months.
After the bombs went off at the finish line of the race, I was locked down for several hours at a hotel a block from the finish line. I was frozen with grief and anxiety because of the enormity of the suffering around me and my inability to leave the building and do my job.
I went on a quest to document the experiences of the athletic trainers who became first responders at the marathon. When she was ready to tell her story, I was introduced to her by people she trusted.
She has continued to move since she ended her career as a world-class synchronized skater. For the best of reasons, he plans to cross the Boston Marathon finish line again.
I don't know if there will ever be closure, and I don't think just going and running will mean it. I don't think it means that this is it.
Now a physician assistant for an orthopedic surgeon, she is running with her father and raising pledges for an entity that has special meaning for her.
His 21st birthday fell after the bombing. She wants to run the full distance before she turns 30. She has been training with her husband, Chris, and their dog, Kiira. She is just as committed as she was on the worst days.
I promised to do two things to him.
The first felt obvious. I felt a huge responsibility not to set her back as she was still early in her recovery from trauma. I told her I would only ask her about the marathon once. I tried to understand what led her to grab the wheelchair. I asked about her family, her studies and her life as an athlete. I talked to her parents, professors and fellow students after watching her practice with her team.
Lindsay and I agreed that she would speak directly to the camera when we filmed the interview. The last thing the world needed was shots of my reactions.
I didn't know until I walked into the room that I wouldn't be able to make eye contact with him. She was going to walk us through the day while looking at the blank face of a lens. Steven Guyot manned the camera while I sat behind it, but when she answered my questions, her gaze kept flickering to mine. I panicked. I wouldn't be able to tell if she was ok after months of building our relationship.
I thought to just listen. Pretend you are on the phone. She is by the sound of her voice. I put my head down and looked at my notebook. She brilliantly told her story and kept her head high.
After the digital story and video were published in October of that year, I made a second promise to him.
I had no idea what I was going to say until I blurted it out.
I told her that we were going to stay in touch. I will be in your life.
Journalists have to leave behind most people they write about, even those who invest the most faith in us and share the most intense of times. It's impossible to carry everyone with us because of the cumulative volume of words and circumstances over the years.
I didn't understand why I wanted to make an exception for him. I felt protective of her and accountable to her, but she had family, friends and mentors looking out for her.
I was a reporter and she was a medical team volunteer when we returned to Boston. I traveled to watch her at the world championship. She took a job with U.S. Figure skating that brought us together. We went to Lake Placid, Salt Lake City, and San Jose before she got her degree.
She was unsure if she should have left the realm of the familiar. It was difficult to move to West Texas by herself. I was unable to see her graduate in person because of the Pandemic. I watched as she walked across the stage and wore a ceremonial white coat.
When I reached out to her to see if she would be willing to talk about running the marathon this year, she took a few days to think about it, then responded by text: "I would love to collaborate with you for one more story!"
On that terrible day, I was in a safe place, but he wasn't. I was afraid while she reacted. I was trapped, working blind, on an afternoon where she saw more than anyone should be asked to see.
I had felt helpless in every way when I had encountered similar situations in my career, but telling the story of Devin gave me purpose in a situation unlike any other. I would have never imagined closing my laptop and going on to the next project. I did not.
She is still moving toward trouble, but now she is qualified to see patients, make diagnoses, write treatment plans and prescribe medication. She helps in joint reconstruction surgeries and is fond of the success stories of people who regain strength and range of motion.
The famous photograph does not pull her back into a place she does not want to be. While she has grown, it has not changed.
"I look at myself now and I think I look really young." A very determined face. I have someone's life on my hands.
She and Jeff met again at the finish line in 2016 and the fact that it came about organically made her happy. He was her patient for a short time.
It is one of many connections that bind her to this city, this course, the race bib she will be wearing. At one of the satellite facilities, she worked her first post-graduate position in healthcare. She will see her BU professors and classmates on April 15.
How do you picture yourself on race day in 2022, willing yourself down that same city block? She finds the right word when she searches. Acknowledgement. She has acknowledged what happened, how it tested her, and how it ultimately pushed her to think bigger and go further to solve the mystery of how she would respond.
She says that she was only a student at the time. I wanted to do more.
I think it prepared me to handle the most unexpected traumatizing things that someone can potentially see. I'm glad I could help instead of retreating.
It is a sign of how far she has come that the image she once wished she could remove from public view is on her marathon page. I have been privileged to watch her reach a place of acceptance after being seen, and she says that it is not the first thing she brings up when she meets people. I'm okay talking about it.
She told me that she was just carrying out her assignment at the marathon. I was trying to do the same thing, and I will never get over how our paths eventually crossed and allowed me to keep working on what I couldn&t finish right away.
I will be waiting for her on Boylston Street.
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