First-person account of the Boston Marathon bombings: Dee Villarreal

When I was the sports editor at the Argonaut, the University of Idaho's student produced newspaper, I asked All-American track and field runner and WAC cross country champion Dee Olson (now Villarreal) to write a column about her life as an athlete. She was awesome.

Last week she happened to be near the finish line area of the Boston Marathon as two explosions rocked the city and the country. I asked her to write another column about her experience there. Below are her words.

The Dream

I had never wanted to run a marathon. But when my friend and coach said to just run one and qualify for the Boston Marathon, I did just that.

I fell in love with the marathon. I had trained through the winter for Boston. I had run miles and miles. I ran through stress, fatigue, bad weather and dark nights just to be on that start line with the best. I knew that others were doing the same.

I checked social media for those talking about Boston and made new friends through it.

Running Boston is a club and you feel akin to those in on the club. The jacket is like your membership card. If you run Boston, you buy a jacket. You wear that jacket and you are proud to re-tell your Boston Marathon story.

I read about the Boston Marathon and those who were running in honor of loved ones, those who were fundraising for a cause, those who had overcome adversity and those just there to see what they were made of. I was the latter.

In Boston, it doesn't matter your cause, your talent or your speed.

The crowd cheers just as loud for you as they would for Shalane Flanagan and Kara Goucher.

I read somewhere that Boston is one of the best athletic events in the world. Sometimes more competitive than the Olympic Marathon.

The city shuts down and fans line the entire 26.2-mile course and with no teams, no one is rooting against you. They are all willing you to that finish line.

I know.

The Race

This year I was there in the crowd with my husband, Jason, and 2-and-a-half year-old daughter, Lila. I injured myself three weeks before the marathon so we decided to come and support my friend and coach, Brandon Reiff.

I had watched Boston before and I knew the best two spots are either Heartbreak Hill or the last finishing stretch on Boylston. So Jason, Lila and I chose the top of Heartbreak Hill.

We arrived at 6 a.m. The race started at 10 a.m. and Reiff wouldn't pass us until 11:48.

You have to get up early and get a spot if you're gonna be on Heartbreak Hill.

The runners go past Boston College where Marathon Monday is a celebration for them, with thousands of college kids donned in their creative marathon shirts.

The wheelchair marathoners come first and I cheer, then when I see the triumph in their eyes after reaching the top, I cry. I know, and they know, that with five miles left, its smooth sailing from here. All they have to do is enjoy these last miles and be a Boston Marathon finisher forever.

When Reiff passes by Lila yells, "Go REEP!" and he gives a thumbs up.

I am amazed. He was only able to train a month and he is on pace to run 2:33. We had talked in the hotel room before of the possibility of him not finishing the race since his longest run was only 16 miles.

But there he was, happily giving us the thumbs up.

Immediately after he passed us, we walked down to the train station. Every train that came through was so packed we kept having to wait for another one. A half an hour goes by and we still weren't able to squeeze onto one, so we decide to ride a train the opposite way to the end and come back.

Then Reiff called us. He finished in 2:33 and explains his experience and the crowd --how magically it makes you run faster than you think you are capable of.

He is very happy and taking in the post-race high. I told him to meet us in front of the convention center on Boylston in an hour.

Like clockwork we arrive on the homestretch of Boylston, Jason holding Lila as we move through the crowd.

Everyone is happy, it's sunny and we are relieved to be able to find Reiff in the crowd. Reiff suggests we tuck inside to the Prudential Place food court attached to the Hynes Convention Center.

The Explosions

When we step inside it's packed with people. Jason took Lila to look for a spot to sit while Reiff and I waited in line for food.

"BOOM!"

"Did you hear that?" Reiff asks.

"Hear what?" I reply.

Just as I finish, another "BOOM!"

I definitely hear it this time and look to Reiff as we hear screaming and he yells, "There's a shooter! RUN!"

He pushes me and I feel a wave of people pushing to get out and away and I run, scared for my life and hitting chairs on the way out.

I run outside, right back onto Boylston where there is smoke in the air and people running, some yelling their loved one's names.

We realize there were explosives, but in the wake of recent massacre shootings, we expect the worse.

Then it dawns on me: where are Jason and Lila?

I'm now terrified to the max, wondering if they got out in time.

Is the shooter inside or outside?

I call Jason, praying he made it out and is somewhere safe. His phone went right to voicemail.

Without thinking, I run inside and see him holding Lila.

There's trash everywhere. Chairs strewn about. Food spilled. Newly purchased food untouched and even shoes that came off of people in the stampede.

I ask him if he is OK and he looks shaken, but says yes.

"Where is Reiff?" I ask.

Terrified again, I say, "What the (****)? What the (****)!"

I know my words verbatim because unbeknownst to me, my phone call to Jason was still connected and recording a voicemail. Later in the day, as we listen to the voicemail, I hear myself say, "I don't know what to do."

Then, sirens come onto the recordings, more and more sirens.

We find Reiff and we go inside. An announcement in the Prudential Place tells everyone that a shelter-in-place directive has been issued and recommends we stay put.

A bank by the entrance lets us in and says to help ourselves to coffee and phones.

No one knows anything, but Jason wants to get out and run.

"We need to get away from groups of people and entrances and being adjacent to the convention center is also a red flag."

Jason works for the government and has had to take terrorist training classes for events like these happening at work. Just two years ago the FBI foiled an attack on his work and employee daycare days before it was scheduled to occur.

He has thought about this scenario before and like many others, Reiff and I haven't.

We had some time to talk in the bank. I asked Jason what he did during the explosions and stampede and he explained he made the decision of what would be the safest and he knew that running with Lila and getting out the doors in time wasn't the safest option. Instead, he went to a food counter and asked if he could come behind the counter. They grabbed Lila from him while he jumped over the counter and they waited out whatever would be next.

That story made me feel better. It reminds me that we are not in this alone. Everyone has the same goal and that goal is to keep everyone safe.

We talk more and realize that being at the glass entrance of the mall on Boylston where hundreds of people are gathered doesn't feel safe. We want to get ourselves and Lila somewhere safe.

So we get out a side entrance and move down Boylston.

The Aftermath

We see a man with blood on his knees and almost in unison Jason and I say "Did you see that?"

I see people crying and looking terrified.

We just keep walking.

We end up at a Dunkin Donuts and start trying to find news on the Internet. We see what's happening and so does everyone else. People started coming into Dunkin Donuts and saying authorities found another bomb at the JFK Library and Museum.

We want to get out of downtown Boston and make it back to Cambridge NOW.

Since our car is in the bomb zone, we wait. We Facebook love ones to let them know we are OK since our phones aren't working and decide we need to move again.

At this point, Reiff has run an entire marathon and is cold, hungry and tired (Read his account of that day).

We decide to walk back towards our car to try and get out of the city, expecting to run into some kind of blockage and have to turn back.

We walk and again we see ambulance after ambulance lined up and again more terrified looking people.

I mentally noted a lady in running gear coming out of a church. I knew she went in there to pray. I think everyone was a little religious that day.

We get to the garage behind Boylston and get in the car. We start talking about how scary everything was and how impressed we were that Lila didn't cry the whole time. She was as easy to move as a backpack.

Then she says, "That was scary," and we said, "It was, huh?"

Then she started mimicking running and said, "People were running...ahhh."

We all looked at each other and stopped talking about it. We realized she knew something was wrong the whole time. She wasn't oblivious to the chaos unfolding.

The Guilt

The next morning, I woke up with sadness and guilt.

How could I just run away without Lila and Jason? Why didn't I help those injured?

Later, reports said there was a suspicious device found in our parking garage. I felt stupid. What if there had been a bomb there?

I remember running in the stampede and there was no way I made it out quickly. I probably would have been shot.

What could I have done differently? How could I just leave Boston after this?

Sadness, confusion and guilt overcame the feelings of what Boston meant to me. I felt ashamed for feeling so upset, like maybe I was doing it for attention, somehow taking attention away from those truly hurt.

Day by day, I start to feel better after reading reports of the city being repaired. I feel hopeful seeing the city come together in groups without fear.

I feel ashamed when I think to myself that it may be too much of a target rounding up people for vigils and remembrances.

I'm sorry, that's what those Boston bombers have done to me.

I find it hard telling my story of that day because I never feel like people's reactions are adequate to the feeling of terror we felt. It's not their fault. I used to be like that.

I didn't understand terror until that day. I can't explain it. It's close to that feeling you get right before you get into a car accident. That second before when you know there is no going back. Times that by a million and picture being separated from your husband and daughter during a bomb situation and maybe you'll understand.

The People

I get asked a lot if I will be back next year? I recall driving in the car in Boston the next day and a man called in with a thick Bostonian accent, he said he was driving down so-and-so street and there were so many runners out.

"It's amazing" he said.

He then went on to say it made him feel better, like things are going to be OK. True story. It reminded me why I love Boston. Boston isn't magical, it's the people.

Yes...a thousand times yes.

I will be there next year.

--Dee

Dee Villlarreal runs Villarreal Training in the Seattle area and is a fulltime mother and runner. She is currently sponsored by Nature's Bakery.