Where were you on April 19th, 1995?
While I can’t specifically say what I was doing that day, I know what I was doing in that timeframe. I was a senior in high school, graduation just weeks away. I had a boyfriend, a job, and my future waiting ahead of me at Valparaiso University.
I recall the headlines about the Oklahoma City bombing. Back then, the internet was in its infancy. Social media hadn’t even been invented. There were no “breaking news” alerts on our cell phones because they were like bricks, and only to be used in an emergency. Plus being the self-centered teen that I was, it didn’t impact me. I wasn’t aware of how many people had been killed (168) and completely oblivious to the thousands more injured physically and emotionally.
The Run to Remember race series started in Oklahoma City in 2001. Their mission is to “celebrate life, reach for the future, honor the memories of those who were killed and unite the world in hope.” Every penny of the race entry goes toward helping the victims and the families. I’d been eyeing this race for a while, and when registration opened in December, I signed up for the half.
My friend Erica also registered and joined me for the fun. The day before the race, we boarded a plane bound for Oklahoma City. Our take-off was delayed because of a seatbelt issue from the previous flight (for the record: a seatbelt in an unoccupied seat. Who knew that something that minor would cause such a stir?) We made it safely to our destination, checked into the hotel, and scurried over to the expo. There was less than an hour to spare, so while we didn’t get the full experience, we got a chance to take a few photos.
Next on our agenda was the Blessing of the Shoes at First Church. We sang some hymns, and the pastor gave a short homily. He mentioned that this same church was used to hold funerals for many of those lost that day, and that there were survivors from that day among us. Chills ran through me as I pictured the church filled with people for the funerals, and it made me wonder who among us was there that awful day. We brought our shoes to the altar and he prayed a blessing over us.
After a pasta dinner, we dashed back two blocks to our hotel in the pouring rain. The thunder rumbled and lightning flashed across the sky. It was still raining in the morning. We later learned that there were tornadoes south of us, and that the weather overnight would affect our returning flight home.
It was still raining when we woke up at 5am on Sunday. I’d packed ponchos just in case. We snapped a photo before leaving and then ventured out among the masses to the starting line: in front of the Memorial Museum. This was the location of the Museum, the Survivor Tree, and the Outdoor Symbolic Memorial. I spotted two snipers on the roof of the Museum and felt a mixed sensation of security and vulnerability. As we sardined into our corral, the announcer asked for 168 seconds of silence to honor those who died. If you didn’t know, runners are a chatty bunch. We will talk to anyone and everyone about our gels, shoes, bowels, etc. Yet for 168 seconds, there was complete silence.
Prior to the start, the rain subsided, and we discarded our ponchos. At six-thirty, the horn sounded. The corral quickly moved forward, and we arrived at the start line….and the first of many hills. I’d been watching the weather, and while it called for a high of 80 degrees, it was in the sixties, overcast but humid, and WINDY. Throughout the race, I was adjusting my visor and sunglasses (which I wound up not needing) to ensure they didn’t blow away.
The streets were lined with spectators from start to finish. Some were out individually, others gathered in large groups. Many of the larger groups made their own aid stations. One was the “Orange Station.” Volunteers were out with orange wedges, orange Gatorade, and mimosas. As much as I wanted a mimosa, I just took an orange wedge, which was heavenly. Other stops included Nilla wafers, bacon, and one station dedicated to pickles: sliced pickles and pickle juice. And of course, there were stops for beer, Jell-o shots, and Fireball shots.
And did I mention hills? I had heard rumors about an infamous “Gorilla Hill” on the course. Little did I know, we would get a sign welcoming us to our hell, (I mean, “hill”) and a large inflatable gorilla. Several spectators donned gorilla suits and banana costumes. I caught sight of several college-aged kids enjoying beer in their banana suits. The crazy gorilla gang loudly cheered us on as we struggled to the top.
A bathroom break was inevitable, but I didn’t want to wait in line. I miraculously found an empty port a pot around mile 9. Getting back on the road, I found that the elevation was slowly increasing again. The Asian District entertained us with dancing dragons as we climbed yet another hill.
With the hills in our rear view mirrors, a refreshing drizzle provided some relief from our hard work. I could see and hear the post race party, so I knew we were close. As we turned for the final half mile, poles and banners flanked on each side of the finish chutes. Each banner displayed a name and photograph of those lost that terrible day: grandparents, aunts, fathers, children, babies….no one was spared from this heinous act of terrorism. My eyes started to well up, and instead of being fixated on the finish line, I looked at the banners. I collected my medal, my snacks, and a finishers tank top. I thanked volunteers who were soaked and shivering yet smiling. I sat on a bench and waited as Erica made her way through the throngs of finishers.
Later, I was able to find some of those names on the banners at the Outdoor Memorial. The 168 chairs all have a lighted box underneath with the deceased’s names; smaller chairs for the little ones. Some runners placed their bibs and medals on the chairs. Dr. Peggy Clark, who worked for the USDA, had her chair covered in bibs and roses.
The Survivor Tree, located in between the Museum and the Memorial, stands tall as a symbol of strength. Our race bib granted us entry to the Museum. The interactive experience allowed us to see and hear everything that happened on April 19th. I didn’t know how much it would impact me until they played an audio recording from a court case inside the building. The blast sounded. The screen in front of us flashed a photo collage of all 168 people. I burst into tears. My heart was absolutely broken for those killed and their families. I felt shame that I didn’t know the full story about the bombings until now, nearly 30 years later.
We run for countless reasons: relieve stress, weight loss, socialization. Oklahoma City runs to remember. They were the unfortunate pioneers to rebuild their city, foster hope, and continue to support those effected after a tragic terrorist attack on American soil. Years from now I’ll probably forget about the seatbelt on the airplane, the pickle juice on the course, and how much my quads loathed those hills. But the reason for this race, the spirit of Oklahoma City, and those faces on the banners….I’ll never forget.
🏃🏼♀️Coach Carri A 🏃🏼♀️ 
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