'Forget the Medal, I Just Wanted to Get to Where My Kids Were'

Gail Sharon Scearbo, at 46, was running her first ever marathon on Monday,  excited about the experience and only a mile away from the finish line when she, along with so many others, realized something had gone wrong.

Scearbo was approaching Kenmore Square, at mile 25, her husband Dan, two kids, sister, and friends waiting to cheer her on at the finish line.

She says she was probably in one of the "worst places possible" in terms of getting information, and to safety, after the explosions occurred near the finish line at the Boston Marathon.

"It was odd," said Scearbo, who has lived in Shrewsbury for 11 years. "Some people were still running, but there were so many people coming from the other direction. And then runners started talking on their phones, which I thought was odd. When we approached Kenmore, police started shutting it down and said to go home ... that the marathon was over."

Runners ahead of her, Scearbo said, were more informed, the area "more organized" after the explosion. But in Kenmore, "nobody knew what to do." Though the race had been shut down, some were still running, and spectators still cheered.

"There were enough people in the crowd doing weird things that I knew something was wrong," said Scearbo. "But, I wanted to keep running, because, forget the medal—I wanted to get to the end where my kids were. I just got stuck in the zone. When I saw the news last night, I was like, 'that’s not what I heard.'"

With no idea, yet, why the marathon was over, Scearbo was confused and concerned. She had no phone, no money, no food and no blanket. She sat down in the middle of Kenmore Square, trying to gain a sense of perspective while reeling from running 25 miles.

"I started to worry that my family was at the finish line," she said. "I just had no way to get in touch with anybody, and the race was over. Somebody offered me a blanket. I was asking people what happened. Some were walking around oblivious and others were walking around crying. Finally, I was able to talk to a runner who had finished the race, and I texted my husband. I didn’t know if I could hear back from him. He responded right away, which he never does."

Hearing her husband was at the Westin Hotel, Scearbo tried to walk there, but "they kept closing every street that I went down." When she made it to the Westin, it was also closed. She hit street after closed street, trying to make her way to a bus, or information. A medical tent she arrived at near the corner of St. James Street had been abandoned; the EMTs had been called to a tent at Copley Square.

Borrowing a cell phone, she called her husband again, who had gotten the family members on the last commuter rail out of the city before it was shut down. He stayed at the Westin, where Scearbo found him, and their car. They were not allowed to leave the area (but also couldn't get dinner because the Westin ran out of food) until 10 p.m.

They made it out just in time to head out on april vacation with the kids.

Scearbo, who was running to raise money for the American Liver Foundation, said, "I think I would do it again. I missed the best part of the experience, which is the last mile."