What it feels like to stand near the finish line and along the course...
as a runner, a mother, and the one holding the camera.
There are races… and then there is the Boston Marathon.
You feel it before you ever see a runner.
The energy builds in waves down Boylston Street… strangers cheering like family, voices breaking for people they’ve never met, hands reaching out just to give one more ounce of strength to someone running on nothing but heart.
This race is not just about time.
It is about grit.
It is about resilience.
It is about proving something… often to yourself.
And standing there with my camera, I wasn’t just documenting it.
I was feeling every second of it.
At the front of the race, the moments are electric.
The first male finisher, John, crossed that line with power and precision… and history behind him. He set a course record with a time of 2:01:52, a performance that represents years of discipline, sacrifice, and relentless pursuit.
The same can be said for every first-place finisher across divisions… each one arriving at that line carrying a story most of us will never fully see.
Wheelchair athletes, elite women, masters… every division crowned a champion.
But what struck me most wasn’t just how fast they were.
It was how composed they were.
How focused.
How completely locked into the moment they had worked so hard to earn.
And then, almost instantly, the race changed.
After the elites come through, something shifts.
This is where the emotion lives.
The 3:00 to 4:00 runners…
the ones chasing personal records, redemption, or simply the finish line itself.
This is where you see tears before the line is even crossed.
Where hands go over faces.
Where people look up, almost in disbelief, like did I really just do this?
As a photographer, these are the moments you wait for.
Not perfection… but truth.
And I tried to capture as many of those moments as I could.
Not everyone.
That’s impossible in a race of this scale.
But as many as I was able… each one mattered.
And then there are the runners who bring something entirely different to the course.
Batman.
Air Jumper.
The ones who make people laugh in the middle of something incredibly hard.
And it matters more than you think.
Because joy has a place here too.
Even in the exhaustion.
Even in the struggle.
These runners remind everyone watching… and running… that this race is not just about suffering.
It’s about spirit.
I wasn’t at the finish line.
I was just before it… about 800 meters out… on the runners’ right side, facing them as they came in.
Close enough to feel the finish.
Far enough to see what led into it.
For that first stretch, I was pressed up against the fence, camera ready, watching it all unfold through my lens.
That space matters more than people realize… once you lose it, you feel it instantly.
At one point, I stepped away.
Not as a photographer… but as a mom.
My girls needed a break. Food. A restroom. A moment in the middle of all of it to warm up.
And getting back?
That was its own kind of marathon.
A long bag check line inside the mall.
A sea of people shoulder to shoulder.
That slow, pushing movement where you’re not really walking… just being carried forward by the crowd.
By the time we made it back out, my spot was long gone.
No fence. No clean line of sight. Just layers of people between me and the runners I was trying to capture.
So I adapted.
I shot through gaps.
Between shoulders.
Over heads.
Waiting for moments instead of controlling them.
And toward the end of the race… something shifted again.
The crowd thinned just enough.
A space opened.
I found my way back to the fence.
And that’s where I captured the final stretch of runners…
the ones who had been out there the longest.
The ones finishing on pure heart.
Different pace.
Same weight.
Because by then, it’s not about time anymore.
It’s about finishing.
From a technical side, I kept things simple.
I only brought my 70–200mm… and stayed almost entirely between 135mm and 200mm.
That compression mattered here. It pulled the crowd in, isolated the runner, and told the story in a way that still felt intimate… even in the middle of thousands.
Every frame became a balance of anticipation and instinct.
You don’t get do-overs.
You read body language.
You feel when something is about to happen.
And then you press the shutter at exactly the right moment… or you miss it.
This is where it becomes more than just a race for me.
My girls were there with me.
And standing along that course, I couldn’t help but think back to my youngest…
just two weeks old… at her first Boston Marathon nine years ago.
We were there to watch my running coach run his race.
A man who, in many ways, God used to save my life.
To see him run Boston…
to stand there with my newborn daughter in my arms…
and now to be back here years later with my girls beside me…
There are moments in life that come full circle.
This was one of them.
The Boston Marathon is not just a race you run.
It is something you become part of.
As a runner, I understand the miles.
The early mornings.
The mental battles no one else sees.
As a photographer, I understand how quickly these moments pass… how easily they’re gone if they’re not preserved.
That’s why I do this.
Not just to show what it looked like…
but to hold onto what it felt like.
I photographed thousands of runners throughout the day.
While I truly tried to capture as many people as possible, I wasn’t able to get everyone.
If you’d like to see if I captured you, you can view the gallery here:
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Boston is strength.
Boston is resilience.
Boston is heart.
And this race… it carries all of it.
I’m just grateful I got to witness it…
and preserve even a small part of it for you.
