Sunderland’s Sara Smiarowski was taking pictures with her 2-month-old daughter and husband, holding her medal with pride at the end of the 117th Boston Marathon. Then, she heard a loud boom.

“I just thought it was fireworks for Patriots’ Day,” Smiarowski said.

That would have made sense. After all, the marathon is a day of celebration in Boston, one where months of training, hard work and dedication are put on display as athletes put their bodies through the 26.2-mile course that runs from Hopkinton to Copley Square while hundreds of thousands line the streets to cheer them on.

Once Smiarowski heard the sirens and saw the number of emergency vehicles descending on the finish line, she knew it wasn’t fireworks.

What she heard on April 15, 2013, were the two bombs that detonated on Boylston Street, the closing stretch of the marathon. Thankfully for Smiarowski and her family, they were far away from the blast and unharmed.

Many weren’t. Eight-year-old Martin Richard, 23-year-old Lingzi Lu and 29-year-old Krystle Campbell were killed while 281 others were injured, 17 losing limbs.

“I was super fortunate,” Smiarowski said. “I was one of the lucky ones.”

It’s said that time heals all wounds. When the 127th Boston Marathon gets underway on Monday, it’ll feel like the same old marathon for most, where some of the top runners from around the globe converge in Boston for one of the world’s most famous and prestigious road races.

For those who were there during that tragedy 10 years ago, however, the memories of that day don’t fade away quite as easily.

Pierre Rouzier, a doctor from Amherst who retired last year after serving for 25 years as team physician for UMass Athletics and staff physician at University Health Services, was on the front lines during the bombings.

Just 25 yards from the finish line working the triage, Rouzier heard the two explosions. While everyone ran for safety, Rouzier texted his wife to let her know what had happened, asked her to say a prayer and ran to the bomb site. He saw the horrors of what had happened, jumping over severed limbs to help out the injured in any way he could.

“I knew what people needed, which was immediate care,” Rouzier said. “I had to stop the bleeding and make sure nobody bleeds to death. Belts became tourniquets to try to stop the bleeding.”

With two bombs having already gone off in the vicinity, Rouzier ran into action knowing he may be putting himself in danger, though that wasn’t going to stop him from helping the wounded.

“We didn’t know if there were snipers sitting on rooftops or if another bomb was going to go off,” Rouzier said. “Nobody knew what was going to happen. It was kind of a blur.”

Those that know Rouzier said that’s just the type of person he is.

“That’s not the doctor in him that made him stay out there helping people,” said Scott Nielson, a close friend of Rouzier’s. “That’s just who Pierre is. He couldn’t help but be impacted by the suffering of those people.”

Rouzier stayed to help until the final person was loaded into an ambulance. When the ambulance departed, Rouzier found himself alone on Boylston Street. It was only then when he left the scene.

“I don’t care if I get killed while helping someone,” Rouzier said. “The woman I was working on was the last one to be transported into an ambulance. I looked around and was the only one there. Everyone else was gone. It smelled like blood, burnt clothes and burnt flesh. All the debris from the bomb was on the ground. The bomb squad came up and made an announcement that they thought there might be another backpack and that I needed to evacuate. I’m not going to get blown up not helping anyone but I wasn’t leaving until everyone was cared for.”

It took time for Rouzier to heal from what he had seen and been through. Therapy helped, but receiving messages from UMass students he had known, telling him they were thinking about him, was a big part of the healing process.

It’s not always easy, though, and healing takes time. That didn’t stop Rouzier from showing up to the 2014 Boston Marathon one year later, where he worked in the same spot ready to help runners however they needed.

“Talking to friends and people and sharing what happened has helped,” Rouzier said. “The one-year anniversary was the best in terms of experiencing getting back on the horse, going and volunteering at the marathon again. We had a guy come to our tent and he said he just wanted to see the EMTs to thank them. That was part of the healing process from him. Nine years ago everyone was finding closure in their own way.”

Rouzier has just one regret from that day, and it’s something he says he does with every patient he sees.

“The only thing I’d do over — and I’m so good at this any other time — is giving them my name, getting their name and making sure I know how they’re doing and following up with them,” Rouzier said. “It was just so frenetic. You’re looking over your shoulder, seeing if a wheelchair or any sort of help is coming. You’re also worried about another bomb. I didn’t know who I was helping and eventually I just had to give up trying to track them down.”

Rouzier hasn’t missed a marathon since, and he’ll be there Monday for the 127th running of the race.

“Ask me where I’ll be on the third Monday of April in 2027 and I’ll tell you I’ll be at the Boston Marathon,” he said.

Florence’s John Stifler was covering the marathon that day for New England Runner and the Daily Hampshire Gazette with his daughter, Julia. Stifler was in the press room inside the Copley Plaza Hotel getting to work while his daughter was on the bleachers near the finish line, searching for any local runners who might happen to cross.

Stifler didn’t hear the bombs go off, and he didn’t know exactly what had happened, but word got around quickly that there had been a series of explosions near the finish line.

He quickly looked to his phone to call his daughter, but cell service was down. He found a landline, dialed Julia’s number and she picked up right away, letting him know she had gotten out of danger and was on foot heading toward Cambridge.

“Just remembering that moment makes me sick,” Stifler said. “I was 10 seconds away from going into a full-blown panic in that moment. Thankfully I found that landline and she picked up right away. Thank God for that landline and thank God she wasn’t hurt.”

South Deerfield’s Amy Rusiecki had been running the Boston Marathon since 2010, and after completing the course in 2013, was getting ready to celebrate with a friend at a bar in Framingham.

Rusiecki — who finished the race about 30 minutes before the explosions — was far enough away and didn’t hear them, but vividly remembers the sounds of the sirens blaring.

“Every police, fire and emergency service vehicle was pulling out of the stations at the same time,” Rusiecki said. “I thought it was odd. They have ambulances and all that at the finish line, why are they all responding at the same time?”

Both she and her friend were OK, but the day of celebration with her friend in Framingham quickly turned into one of shock and sadness once they saw what had happened on TV.

“We just sat there and drank a beer in silence and shock watching the TV,” Rusiecki said. “Usually you walk into the bar after and you’re hobbling from the race and everyone is asking if you just ran the marathon. It’s a joyous thing and a great celebration. It just made you realize how irrelevant what you just did was.”

South Deerfield native Lauren Galenski also ran the marathon that day, but luckily had finished and was away from the finish line when the explosions happened. She was planning to meet up with friends and family before heading to a bar when she heard the bombs go off.

“It sounded like a construction vehicle dumping something,” Galenski said. “Then you saw police cars and SWAT vehicles flying down the road. People were just swarming and crossing the road. My uncle actually stopped to try to direct traffic. People were walking by saying all they saw was blood and just looked like they were in complete shock. A policeman finally told us, ‘If you value your life, you’ll get out of this city now.’ We went back to my condo and just watched the news in shock. You didn’t know if you knew anyone who was hurt by this.”

Smiarowski, Rusiecki and Galenski have all ran the marathon since, not being deterred by the events that took place that day.

Rusiecki has done it every year since, and will be back on the course Monday. Outside of the strict security protocols that are now in place, she says the race has returned to normal, though it may have a different feel Monday with it being the 10-year anniversary of the bombing.

“The race the year after the bombing had a sense of pride from runners,” Rusiecki said. “We weren’t going to let a little bit of hate hold us down. We wanted to run to prove that a couple people with so much hate and anger weren’t going to deter us. There was a lot of reflection during the five-year anniversary race. You realize what you’re doing is a silly thing but it’s a joyful celebration of the ability to move, be healthy and be fit.

“The good memories outweigh the bad memories,” she continued. “I’m excited to make another year of memories this year.”

For Smiarowski, reflecting on the 10-year anniversary of the attack hits close to home.

“The boy who died, Martin Richard, was 8 years old,” Smiarowski said. “I have an 8-year-old now. That was the moment that got me really choked up. I’m teaching 18-year-old college kids now and he would have been 18 and could have been one of the students in my class. It’s stuff like that that gets you emotional.”

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