Just before noon on Monday, I was out and about in downtown Redmond, working on a story.

Before heading back to the office, I stopped by MOD Pizza to grab some lunch. As I entered the restaurant, I received a few text messages. I planned to order my food and then check them. But then my phone started ringing.

The time was 12:22 p.m.

It was a friend from Yakima and the first thing she asked was whether my sister was OK. Not sure what was going on since she’s never met my sister, I asked what she meant.

That’s when I learned about the explosions at the Boston Marathon.

A race my sister was participating in for the second time. A race my parents flew to Boston for to support her.

I quickly ended the conversation and then checked my phone. The two text messages were from my cousin and her husband, asking about my sister and parents. I also saw that I had a missed call and voicemail from my dad at 12:05 p.m., 15 minutes after the blasts. My dad’s voice entered my ear, telling me that someone had set off bombs at the marathon, that he and my mom were OK and they were in the Boston Public Library. There was no news about my sister.

I called my dad back, only to get his voicemail. I left him a message and proceeded to call my sister. Logically, I knew she wouldn’t have had her phone on her while she was running, but I called all the same. I received an automated message saying her phone was out of service so I couldn’t even leave a message. I hung up and texted her, telling her to call me.

I called my mom’s phone and received no answer. Finally, my dad called me back at 12:31 p.m. It seemed closer to an eternity than the nine minutes it really was. My mom urged me to try to get a hold of my sister and tell her to get somewhere warm since she was in her racing gear and it wasn’t too warm of a day. I hung up and texted my sister again.

At some point, I went back into MOD and ordered. I’m not sure why since I’d lost my appetite and all I wanted to do was get back to the office to see what had happened. As I waited impatiently and anxiously for my food, I let my cousin, her husband and my friend from Yakima know my parents were OK but I was still waiting for news about my sister. They texted back, asking me to keep them updated. It was crazy to realize just that morning, I’d been receiving text updates from the Boston Marathon on my sister’s progress in the race. Now I was waiting for a different type of update.

My pizza finally arrived and I headed back to work. The drive from Bella Bottega to our office was less than four blocks, but I couldn’t get back fast enough. I cried the whole way back.

I logged on to my email and found messages from my sister’s coworker and her boss, both urging me to call them. My sister, who works only a few blocks from the Boston Marathon finish line, was at her office and she was OK. I called at 12:50 p.m.

Although only half an hour passed from the time I learned about the explosions to when I was able to speak with my sister, it was the worst, most terrifying half hour I’d ever experienced. That type of panic, fear and uncertainty is something I would never wish on anyone.

My sister told me she was about half a mile away from the finish line when she saw smoke ahead of her. At that point, officials stopped the race and she walked to her office. Our conversation was cut short as our parents had called her coworker’s cell phone.

Eventually, my parents as well as my aunt and uncle — who were also at the race to support my sister — joined my sister at her office. Everyone was OK.

And while I knew my family was lucky to come out of this experience unscathed and just a bit shaken, I didn’t realize how lucky we were until I spoke with my dad a little while later.

From what he’d initially told me, I knew my parents had been pretty close to the explosions. What I didn’t know was that they were across the street from the first blast in the finish line area.

You can’t get into this area without VIP passes and my sister was able to snag a pair for them. My dad said this area doesn’t open until 2 p.m. so they weren’t even there for an hour before the explosions.

“I was on the first step (of the bleachers across the street)…right in front of that first bomb,” he told me.

After the second blast, which was less than two blocks away, my dad said he grabbed my mom and ran. My parents, who were standing among the crowd to cheer on the runners and take pictures of my sister as she crossed the finish line, were now running in search of safety.

As if learning this wasn’t bad enough, my dad told me that along the course, my sister and her running partner took a short bathroom break, which slowed them down a bit. If it weren’t for that bathroom break, my sister and her friend could have easily been around the finish line when the first bomb exploded.

“It’s just so lucky,” my dad said about their minor delay.

I couldn’t agree more.