We’ve only attended one other Boston Marathon. In 2017, as we awaited our only child to come flying by on the 23^rd mile of a course packed with hundreds of thousands of people, we thought we had this spectating business down pat. As will surprise no one that knows him, our left-brain offspring had prepared a schedule of split times so we could keep track of him on the course through the regular updates the race provides via text. He cautiously let us know this was a wacky outlier race, not a “racer’s race.” No out and back here (in runner’s parlance, that means a course that loops, so spectators have the pleasure of seeing their runners at least twice on race day without moving spots). Instead, this race starts 26.2 miles outside of Boston and runners set their target for city center. It also has several miles of a steep downhill portion right at the start and for novice Boston runners, this can prove disastrous if one were to go out too fast.

Our son was a novice Boston runner in 2017.

So, as he crossed the half-way mark, we knew he was behind his goal, according to the spreadsheet he prepared for us. Although neither he nor we expected a PR this race (a PR stands for a “Personal Record”), just running well and completing this ultimate goal was something to celebrate.

We weren’t overly worried. He typically (and weirdly) runs faster the second half of a marathon than he does the first. I passed the time making friends in the crowd, who, in true Bostonian spirit, began watching in earnest as my spreadsheet told us all to expect him coming through at any moment. He would be wearing his running team’s red jersey – a ubiquitous color making spotting him extraordinarily difficult. One has only mere seconds to recognize from a distance the gait of their runner, check with each other that the individual is indeed him or her, and then begin cheering before the runner has passed by in the blink of a flipping eye.

As I shout, “Here he comes! Here he comes!” the crowd began chanting, “Andrew! Andrew! Andrew!”

Except that wasn’t Andrew. It would not be Andrew when the next runner came through, either.

Or the next.

Or the next.

As the crowd became bored with cheering for a nonexistent Andrew and began ghosting us to view other flesh and blood runners, we began to worry that something might have happened. We didn’t get the next text update and thought surely he had dropped out, fallen down, became ill or – I’d be lying if I didn’t say it – that a terrorist action might have interrupted his journey. Sadly, and most especially at this race, this is where one’s mind goes in times like these, I tell you.

When the last of the fellow cheerers came up to me an apologetically said some version of, “I have to get home to let my dog out. Tell your son we said congratulations,” I was becoming frantic. He had no phone to call us, of course, but surely, he would asked the medic who was undoubtedly rushing him to Boston Medical if he could borrow one to call his long-suffering mum.

And then, a full seven minutes after his last expected time – a lifetime for racers who fret over a loss of mere seconds – a red jersey crested the horizon at Cleveland Circle on the 23rd mile. As he drew closer to where we were sitting on a high stone fence overlooking the course, he went airborne and lodged himself into the crowd, making his way up to us to plant a kiss on my cheek. “I screwed up. Went out too fast!” he huffed as he quickly made his way back onto the course. Clearly, time was no longer an issue for him. He smiled and waved and toddled slowly toward the finish line. Yep, he blew that hamstring out on mile four. To say we are proud of him for finishing the race is an understatement.

That’s not to say he didn’t obsess about it for months afterward.

So, 2019 was a bit of a redemption run for the boy. And for us. The pressure was on for him, of course, and we tried to tamp down his expectations by keeping an even keel over the weekend, though the build up to the race always raises the level of everyone’s excitement. The cameras, the way the city closes all businesses on race day, the way every retail shop and restaurant have their employees decked in special race day jerseys – all makes for an amazing weekend.

By Sunday, the day before the race, the pre-race ritual began. Here’s a snippet of my social media posts over the course of the next two days:

Things our runner said today that I will never get to say:

“I have to start eating dinner by 5 pm or I won’t be able to get all my calories in.”

“I need between 500 -700 grams of carbohydrates today.”

“I can’t waste my carbs on ice cream since I have to eat a million and a half grams of pasta before 9:30 pm.

“No, I don’t want to go out to dinner because I want to save my legs.”

And on the morning of the big day:

It’s 5 a.m. and the pre-race ritual has begun. 

For him: Oatmeal. Beet juice. Banana.

For us: Coffee. And checking Uber surge rates on repeat.

Rainy and windy outside, so today should be fun. We’ll be the ones in the banana yellow ponchos. Upside, the boy should be able to see us from a mile away. Downside, in this wind, we could take flight.

Bear with us for another couple hours. In the meantime, here are some facts, some taken right from the Boston Marathon website. Many are true, all are true to us.

1. The Boston Marathon is iconic for a reason—it’s both the oldest (dating back to 1897) and the fastest (median time of 3:44) marathon in the country.
2. The highest point on the course (by far) is actually the starting line, at 463 feet above sea level. 
3. The start of the race has a ridiculous downhill trajectory. Novice racers who go out too fast will burn out their quads by Mile 4. Not naming names, but this happened to someone we know two years ago. 2019 is a redemption race for that dude.
4. Temps in 2017 were in the high sixties, a terrible situation for racers who like frigid temps for marathoning. Hopes were dashed that this year would be different when the forecast was changed to reflect once again mid-sixties temps at race time. The rain is a fun addition to the chaos.
5. One racer, #494, is the most dedicated and talented racer in the whole field of 38K runners.
6. 80% of Boston’s population, over 500K spectators, line the course to cheer the runners on. It is craziness from start to finish.
7. Women were officially excluded from the race until 1972. Kathrine Switzer famously entered as “KV Switzer” in 1967 and was nearly stopped by official Jock Semple. Our swift sister dodged his grabby hands and ran on to cross the finish in 4 hours and 20 minutes.
8. Legend has it that one set of helicopter parents got to their viewing spot for this year’s race by 7 a.m. The race starts at 10 a.m. 
9. More than 1,000 media credentials are issued for outlets around the world. Writers, photographers and announcers are handed a cheat sheet with descriptions of the elite runners’ outfits and phonetic pronunciations of their names.
10. Like a beacon in the night, Kenmore Square’s 73-year-old Citgo sign lights the way for tired runners. When racers can see the red triangle, there’s just one mile left in their marathon journey.
    

Sending good vibes up the hill to Andrew up in Hopkinton from our perch here at the 23rd!!!

Also, hurry up, buddy. It’s wet out here.

And so, in the end, the boy ran a 2:40:22. Not his fastest race ever, but an awesome time that he is quite happy with. The weather warmed up quite a bit that day, a thing most racers hate (including ours), but he ran a terrifically thoughtful race while somehow managing consistent split times.

As we say farewell, but not goodbye, to Boston today, one last photo from #Boston2019 taken by Andrew‘s teammate, Carolyn Yang. The photo is a favorite because he’s smiling, something we don’t get to see from our perch at the 23nd mile when he’s grinding to get to the finish line.