Posted by Rebecca
The previous evening we found our hotel, but not before a bit of a detour. Liam had entered the address on the GPS, but selected Boston instead of Marlborough as the city. So at midnight, we found ourselves in a dark, deserted residential neighborhood.
“Turn left,” the GPS commanded, instructing us down a dead-end street.
“Turn right,” then led us down a back alley.
“Destination on right.” Liam called dibs on the tarp, and I call dibs on the old dumpy trailer. But Uncle Vern wasn’t convinced this backyard was the Holiday Inn. Subsequently, Liam was fired from GPS duty. Auntie Doreen looked at the device like it was some ancient cuneiform or Egyptian hieroglyphics, and it was decided that she probably wasn’t up for the task. So I was crowned the official GPS captain. A job that was challenging (surrounded by a car full of silly, watchful critics ready to pounce) yet rewarding (when I actually found the location and was the hero of the moment).
Saturday morning began with breakfast at a local diner. The staff was excited to hear that Liam would be running in the marathon, and promised to watch for him on Marathon Monday. Next we hit up a barber shop so Liam could ditch his locks before the race.
After that, Starbucks. Liam complained the whole way, declaring that he was against Starbucks and all it stood for (although we were unable to get any further explanation of what exactly it was that he claims it stands for). However he had to admit my green tea was, “quite nice.” I’m glad I went with the venti, because I was forced to share.
Next, we made our way to the Seaport World Trade Center in the city, and the sight of the Marathon Expo. Liam picked up his number, 3402, and other race goodies, then went for a short run. Uncle Vern and I strolled around the area to take some pictures.
We finished the day with an amazing fresh seafood dinner, arguments over who ordered the best meal, and lots of laughs.