That was one hell of an almost-comeback wasn’t it? Almost separated my shoulder from fist-pumping so hard every time Kobe nailed a clutch shot. Then at the end, Horry’s three-pointer rattled right out of the bucket. Damn you Robert. The way you’ve been (non)playing this postseason, all you were really good for was your trademark game-winning shot – and you couldn’t even do that. The man has clearly lost his mojo.
With Sunday being Mother’s Day and Saturday being the Revlon Run/Walk, this past weekend was all about estrogen.
The Revlon Run/Walk is only three miles (or as you Canadians call it, 5K), so the most grueling parts of the event are waking up and finding decent parking.
Had to wake my ass up at 6 am. It’d be easier waking the dead. Only milkmen and lumberjacks are supposed to get up this early.
Is waking up really that painful, or does sleep really feel that good?
Last year there were 60,000 participants at the Revlon Run/Walk. This year I’d say it seemed closer to 80,000. And 79,900 of them came pouring in from the east via the 110 exit. Me, I came in from the north via the 10, hidden from the sadistic eyes of the evil parking gods. So while I managed to get there in 15 minutes, my two sisters and brother-in-law took over two fricking hours. They made the mistake of taking the 110 with all the other lemmings. Luckily time flies when you’re semi-conscious.
The event itself was a rewarding one. When my baby sister was overcoming cancer, I sensed that she often felt singled out, alone in her suffering. To walk inside an ocean of people united in their support for cancer patients and survivors, she was clearly so happy to be there. And hey, a free cap too.
The whole morning, you’d find yourself walking next to someone with a placard pinned to his or her shirt that stated “In memory of…” or “In support of...” Quite often you’d see people wearing more than one placard. One middle-aged man in front of me had two:
“In memory of my mother”
“In support of my sister”
You hear how cancer’s often hereditary, passed down from generation to generation like a hidden curse; but it never really struck me as it did that very moment. Walking next to me, my middle sister wiped her eyes.
This past Sunday will go down in history as one of the best Mother’s Days ever, if not the best. Normally there’s an enormous amount of pressure on us kids, especially because it tends to fall around our mom’s birthday. Sometimes we crumble under the pressure, but not this time. Won’t bore you with the details, but all the right components fell into place beautifully, like the perfect sandwich, and we nailed it baby. Unlike that mojo-less Horry.
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