The Final Race…
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The street was our stadium, the family our roaring crowd, and the stakes way bigger than bragging rights. After years of running a father–son 40-yard dash, we lined up on Thanksgiving with phones ready, smack flying, and a promise to finally capture the truth. Three steps in, I was shifting to third gear, feeling the wind, and checking my left when something clipped my leg. Cue the tumble: hand, elbow, shoulder, roll. He crossed the line, threw up his arms, and hit a celebration while I tried to peel myself off the cement.
I break down the whole moment frame by frame, how we…
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