I remember watching the Dodgers win the 1988 World Series. Orel Hershiser was at the mound and when he threw the final strike he knelt down and prayed seconds before his team victoriously rushed out onto the field. I was a kid (ok a pre-teen) at the time and the moment looked so magical it made me want to climb into the TV and jump on their backs and cheer. I wanted to be part of it, part of the excitement and joy that came with being on a winning team.

At that time I had already tried playing soccer, and although I was terrified of the ball and not very coordinated, I loved putting on the uniform. I loved the shin guards and cleats and walking around in my red and white polyester shorts and shirt. I was number 10 and my team was called the Kicking Candy Canes. I was a horrible player. I was so nervous before every game and I used to just hope that the ball wouldn’t come my way because I knew I wouldn’t know what to do with it. However, it was worth it because when the game was over I would proudly where my uniform for the rest of the day. I loved being asked by strangers “oh did you have a soccer game today?” “Yes,” I would proudly say. “I play for the Kicking Candy Canes.”

I hadn’t thought too much about my days of soccer until recently when my sister and I went running at Aviation Track, where several soccer games are held each weekend on the fields which the track surrounds. To be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about what I saw at those fields. This was no AYSO, this was in fact the Mercedes Benz of soccer. These girls, who all could have been Kids GAP models had the best looking uniforms I have ever seen, we are talking college-level material here. But the thing that really almost caused me to choke on my water were the backpacks; each eight to ten-year-old player had her own Nike black backpack with her last name and jersey number on it. “Wow,” I said to my sister upon seeing the backpacks lined up in a row “That’s incredible. I mean when I was a kid I used to roll up to the field carrying my stuff in a Vons grocery sack.”

My sister and I ran around the track 32 times, not because we love running or enjoy watching kids soccer, but because we are a team and this was our practice. Our big game will be held March 21 where we will join 25,000 other people in the Los Angeles Marathon.

My sister as well as I, was also never an athlete, but there is no one who deserves to have World Series moment more than she does.

When she initially asked me to train and run it with her I have to admit I wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea. But then I pictured how awesome it would be to be by her side after she threw the final pitch.

As we were running our last lap she reminded me that it was the first time she had ever run eight miles. “I can’t believe I just did that,” she said. We hugged and I told her I was proud of her. Just then on the soccer field one of the girls scored the winning goal and the team erupted with joy.

“I know you want to run out there with them,” my sister said jokingly.”

“Na, it’s okay I’m going wait for our game day,” I said. “But I wouldn’t mind having one of those fancy backpacks.”