A couple things: 1. If you are squeamish, or simply don’t like hearing stories about, well, vomit … turn back now. If you proceed, you are absolutely not permitted to complain about the content (so to speak) that you are about to encounter.
You’ve been warned.
And 2. You’ll thank me later for opting not to publish photos with this particular entry.
Still with me? Then, let’s proceed.
I was hoping to do something interesting for the three-quarters-of-the-way-to-a-million milestone, but instead …
Add double-italics, triple-bold, six underlines and about 75 exclamation points to that last paragraph, and you’re still not even close to the intensity and decibel level with which I throw up.
Listen … I suggested that you consider not reading, way up at the top. Remember?
From the beginning of this project, five hundred twenty-something days ago, I knew that I would need a few things to go in my favor, the most important of which was good health. Remarkably (at least to me), the health had been absolutely perfect … until this.
The Beautiful Heth was home a day from work on Monday with a stomach bug of some kind, and then on Wednesday, Mason got it bad … emergency room bad. Thursday overnight, it was Rosie, who promptly handed it over to Noah on Friday. Let’s just say, it was a record week for Cummings family laundry.
Then Saturday came along, and we thought we were clear. But after dinner, I started feeling a little lightheaded, and … madness overnight.
Now, let’s just get one thing on the table right now. Even when it’s not really that bad, I’m a complete infant when I get sick. You’d typically find me cuddled up in the fetal position, softly moaning. So you can imagine what it’s like when I’m confronted with a real, big-boy flu. It’s a disaster.
At one point … You know what? I just reconsidered. I’m not even going to tell that particular part of the story.
Suffice to say it was a long, long night … and, as I may have mentioned, it was extremely loud. LIke, the kind of loud where if I was in the New Hampshire state Senate and we had a voice vote, and the 23 other Senators were in favor and I was opposed, and I had to voice my opposition by getting sick, there would be some question as to which side carried the day … until, of course, we took a ballot vote.
If you were watching a Red Sox game on TV, and Youk hit a walk-off homer in the bottom of the ninth and I got sick in the bleachers, you and Jerry Remy would wonder aloud about that sound muffling all the cheers.
If I were buried in an avalanche on Mount Washington and got sick, I would be found.
It’s kinda like yelling but louder, and fortunately, the kids find it kind of amusing.
So anyway, the plans to revisit my childhood home in Newport and make the final few to 750,000 on the backyard hoop there were set aside, as were plans to join the Lorio family for a combined Carly/Reagan/Brendan birthday party Sunday afternoon. Bummer.
Fortunately, by Sunday evening I was out of the fetal position and at the driveway foul line for 993 made free throws, and a total of 750,000 down, 250,000 to go to 1 million.
As to Saturday night … I apologize if I woke any of you up.
For more on Hoops For Heroes, with a goal of 1 million made foul shots and $1 million raised for the Intrepid Fallen Heroes Fund, visit www.hoopsforheroes.com or contact Dave Cummings at 603-554-7855.