again. This time, I did it with my mother. The fa

VANCOUVER - Will Johnson got mad — and then he helped his team get even. Johnson scored on a penalty kick and earned an assist as the short-handed Portland Timbers came back to earn a 2-2 draw with the Vancouver Whitecaps on Saturday in Major League Soccer action. Johnsons heroics occurred after his foul enabled Vancouver to take a 1-0 lead into the dressing room at halftime. The 26-year-old Toronto native felt extra motivation after his early miscue. "Im the kind of person (if) you punch me in the face, Im not going anywhere," said Johnson, who also plays for Canadas national team. "Im going to punch back." Second-half substitute Jose Valencias goal in the 84th minute gave the Timbers (4-1-7) the draw and extended their unbeaten strike to 10 games. "This team continues to do things that amaze me," said Portland coach Caleb Porter. "Weve gone 10 games without a loss, and throughout those 10 games weve come from behind, in some games two goals, and this is just another example of what this team is made of." The tying marker came while Portland was playing with 10 men due to Mamadou Dansos ejection only three minutes earler. Camilo led Vancouver with a goal and an assist, while Gershon Koffie also scored for the Whitecaps (3-4-4), who remain unbeaten at home (3-0-3). Vancouver has never beaten Portland in six MLS games. "We did very well," said Koffie. "The chances we had, we took our chances. But its a disappointing result for us, that we did not get three points." Valencia scored after receiving a long, high lob from Johnson. The ball appeared to touch Valencias arm and he and Vancouver defender Brad Rusin went up for it, but play was allowed to continue and Valencia tucked a short shot inside the near post. "The players really deserved to win it," said Rennie after his clubs third game in seven days. "They put in a fantastic effort this week." Continuing a trend of recent games, he juggled his lineup and made some surprising moves. In the most notable one, Camilo, who has been utilized mainly as a midfielder, played as a lone striker. The move paid off as Camilo was a scoring threat and also generated a number of chances. Rennie said he inserted Camilo because he was fresh after resting in Montreal. "He is the top scorer in the clubs history, and he showed us why tonight," said Rennie. The Brazilian fired just wide on a free kick from about 35 yards out in the 23rd minute, taking the shot after Russell Teibert was fouled on the right flank. But Camilo made no mistake a minute later as he curled a shot high into the corner of the net from about 20 yards. The free kick resulted after Camilo himself was fouled by Johnson, who received a yellow card for the infraction. "It wasnt a great play," said Johnson. "He wasnt looking to shoot or try and do anything. He was looking for the foul. Ill have to see it again (on video), but a player with my experience should know better and know that hes looking for a foul because hes deadly on free kicks. "But I take my hat off to him. Thats a world-class free kick." In the 52nd minute, Johnson made up for his miscue as he fired in a penalty kick to create a 1-1 tie. The spot kick resulted after Johnsons shot hit Vancouver defender Andy OBriens arm and the Caps were called for a hand ball. But Koffie put the hosts ahead just two minutes later as Camilo, grappling with two defenders in the Portland box, sent the ball back to him and he curled in a high shot. Danso received a straight red card after he and Camilo tangled legs while rushing for a loose ball deep in the Portland zone. But the short-handed situation did not hurt the Timbers for long as Valencia emerged the hero for the visitors. Rennie said Dansos ejection was the turning point in the entertaining contest. "We relaxed a little bit, and the goal came right after that," said Rennie. "I think we could have dealt with that better." Vancouver goalkeeper Brad Knighton, who made his first MLS start of the season, said the Caps felt that they should have had three points instead of one. "One long ball right down the middle of the field beats us," he said. "We cant let the referee make the decisions for us. We need to take care of business." Notes: The Timbers lost forward Darlington Nagbe in the first half after he was injured in a sequence in which Portlands Diego Valeri delivered a hard tackle on Vancouvers Young-Pyo Lee. Porter said Nagbe "tweaked" his ankle, but the coach did not know how long he could be out. ... Whitecaps striker Darren Mattocks was rendered a second-half substitute after scoring in Vancouvers last MLS game, and defender Alain Rochat, a perennial starter, subbed in as a midfielder, a position he also played in Montreal. ... The game served as part of an in-season competition, the Cascadia Cup, between Vancouver, Portland and the Seattle Sounders. ... Gambian centre back Pa-Modou Kah dressed for his first game with Portland after signing earlier this week. He is expected to see action soon. The Timbers have a shortage at centre back as David Horst and Mikael Silvestre battle knee injuries that are expected to keep them out six to nine months. The Timbers also released Colombian centre back Hanyer Mosquera after he returned to his homeland. ... Vancouver striker Kenny Miller (hamstring) and midfielder Daigo Kobayashi remained out with injuries. White Air Max 2018 On Sale . Louis Cardinals. Victorino is batting sixth and playing right field after missing two games because of back tightness. Grey Air Max 2018 . Pence singled in the winning run with no outs in the ninth inning to give the Giants a 7-6 victory over the San Diego Padres on Sunday. http://www.wholesaleairmaxsale.com/ . World champions Tatiana Volosozhar and Maxim Trankov of Russia won the gold medal with 237.71 points, Moore-Towers and Moscovitch followed at 208.45 and Ksenia Stolbova and Fedor Klimov of Russia were third at 187. Mens Air Max 2018 Grey .C. -- Calgarys Kevin Koe did it the hard way again. Wholesale Air Max 2018 Free Shipping . McCarthy, a player who played some games in the second tier for Wigan at the start of this season, would go on to shine inside Evertons midfield, outplaying the man he was brought in to replace, on one of the grandest stages in English football. On Saturday, it was fitting that Manchester Uniteds most recent dagger into the chest was delivered by Frenchman Yohan Cabaye, a wonderfully gifted central midfielder who put on an outstanding effort for Newcastle at Old Trafford. In October, espnWs weekly essay series will focus on heroes.A runner knows her city: Block by block, she knows where the uptick of a curb tricks her feet, where the slow, mean slope of a final hill can make her lungs heavy.This is how I learned Memphis. Late summer mornings, I ran through our gated neighborhood down a narrow road lined on one side by chain-link and on the other by extraordinary hydrangeas peering atop high, solid wood fences. I traveled patiently, alone, to the crosswalk at the intersection of Poplar and Lafayette, then crossed to a long lawn of yellow grass and the track at East High, a monolith public school I have never set foot in. I looped circle after circle around the black kids playing football, practicing marching band, then weaved my way back through the high fences to home.That was 15 years ago.I learned to run in heat. Salt streaked down our foreheads, we met at closing bell, a row of us girls on a row of houses, feet tottering on the curb. We started with a 2-miler. Our careful line of small, white girls moved in steady puffing breaths down the city blocks. The adults gave us maps, small laminated things that could be held in our hands while we ran, winding the almost-suburbs of east Memphis, continuous loops around our beautiful school, its Bible Belt spiritualism.We could hold it ourselves, our pathway through a city they told us at any wrong turn could be dark. Black.The way we lived in Memphis was on purpose. A white life, something evangelical and wonderful for us -- it is daily decided on. We liked our class differences right between our fingers: in our clothing, our food, our cars, our houses, our booze. New money brought a new God, and year by year we were cleaner and brighter.The woman who taught us French was brought up in Memphis by a mother from New Orleans. White, working-class Catholic Memphians, a small but stalwart clan, their stony churches and thronging, imperfect gardens. Her name was Nanette.In the fall of 2002, Memphis opened its first half-marathon, and Nanette took it upon herself to lead a group of us. For the first time, we had to leave the knot of well-kept residential lanes around our campus for some real distance. We ran through the Tennessee wilderness outside of town at Shelby Farms. We ran through midtown, red and gold leaves making slick the cypress-covered paths of Overton Park. Through downtown, its empty blocks and dead neon signs, crossing Beale Street to where the city opens into the delta, the Mississippi brown and endless, our horizon.After that first race, Nanette and I went on to do New Orleans, this time without the army of girls accompanying us. With my Northern parents and my godlessness, I was no ones favorite in those years. Except hers. Nanette taught me to love these Souths, her homes, this brassy, sturdy woman who ran through, with me by her side.ddddddddddddNanette taught me how to use my body to love a city, to find home by the unfailing rhythm of feet on ground.In the fall of 2005 when we found out she had cancer, the letters came in enormous drifts. When I left school in the afternoons to see her, first at the hospital and then at home, fresh piles came in daily, students from decades past, younger students who hoped to get into her class in the years to come, neighbors, churchgoers, acquaintances.When we buried her one February morning, her South and her God were never more evident. Her priest swung his incense down the stone cathedral aisle, its waft something old. After decades of teaching us and praying to the bright white vaults of our Protestant haven, this time we came to her, droves of us in our pressed clothing, soft hair falling right. Girls she taught. Girls she led on runs.In the days and months that followed her death, my mailboxes too filled up. High, threatening piles of unread emails, card stock I left scattered on the shelves of the East Los Angeles apartment I never cleaned. I opened none of them, turned over no postcards. I was afraid to see the words of prayer of the women I grew up with, ran with. The sadness and the God that belonged to them did not belong to me. The sharp scent of citrus and rind came through my second-story porch windows, my overgrown lemon tree crawling upward through that spring, summer, and then the next fall.I waited 12 years to run the Memphis St. Jude Half Marathon again. This time, I did it with my mother. The faces of my high school classmates and teachers passed by me in uncanny blurs. This marathon was high-tech, massive in scale, a beautiful winding way through Memphis old residential gardens and its rapidly gentrifying downtown blocks. Well-designed, pressure-washed sidewalks and clever storefronts dislodge me from what I knew of that place.When I dont sleep, I conjecture about the somewhere else, as being a child down there taught me to do. What might have happened if it hadnt been that school, that life. That river, that town. Would she have died, and young? Would she have had those years of illness? Moll, she would often say, my oily cafeteria lunch in front of me, her empty classroom, the sounds of girls drifting along the walkway outside. Dont be in the business of comparing one life to another. She twirled in her desk chair, an old, mashed pillow underneath her. No one ever wins.Today on the day that I am writing this and some other day when you are reading this, a woman will run in Memphis. I do not know her. I do not know where she goes, where shes running to. ' ' '