Whelp. Three and a half months or so of second year. Despite Thanksgiving break, medical school never stops. I have half a mind, or what’s left after microbiology, to tell it half my mind. Continue reading
From my toddler to medical school days, I can’t remember a time when my Thanksgiving dinner mirrored the normal American affair. Yesterday, this year turned out the same.
Where did we go wrong? Continue reading
Oops. Just said the A word. Some of us second years can’t get enough dissection, too much for which to be grateful. Wanna dive T1-T5 deep into thankfulness with me?
Hold your breath. Continue reading
I did what every triathlete website and beginner advice column warned against–started front and center, middle of the swimming pack.
My excitement over the not-too-hot-not-too-cold, partly sunny skies had distracted my thoughts. And sights of odd helmets and bikes with fancy clips swirled with the new faces smiling from slick wet suits. With my feet in a lake and cool numbers marked on my calves, any sort of strategic thinking was washed away. I was alive. The seventy degree water told me so.
Sometimes people lose sight of themselves as they enter this cult known as tennis. Take my sixteen-year old brother. Western and Southern Open. Ran ahead of everyone, unwilling to miss any form of play that day. Rule number one of the whole thing–watch each stroke, mentally perform volleys, footwork, footwork!
Secondly, gawkers must sport preppy attire. Some went all out and donned their favorite players’ brands while others simply paired high socks with an everyday look. If you have a collar, pop it. If Federer practices on the warm-up court, pull out your iphone. If you are Federer, play while your tennis star wife cheers courtside. If you are his wife, show off your glitzy, ginormous watch.
Asheville, NC, transformed my family into a bunch of hipsters. At least for one night. Instead of driving straight through, we took a detour through this southern gem. Lots of dogs walking about, local shops, businesses boasting their eco-friendly or vegan or sustainable ways in every way. From googling you-know-you’re-a-hipster-when, I think my fam got pretty close.
“New York, New York!” smacks my ears as I enter the condo. A chorus of Frank Sinatra wanna-be’s sit at the kitchen table: Grandma, Grandpa, Dad. Shaking my head, I nibble on my pre-run snack before sprinting out just as my grandmother dances toward and serenades my grandfather whose sun-burn is the only thing redder then his blushing face.