One stage down, 4 more to go. Although it's never a good idea to think about how much you have left.
Stage 2 is normally when the heat starts getting to you. However this year we all noticed that there really wasn't a stifling heat going. It was actually fairly pleasant, and although there was some wind going, at that time it was just a breeze that kept the air moving. In short, it looked like the weather may look favorably upon us this year.
Stage 2 is slightly more challenging than stage 1. The climbs start showing up a little more frequently, and at this point you now have to start eating while on the bike. Breakfast (if done correctly) carries you all the way through until the first rest stop, but from here on out you now have to start popping GU. And you also have to pay attention to your hydration as that is starting to get behind as well. In short, you're body is starting to rely on reserves and in order to survive, you'll need to start eating and drinking more frequently than stage 1.
One of the first tests of stage 2 happens quite quickly. Just a few miles in you run into Barlow road. Upon clearing that you happen upon Garfoot, where you pose for your picture. I made it up these 2 without a whole lot of difficulty and for the first time that day I start to get the thought in my head that I may just in fact do this thing this year. All other years, even last year when I was in the best shape I've been in, I started faulturing just a smidget on these early climbs. No doubt now that that was due to the heat. The other years the heat has been nothing more than stifling. The sun beats down, and the humidity is so high that the air is thick with water. Taking a deep breath is about as refreshing as breathing in a sauna. However this year when you breathe in, it does what it's supposed to. It revitalizes you, and the cadence you hammer out on those hills just kind of beat themselves out. I cleared the first 2 major climbs (Mounds Park Road and Barlow/Garfoot) and thumbed my nose at the HHH. My confidence starting going up and with each hill on that second stage, it ratcheted higher and higher. More people were walking on the side of the road, and I plowed (well, however much you plow while doing 3-4mph on a bike) by them. I even managed to pass a few people. And I wasn't redlining or at max suffering. By no means was it easy, and it was far beyond challenging, however I was pulling it off far better than I ever had in the past.
The thought repeated itself in my head again, a little closer to the surface this time, "I may just pull it off this year."
Monday, July 5, 2010
Sunday, July 4, 2010
USA!
Whether or not you agree with the direction things go at times, you still have to appreciate the opportunity to be able to disagree with the direction.
Happy 4th of July all!!
Happy 4th of July all!!
Saturday, July 3, 2010
2010 Horribly Hill Hundreds: Stage 1
It's different the morning of the HHH than any other ride I do. All other rides I'm up and eating and not nervous at all. It's easier to figure out. Compared to the HHH, all other rides are cake walks. As of yet, I haven't done any other ride that comes even close to the difficulty of this beast. With that in mind, the morning was like all the other times. I got up and proceeded to start forcing food down and guzzling fluids. I ninja sneaked around the room gathering stuff up and went over to the corner by the window and tried to calm myself down. Nerves are at an all time high at this time. At around a quarter to 5 I got too antsy and went to walk around the lobby and tool around outside. Once down at the lobby I met up with a handful of other cyclists taking on this ride. We chatted about what we thought was in store, people marveled that this was my 4th time, we wished each other good luck, and we all went back to our prerace routines. I went outside and immediaetly noticed the lack of humidity. Even though it was way early, all other years the humidity was already noticeable by this point.
A little after 5 I went back to the room. I was now so nervous that I was worried about throwing up. Tacking the number to the back of the jersey is when the nerves reach their peak. It's game time. This is it. For the past 7 weeks everything I've done has brought me to this point right now.
Everyone loads up and we drive to the start line. I don't talk much. Elli and I are like that when it comes to events. We're thinking of what we are about to do and don't want to mingle even with each other. So the ride over is mostly silent. Daven points out the tractors on the ride over like he has on all points of the trip and I look back and give him a smile. Once at the start line I start to relax a little bit. We crack some jokes, load water bottle on the bike and gu in our jersey pockets, strap on helmets and walk to the start line. Seeing as though the HHH is not an official race, there is not mass start. You can hang around for the 7am start time if you want, or you can launch early. We decide this year to launch early, so a little after 6:30am, we bid goodbye to our loved ones, clip in to our pedals, and roll away on the road.
If you read my walk through I did about the ride a few months back, you'll remember that the first 6 miles of this ride are quite easy. It's a good warm up. You spin along doing a few small climbs until you get to Mounds Park Road. This is my litmus test for the ride. If I can make it up this climb without putting a foot down I'm gonna have at least a decent ride. So as the climb starts, everyone goes into suffer mode. Ian rides on ahead and I don't see him again for 12 hours. I put my head down and spin along with everyone else. And surprisingly I'm at the top before I realize it. This is how the first stage went for the most part: when the climbs came, I just churned up them. I was kind of worried about my fitness level for this years ride, so when I pulled into the first rest stop feeling relatively unscathed I relaxed a little more because it seemed that my legs showed up just fine. A little bit of food shoved down and some drink and about 15 minutes later I'm clipped in and back on the course for stage 2. I take note that it doesn't seem to be too hot out but that the wind is picking up.
Bring on stage 2!
A little after 5 I went back to the room. I was now so nervous that I was worried about throwing up. Tacking the number to the back of the jersey is when the nerves reach their peak. It's game time. This is it. For the past 7 weeks everything I've done has brought me to this point right now.
Everyone loads up and we drive to the start line. I don't talk much. Elli and I are like that when it comes to events. We're thinking of what we are about to do and don't want to mingle even with each other. So the ride over is mostly silent. Daven points out the tractors on the ride over like he has on all points of the trip and I look back and give him a smile. Once at the start line I start to relax a little bit. We crack some jokes, load water bottle on the bike and gu in our jersey pockets, strap on helmets and walk to the start line. Seeing as though the HHH is not an official race, there is not mass start. You can hang around for the 7am start time if you want, or you can launch early. We decide this year to launch early, so a little after 6:30am, we bid goodbye to our loved ones, clip in to our pedals, and roll away on the road.
If you read my walk through I did about the ride a few months back, you'll remember that the first 6 miles of this ride are quite easy. It's a good warm up. You spin along doing a few small climbs until you get to Mounds Park Road. This is my litmus test for the ride. If I can make it up this climb without putting a foot down I'm gonna have at least a decent ride. So as the climb starts, everyone goes into suffer mode. Ian rides on ahead and I don't see him again for 12 hours. I put my head down and spin along with everyone else. And surprisingly I'm at the top before I realize it. This is how the first stage went for the most part: when the climbs came, I just churned up them. I was kind of worried about my fitness level for this years ride, so when I pulled into the first rest stop feeling relatively unscathed I relaxed a little more because it seemed that my legs showed up just fine. A little bit of food shoved down and some drink and about 15 minutes later I'm clipped in and back on the course for stage 2. I take note that it doesn't seem to be too hot out but that the wind is picking up.
Bring on stage 2!
Thursday, July 1, 2010
2010 Horribly Hilly Hundreds: Preracin'
From July before the ride until the actual ride itself in June the following year, there really isn't a day that goes by that I don't have at least a fleeting thought of the Horribly Hilly Hundreds. It's even worse during that time whenever I'm on a bike. My entire biking career now is centered around this ride. All the centuries and 50 milers and even the time trial workouts are tune ups for the ride. I experiment with different cadences, work on techniques out of the saddle, position in the saddle while climbing, food combinations, water/energy drink ratio, when to go hard, when to back off. You get the idea. Once you do the ride, and if it's something that connects with you, you can never let it go. It's all consuming.
This was my 4th attempt at this ride. The previous 3 years all resulted in failure. Year 1 I pulled myself from the course due to heat exhaustion. Year 2 I failed to train properly and opted for the short course. Year 3 I foolishly tried to keep pace with Ian and that plus the stifling heat caused me to bail on the last stage and shortcut to the final climb. With that in mind, I was unable to completely shut off the doubts in my mind. But that didn't dampen the enthusiasm for the ride in the least.
The week before the ride is my taper week. Basically I go out on low intensity 30 minute rides just to keep the legs spinning and loose. These are not stressful in the least bit and they serve as a way to let your mind start playing all kinds of tricks on you. "Was that a twinge I felt in my quad?", "What's that noise, was that my bike?", "Son of a bitch that chick on that bike is TOTALLY kicking my ass!", "I'm screwed for this ride". I also added up all the training miles that I had for this ride and came up with a number right around 650 miles. Ian then informed me he had double that mileage. Taper week sucks in that you have too much time to think about you and your bike and you psych yourself out.
I also keep a weather vigil up the entire month before. Weather.com probably flags my domain name in it's registry since I'm there so often. Ian and I emailed/texted back and forth for about 3 weeks before the ride. And mother nature was less than cooperative. One day it would predict 85 and sunny, the next 79 with partly cloudy, then rain, then back to high heat, then humidity, then no humidity, than hail, meteor showers, snow, back up to 107, etc...It finally settled at around 80 degrees with a very tolerable 56% humidity level. I remember thinking that this year, finally, may yield desirable riding conditions. "Could it be this year we will actually be able to breathe on the course and not be beaten down by the sun?" I asked Ian. "Perhaps", he replied, "but look at the wind prediction."
16-18mph N-NW winds. Remember that, it will play a factor later in the story.
The fateful Friday finally came. This day rocks. I've taken it off every year so there is no rush to get going. I'm in an awesome mood because it's race weekend. Ian and Jen pull up to the driveway with Kaitlin loaded in the car, Ian and I crack jokes how the other one looks fat and how the other guy is saving his legs so he needs to be carried to his car and what not. The atmosphere is one of excitement and anticipation. Even Jen smiled this year when she noticed that Ian and I had our matching shirts from last year on. The ride looms on the horizon and all we have to do today is drive the 4.5 hours out to Verona WI where we are staying.
Upon making it to the hotel, we drop the wives and kids off and go pick up packets. This year Specialized had a demo going on so we got to see the bike that both of us want. It weighs about as much as both of my water bottles filled. I comment how this would make the ride that much easier. Anyhow, packet pickup also serves as a way to size up the competition. This ride is different than the other ones I do. This being a challenge ride means that most of the riders have a few miles under their belts, and looking around I always feel like a fraud among these people. They have uber nice bikes and deep bronze tan lines. But it also adds to the excitement because I feel that I'm also running with the big dogs and we're all members of some special club.
Once back at the hotel, we decide to go and load up on the calories for tomorrow's event. I make the wise and sensible choice to go with a bacon cheeseburger. I wolf it down, make the comment that I managed to beat Ian at one thing this weekend, and even ate a few slices of Dav's pizza. Apparently nerves aren't affecting my eating yet. Don't worry, that shows up later. Once dinner is done we walk back to the hotel and the two families go their separate ways for a night of good sleep and prepare for early rising. We get Dav put to sleep, I set the alarm for 4am, and try to will myself to sleep. Will this be the year I finally make it? Did I ride enough? Did I train smart enough? Am I gonna go out too fast?
As the cliche goes, time will tell, and although it felt like forever before I fell asleep, 4am Saturday morning came awfully fast.
This was my 4th attempt at this ride. The previous 3 years all resulted in failure. Year 1 I pulled myself from the course due to heat exhaustion. Year 2 I failed to train properly and opted for the short course. Year 3 I foolishly tried to keep pace with Ian and that plus the stifling heat caused me to bail on the last stage and shortcut to the final climb. With that in mind, I was unable to completely shut off the doubts in my mind. But that didn't dampen the enthusiasm for the ride in the least.
The week before the ride is my taper week. Basically I go out on low intensity 30 minute rides just to keep the legs spinning and loose. These are not stressful in the least bit and they serve as a way to let your mind start playing all kinds of tricks on you. "Was that a twinge I felt in my quad?", "What's that noise, was that my bike?", "Son of a bitch that chick on that bike is TOTALLY kicking my ass!", "I'm screwed for this ride". I also added up all the training miles that I had for this ride and came up with a number right around 650 miles. Ian then informed me he had double that mileage. Taper week sucks in that you have too much time to think about you and your bike and you psych yourself out.
I also keep a weather vigil up the entire month before. Weather.com probably flags my domain name in it's registry since I'm there so often. Ian and I emailed/texted back and forth for about 3 weeks before the ride. And mother nature was less than cooperative. One day it would predict 85 and sunny, the next 79 with partly cloudy, then rain, then back to high heat, then humidity, then no humidity, than hail, meteor showers, snow, back up to 107, etc...It finally settled at around 80 degrees with a very tolerable 56% humidity level. I remember thinking that this year, finally, may yield desirable riding conditions. "Could it be this year we will actually be able to breathe on the course and not be beaten down by the sun?" I asked Ian. "Perhaps", he replied, "but look at the wind prediction."
16-18mph N-NW winds. Remember that, it will play a factor later in the story.
The fateful Friday finally came. This day rocks. I've taken it off every year so there is no rush to get going. I'm in an awesome mood because it's race weekend. Ian and Jen pull up to the driveway with Kaitlin loaded in the car, Ian and I crack jokes how the other one looks fat and how the other guy is saving his legs so he needs to be carried to his car and what not. The atmosphere is one of excitement and anticipation. Even Jen smiled this year when she noticed that Ian and I had our matching shirts from last year on. The ride looms on the horizon and all we have to do today is drive the 4.5 hours out to Verona WI where we are staying.
Upon making it to the hotel, we drop the wives and kids off and go pick up packets. This year Specialized had a demo going on so we got to see the bike that both of us want. It weighs about as much as both of my water bottles filled. I comment how this would make the ride that much easier. Anyhow, packet pickup also serves as a way to size up the competition. This ride is different than the other ones I do. This being a challenge ride means that most of the riders have a few miles under their belts, and looking around I always feel like a fraud among these people. They have uber nice bikes and deep bronze tan lines. But it also adds to the excitement because I feel that I'm also running with the big dogs and we're all members of some special club.
Once back at the hotel, we decide to go and load up on the calories for tomorrow's event. I make the wise and sensible choice to go with a bacon cheeseburger. I wolf it down, make the comment that I managed to beat Ian at one thing this weekend, and even ate a few slices of Dav's pizza. Apparently nerves aren't affecting my eating yet. Don't worry, that shows up later. Once dinner is done we walk back to the hotel and the two families go their separate ways for a night of good sleep and prepare for early rising. We get Dav put to sleep, I set the alarm for 4am, and try to will myself to sleep. Will this be the year I finally make it? Did I ride enough? Did I train smart enough? Am I gonna go out too fast?
As the cliche goes, time will tell, and although it felt like forever before I fell asleep, 4am Saturday morning came awfully fast.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
The 5 stages of pancake eating (according to Daven)
Daven enjoys pancakes. No, that's an understatement. Daven LOVES pancakes. That still doesn't do it justice. If there were no pancakes, there would be no Daven. The loss would be too great for him and he wouldn't be able to go on. But watching him eat (i.e. inhale) the pancakes is only part of the show. There are distinct stages that we go through when it is pancake day. I'll review each of those now.
Stage 1: Excitement-- Usually pancake day happens on the weekend when both Elli and I are home with Dav. Lately this has been harder and less frequent, so we've resorted to just making pancakes on the weekend whenever one of us has the time and nothing planned. When you announce to Daven that it's pancake day, you are rewarded with a shout of "Pancakes!" and then having him run frantically around the kitchen and the rest of the house squealing excitedly. You are now on the clock and you'd better get moving with the making and cooking of those hotcakes.
Stage 2: Anger-- No matter how fast you mix the flour and the milk with the eggs and brown sugar, it is never fast enough for Daven. Mind you he exists to eat pancakes, and he is not pleased with having to wait. I have actually debated about making the batter the night before so that it's ready to go, but have never done it yet. So about 5 minutes after announcing that we're eating pancakes, Daven comes back into the kitchen exclaiming how he wants pancakes. "A couple more minutes and they'll be ready", you reply, to which his reply is simply a whiny "want pancakes!". Best to ignore him and he'll eventually storm back into the dining room and wait for your incompetence to resolve itself.
Stage 3: Anticipation-- At this point the pancakes are cooking on the griddle and you can now ask Daven what he wants to drink. His reply more often than not is a juice box, but you can simply ignore him and fill up a glass with milk. After putting it on his spot in the table, you ask him if he is ready for pancakes, in which he blurts out a very enthusiastic "Yeah!". You then go back to your pancake flipping and get everything ready with regard to the silverware and plates.
Stage 4: ADD-- By now Daven has managed to find his trucks and what not and is busy playing with those. Even the allure of pancakes isn't quite enough to overcome his attention deficit, so although he may not have forgotten about the pancakes, he simply is too busy with other stuff to bother you about how slow you are preparing the flapjack feast. However, simply asking him to get into his chair snaps him back to the task at hand and he runs over, again requesting a juice box, and climbs eagerly into his chair. He may or may not request a fork at this point.
Stage 5: Whirlwind-- Now it's time to eat. I've always given Daven two pancakes right off the bat, but it would seem wise to just prepare and hand him 4, cause that's always the MINIMUM number he eats these days. By the time you've sat down with your own plate of steaming pancakes, he's already done and asking for more. You have to remind him to take a sip of milk to wash everything down. He does so, and then repeats his request for more. He does say please, and it's hard to resist when he smiles while he asks.
It's all just another fun activity we do. Plus Elli and I like pancakes as well, so it's a win for everyone.
P.S. I know some of you are anxious to hear about the HHH. Rest assured I will be posting something (or somethings) about the ride starting next week hopefully. It's tough because how do I put into words the single greatest ride I've had up to this point? I'm sure I'll find a way. Keep checking in!
Stage 1: Excitement-- Usually pancake day happens on the weekend when both Elli and I are home with Dav. Lately this has been harder and less frequent, so we've resorted to just making pancakes on the weekend whenever one of us has the time and nothing planned. When you announce to Daven that it's pancake day, you are rewarded with a shout of "Pancakes!" and then having him run frantically around the kitchen and the rest of the house squealing excitedly. You are now on the clock and you'd better get moving with the making and cooking of those hotcakes.
Stage 2: Anger-- No matter how fast you mix the flour and the milk with the eggs and brown sugar, it is never fast enough for Daven. Mind you he exists to eat pancakes, and he is not pleased with having to wait. I have actually debated about making the batter the night before so that it's ready to go, but have never done it yet. So about 5 minutes after announcing that we're eating pancakes, Daven comes back into the kitchen exclaiming how he wants pancakes. "A couple more minutes and they'll be ready", you reply, to which his reply is simply a whiny "want pancakes!". Best to ignore him and he'll eventually storm back into the dining room and wait for your incompetence to resolve itself.
Stage 3: Anticipation-- At this point the pancakes are cooking on the griddle and you can now ask Daven what he wants to drink. His reply more often than not is a juice box, but you can simply ignore him and fill up a glass with milk. After putting it on his spot in the table, you ask him if he is ready for pancakes, in which he blurts out a very enthusiastic "Yeah!". You then go back to your pancake flipping and get everything ready with regard to the silverware and plates.
Stage 4: ADD-- By now Daven has managed to find his trucks and what not and is busy playing with those. Even the allure of pancakes isn't quite enough to overcome his attention deficit, so although he may not have forgotten about the pancakes, he simply is too busy with other stuff to bother you about how slow you are preparing the flapjack feast. However, simply asking him to get into his chair snaps him back to the task at hand and he runs over, again requesting a juice box, and climbs eagerly into his chair. He may or may not request a fork at this point.
Stage 5: Whirlwind-- Now it's time to eat. I've always given Daven two pancakes right off the bat, but it would seem wise to just prepare and hand him 4, cause that's always the MINIMUM number he eats these days. By the time you've sat down with your own plate of steaming pancakes, he's already done and asking for more. You have to remind him to take a sip of milk to wash everything down. He does so, and then repeats his request for more. He does say please, and it's hard to resist when he smiles while he asks.
It's all just another fun activity we do. Plus Elli and I like pancakes as well, so it's a win for everyone.
P.S. I know some of you are anxious to hear about the HHH. Rest assured I will be posting something (or somethings) about the ride starting next week hopefully. It's tough because how do I put into words the single greatest ride I've had up to this point? I'm sure I'll find a way. Keep checking in!
Monday, June 14, 2010
The Doctor will not be seeing you today...
I've wanted to be a Doctor for a good long time now. It started after I got mixed up into the Med Tech field, which was about a month before I was supposed to graduate with my Biology degree. Regardless, once I got going in the lab my fascination with medicine kind of starting running.
However it took me 3 years of college to actually buckle down and study. Before that I was a C student or so. The first two years I was kind of bored with my classes and didn't try all that much. Then the 3rd year of college I made my glorious come back to baseball. That was a lot of fun however school was put on the backburner and my grades suffered because of it. Only at the start of my 4th year did a light come on. Maybe it was the classes got more specialized or maybe I just matured some. Regardless, I pretty much did a 180 and aced most of my classes. As I dove more into Microbiology, Molecular Genetics, Anatomy and Phys, and Biochem, I realized that my passion wasn't all about Micro. It was getting more into the body, and what can go wrong and how do we fix it. The idea of being a Doctor starting blipping on my radar.
But then I sat back and truly looked. Yes I was getting good grades and living up to the potential student wise that I should be. But let's face it: I pissed away 3 years of school and even if I got straight A's, the GPA wouldn't be where it needs to be. Also, I was almost done with school, I was recently married, and I was looking forward to getting out of the classroom and getting a job and making some money and not flipping textbooks. My job as a Med Tech looked stable and promising, and I was able to push the whole Dr. bit back into the recesses of thought.
Or so I thought.
The more I worked in the lab, and then even more so when I went into the BB full time and started dealing more personally with surgery and what not, the more the fascination with medicine built up. I would see new procedures I never heard of before on the surgery schedule and look up all kinds of things about it until I had a firm grasp on what the basic principle behind it was. If a patient was admitted with some sort of disease I didn't hear about, I looked that up too. It all fueled the fascination until last October I couldn't keep denying the thought of going to Med School. So I announced shortly thereafter to Elli that I wanted to take an MCAT prep course, take the MCAT, and see what happens. I had read that Med Schools like the Med Tech degree, and couple that with my work experience, good letters of recommendations, and a strong MCAT score I could make up for the lower than average GPA and put together a competitive application. The MCAT score was my key I thought, so I wanted to prepare as best as I could. Therefore I thought the MCAT class was needed to guide me to the promised land.
The course did help a lot. My brain remembered lots of stuff, it was just a matter of pulling back up to the surface. I improved each week, studied hard, and saw my practice test scores reflect the hours of putting my nose to the grindstone. As the date got closer to the test, I got less and less worried. "I know this stuff" I thought. I worked harder at Organic Chem and Biology to make up the slack that I would have from Gen Chem and Physics. I even took a whole week off of work so that I could do lots of review and tie up loose ends. The date was nearly here and I felt good and prepared.
Test day came one Saturday. I opted for the afternoon session which started at 1:30pm. I got to the testing center around noon. I found a place to eat and tried to remain calm. I went into it feeling great. During the test I was good and focused, and thought that I paced myself well. I had about 5 minutes left after each section so I was right on the mark with that regard. When it was all over, I couldn't get a read on how I did. I told people I either did really well, or bombed it big time. But I honestly thought it was the first scenario, in that I did really well.
I needed to score slightly above average in order to make a competitive bid. The scores weren't gonna be released for about 3 weeks, so I just tried to go about my business until that time.
When the day finally came, I was checking about every hour or so for a score. And at 2:30pm on May 11th, my score was finally released.
And my dream of being a Doctor was instantly shattered.
I haven't told anyone my score except Elli. I needed slightly above average. I didn't even come close to average. I have no idea what happened. When I saw the score, I was in nothing more than shock. I remember swearing out loud and struggling to wrap my mind around the number I was looking at. Life sucker punched me. Bigtime. When I went home and told Elli, I remember saying to her that I felt like I let everyone down. Lots of people were rooting for me and saying what a great addition I would be to the field, and even though I joked that this was all for not I truly believed I would at least be able to be in contention. With the score I received though, it wasn't even worth doing the application.
I was at rock bottom morale wise, but Elli quickly started picking me back up that night by looking me in the eyes and telling me that I didn't let anyone down and to never say that again. She wasn't the only one. Throughout this journey all of my friends have rallied behind me and encouraged me to go for it. They all asked how the class was going, and after I took the test they were on me every day asking me if I heard anything yet. And when word started getting out that I bombed the test big time, I was instantly flooded with the same people telling me to keep my chin up. No matter what the test number was, it means nothing as far as what type of person I am I was told. I was reminded to take stock of what I had: a very supportive and loving wife, a healthy and spirited little boy, a great network of friends and family, and a stable job that allows me to provide for all of it.
I consider the whole experience a success. Yes I wish I would've at least been able to get to an interview for Med School. However this situation really let me see the big picture. Life delivered one hell of a sucker punch, and it floored me. I struggled to get up from it, but then I was offered a whole bunch of hands to help me back up. These same hands then dusted me off and pointed me back in the right direction to look at life right in the eyes and ask it, "Is that all you got?"
If you are reading this, chances are you were one of those hands. And for that, I sincerely thank you. What's next for me? I'm not sure yet. I'm kicking a few ideas around but nothing big and exciting. Mostly for now I want to sit back and put in hours at work and be a good family man. With Elli graduated from Nursing School, this is the first time in our 11 years together one of us hasn't been in school. So we're looking forward to slowing things down and having a little bit of peace and quiet.
Although that won't last long if at all. We have a toddler son who turned two last March and knows only running as his speed.
And Elli is due with our second in January.
However it took me 3 years of college to actually buckle down and study. Before that I was a C student or so. The first two years I was kind of bored with my classes and didn't try all that much. Then the 3rd year of college I made my glorious come back to baseball. That was a lot of fun however school was put on the backburner and my grades suffered because of it. Only at the start of my 4th year did a light come on. Maybe it was the classes got more specialized or maybe I just matured some. Regardless, I pretty much did a 180 and aced most of my classes. As I dove more into Microbiology, Molecular Genetics, Anatomy and Phys, and Biochem, I realized that my passion wasn't all about Micro. It was getting more into the body, and what can go wrong and how do we fix it. The idea of being a Doctor starting blipping on my radar.
But then I sat back and truly looked. Yes I was getting good grades and living up to the potential student wise that I should be. But let's face it: I pissed away 3 years of school and even if I got straight A's, the GPA wouldn't be where it needs to be. Also, I was almost done with school, I was recently married, and I was looking forward to getting out of the classroom and getting a job and making some money and not flipping textbooks. My job as a Med Tech looked stable and promising, and I was able to push the whole Dr. bit back into the recesses of thought.
Or so I thought.
The more I worked in the lab, and then even more so when I went into the BB full time and started dealing more personally with surgery and what not, the more the fascination with medicine built up. I would see new procedures I never heard of before on the surgery schedule and look up all kinds of things about it until I had a firm grasp on what the basic principle behind it was. If a patient was admitted with some sort of disease I didn't hear about, I looked that up too. It all fueled the fascination until last October I couldn't keep denying the thought of going to Med School. So I announced shortly thereafter to Elli that I wanted to take an MCAT prep course, take the MCAT, and see what happens. I had read that Med Schools like the Med Tech degree, and couple that with my work experience, good letters of recommendations, and a strong MCAT score I could make up for the lower than average GPA and put together a competitive application. The MCAT score was my key I thought, so I wanted to prepare as best as I could. Therefore I thought the MCAT class was needed to guide me to the promised land.
The course did help a lot. My brain remembered lots of stuff, it was just a matter of pulling back up to the surface. I improved each week, studied hard, and saw my practice test scores reflect the hours of putting my nose to the grindstone. As the date got closer to the test, I got less and less worried. "I know this stuff" I thought. I worked harder at Organic Chem and Biology to make up the slack that I would have from Gen Chem and Physics. I even took a whole week off of work so that I could do lots of review and tie up loose ends. The date was nearly here and I felt good and prepared.
Test day came one Saturday. I opted for the afternoon session which started at 1:30pm. I got to the testing center around noon. I found a place to eat and tried to remain calm. I went into it feeling great. During the test I was good and focused, and thought that I paced myself well. I had about 5 minutes left after each section so I was right on the mark with that regard. When it was all over, I couldn't get a read on how I did. I told people I either did really well, or bombed it big time. But I honestly thought it was the first scenario, in that I did really well.
I needed to score slightly above average in order to make a competitive bid. The scores weren't gonna be released for about 3 weeks, so I just tried to go about my business until that time.
When the day finally came, I was checking about every hour or so for a score. And at 2:30pm on May 11th, my score was finally released.
And my dream of being a Doctor was instantly shattered.
I haven't told anyone my score except Elli. I needed slightly above average. I didn't even come close to average. I have no idea what happened. When I saw the score, I was in nothing more than shock. I remember swearing out loud and struggling to wrap my mind around the number I was looking at. Life sucker punched me. Bigtime. When I went home and told Elli, I remember saying to her that I felt like I let everyone down. Lots of people were rooting for me and saying what a great addition I would be to the field, and even though I joked that this was all for not I truly believed I would at least be able to be in contention. With the score I received though, it wasn't even worth doing the application.
I was at rock bottom morale wise, but Elli quickly started picking me back up that night by looking me in the eyes and telling me that I didn't let anyone down and to never say that again. She wasn't the only one. Throughout this journey all of my friends have rallied behind me and encouraged me to go for it. They all asked how the class was going, and after I took the test they were on me every day asking me if I heard anything yet. And when word started getting out that I bombed the test big time, I was instantly flooded with the same people telling me to keep my chin up. No matter what the test number was, it means nothing as far as what type of person I am I was told. I was reminded to take stock of what I had: a very supportive and loving wife, a healthy and spirited little boy, a great network of friends and family, and a stable job that allows me to provide for all of it.
I consider the whole experience a success. Yes I wish I would've at least been able to get to an interview for Med School. However this situation really let me see the big picture. Life delivered one hell of a sucker punch, and it floored me. I struggled to get up from it, but then I was offered a whole bunch of hands to help me back up. These same hands then dusted me off and pointed me back in the right direction to look at life right in the eyes and ask it, "Is that all you got?"
If you are reading this, chances are you were one of those hands. And for that, I sincerely thank you. What's next for me? I'm not sure yet. I'm kicking a few ideas around but nothing big and exciting. Mostly for now I want to sit back and put in hours at work and be a good family man. With Elli graduated from Nursing School, this is the first time in our 11 years together one of us hasn't been in school. So we're looking forward to slowing things down and having a little bit of peace and quiet.
Although that won't last long if at all. We have a toddler son who turned two last March and knows only running as his speed.
And Elli is due with our second in January.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Light/Lite/Crappy Beer...
Light beers are only good for one thing: funny commercials.
Both Bud Light and Miller Lite have commercials that are hilarious. Even Keystone Light recently released the "Keith Stone" commercial. Funny stuff. But that's it as far as positives from me about light beer.
Listen up Nancy's. If you have one of these can's of weasel piss in your hand, you do not get to do the following ever again:
1) Insult other people drinking beer, especially real beer. Ever notice how no one with a bottle of Summit or a mug of Guinness ever gets made fun of?
2) Complain how you'd better slow down so that you don't feel like crap in the morning. You're basically drinking water so you're fine.
3) Say how "absolutely destroyed" you are when drinking your barley flavored water. No you're not. Stop it.
4) Demand that other people drink more. One can of real beer is basically 4 of yours put together. We're drinking plenty. You're the Girl Scout of the crew.
5) At most you may have a slight headache the following morning, but you do not get to compare it ever to the massive hangover those of us professional drinkers experience from time to time.
However, those with a lite brew in hand are allowed to do the following:
1) Fetch the real beer for the real drinkers.
2) Wear a skirt.
3) Put a lemon wedge in it. Hey, I do it with water sometimes so why not give a little taste to that goat spit you're drinking huh?
4) Tap the top of other lite beer drinkers bottles. It's funny to see the reaction of the victim and it's not wasting actual beer.
5) Buy drinks for everyone else (Appendum: It IS acceptable to complain about free lite beer. It's that bad).
Grab a Stout, slug it down, and experience what beer is supposed to be you ninnies.
Both Bud Light and Miller Lite have commercials that are hilarious. Even Keystone Light recently released the "Keith Stone" commercial. Funny stuff. But that's it as far as positives from me about light beer.
Listen up Nancy's. If you have one of these can's of weasel piss in your hand, you do not get to do the following ever again:
1) Insult other people drinking beer, especially real beer. Ever notice how no one with a bottle of Summit or a mug of Guinness ever gets made fun of?
2) Complain how you'd better slow down so that you don't feel like crap in the morning. You're basically drinking water so you're fine.
3) Say how "absolutely destroyed" you are when drinking your barley flavored water. No you're not. Stop it.
4) Demand that other people drink more. One can of real beer is basically 4 of yours put together. We're drinking plenty. You're the Girl Scout of the crew.
5) At most you may have a slight headache the following morning, but you do not get to compare it ever to the massive hangover those of us professional drinkers experience from time to time.
However, those with a lite brew in hand are allowed to do the following:
1) Fetch the real beer for the real drinkers.
2) Wear a skirt.
3) Put a lemon wedge in it. Hey, I do it with water sometimes so why not give a little taste to that goat spit you're drinking huh?
4) Tap the top of other lite beer drinkers bottles. It's funny to see the reaction of the victim and it's not wasting actual beer.
5) Buy drinks for everyone else (Appendum: It IS acceptable to complain about free lite beer. It's that bad).
Grab a Stout, slug it down, and experience what beer is supposed to be you ninnies.
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