086: The letter M

I have been enjoying being in the company of books recently. My bibliophilic tendencies tend to follow the trend of waves. There is the annual dry season - where no book is picked up for months. Followed closely by regular terms of steady pitter patter, with intermittent floods in between. Now is definitely what I call monsoon season. Going to bookshops give so much joy! It makes my heart flutter with excitement. So much so I am planning a "London independent bookshops tour" when the weather is better. I have mapped it all out. We will start in Notting Hill and end in a quaint little bookstore in Clerkenwell. Would definitely be damaging for my bottom line but if not now, when?

I recently finished two really good books. Medicine related, but more about life than science. When Breath becomes Air is a heart wrenching memoir by a neurosurgeon who was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Ate this one up in a day - extremely moving and thought-provoking. And the other, Mountains Beyond Mountains, revolved around the life of Dr Paul Farmer, a Harvard educated medical doctor who has dedicated his life to helping the poor all over the world. When I read books like these, I am in awe. They epitomise what I want to be in life; a great doctor, an advocate for the less fortunate and a person who pushes knowledge forward through research; a place I am often too impatient to wait to happen. At the same time, these books make me question: Am I ever going to get there?

These books made me question my capabilities. And even my aspirations. Before, my goal was just to be a good doctor. I thought that would have quenched my thirst for making an impact in the world. It would have, maybe 5 years ago. Then, I came into medical school and learnt that the minimum requirements for being a doctor here in the UK is to not only be a somewhat healer, but also a leader, an educator, an advocate and a researcher. Initially I thought that that was a big ask of someone who had already subscribed to a demanding profession. But as years pass, I see the necessity of being expected to do more and be more; for the good of oneself and more importantly, for the good of one's patients.

I understand that no one will fault a person for just being a doctor. But in my heart of hearts, I feel the discontentment in not trying to be more. I had this interesting conversation with a close friend who said, "My biggest fear is mediocrity." And I could definitely relate to that as I constantly struggle with my identity if it was measured as similar to everyone else's. But that is not the root of the problem though. The fact of the matter is, I feel accountable for the privileges that I have been given. Dr Paul Farmer would have defined this feeling as "ambivalence". A term coining the anxiety or uneasiness that some of the fortunate feel about their place in the world. In my specific case, its the good health, the excellent schools, the loving family, the spectacular marriage, the all-encompassing faith. Heck, even for the security of a home, food and clothes! All of which I have done nothing to deserve.
I feel God expects more of me.

085: Our First Half Marathon

Somehow, with the grace of God, we did it! 21 freaking kilometres. It might be a walk in the park for some, but for the two couch-loving, Netflix-watching and ice-cream eating people we both are, this is a triumphant moment. Note: this is the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life.

It wasn't the pace, it was the sheer distance. In hindsight, I think we didn't train for this. We trained for a 15km race, not a 21km race. So I reached the 14 or 15km mark that day on the verge of tears because every muscle in my body, including my brain was hurting. Before that though, the run was quite enjoyable despite the hell-ish rain and hale storm. Everyone was given plastic rain ponchos the day before to shield runners from the impending storm that await. But realistically, that thin sheet of plastic did little in becoming a barrier between us and the angry elements. It was also extremely noisy, flapping in the wind uncontrollably. So at the 5km mark we decided to take it off. We passed houses, back of factories, the sea, the harbour, even the Dr Who Experience Tour house! 

The route was said to be flat, but clearly the organisers lied to get more signups. There were several hills. The most painful of which came at Mile 12. Just when you think that you're almost there... you can taste the finish line... they give you a stinking hill. I can't really complain though, because there were several more ambitious runners in the race. There was a runner in a foot suit who was raising awareness for diabetes and we also passed a runner carrying a big wooden cross on wheels. Man, I felt sorry for him. But I guess all who signed up are self-inflicters of pain to varying amounts.

The only thing that kept me in good spirits at the very end was a piece of white chocolate. Bless the little boy who held a tupperware filled with blocks of chocolate who braved the rain to pass out these small drops of heaven to the runners. Honestly, that was the best tasting chocolate I have ever had. And it contained just enough sugary goodness to boost my energy in the last leg of the race.

At that point, I was beyond tired. My mind was on autopilot. My legs were moving, but my mind was blank. The survival instincts kicked in whilst I had to motivate the husband (who was pale, white as a sheet) to push on through the very last mile. At the very last turn, we saw the finish line. We crossed it hand in hand, followed by loud sighs of heavy relief. Upon stopping, my legs refused to function. It was as if they were made of jelly but stinged like jellyfish. I waddled along collecting water, a few bananas, a commemorative shirt and most importantly, a medal.

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Whilst running though, there is much time for reflection. The three main things I had thought about can be neatly categorised into three Ls:

1. Legs

In times before this particular race, I feel that I was not properly introduced to my legs. My legs were akin to old furniture, ones that have been in the room for decades - very much used, unmoved, a constant fixing and largely unthought of. There is a sense of passivity in the relationship between me and my legs before. But during the race, no voice demanded more attention. If they were audible, my  hamstrings and quads would have been shouting. It required mountains of  energy to convince my mind to ignore them. However, in their united voice, I admired their strength, persistence and determination with each cyclical stride. During the race, I noticed their presence and were in awe of their large (often underestimated) capabilities.

2. Lungs

The state of my lungs in that race was akin to a two-year old on her tippy toes balancing on a wobbly stool reaching for that jar of cookies on the top shelf. Breathing was precarious and fragile. It felt like only the tops of your lungs were filling with air even though your stomach is consciously expanding widely in rhythm with your chest sucking as much oxygen in as possible. Running also reminds me of air's therapeutic properties. On Mile 7 there was a painful cramp on my left flank. It was incredibly sharp, demoralising and disabling. The only remedy that works for cramps like these during my training is long intakes of deep breaths. So that was what I did. In, out, in out. And the pain was gone, just like magic.

3. Life

I guess putting point 1 and 2 together, it is natural to conclude that running makes you aware of the presence of your body. And at the same time, also its fragile but limitless nature. This might be a paradox to some - how can something be easily broken but at the same time extremely strong with endless potential? Well, if examined closely, life is filled with many of these paradoxes. Even light is both wave and particle, sometimes at the same time. This innate plurality in living is what makes things complex, and this complexity is what makes life beautiful.

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Now blogging in the comfort of my warm home, I would like to think that we would attempt more half marathons in the future. But for now, we'll just stick to our comfortable 10k.

Hand in hand, till the very the end.