First Impressions

First Impressions

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Three weeks have officially passed for my first year in the Doctor of Medicine (MD) at Melbourne University. According to older and more experienced students, MD1 is a precious time in the context of a medical career: you have the most time you’ll ever have, there are zero expectations of you and you’re only there to learn. Over the next few years, I’ll be documenting this journey ahead – everything from the bright and beautiful to the dark and demoralising, with this post marking the start. I don’t really have a plan of what I’ll be writing about, so here goes nothing.

INTRODUCTIONS

“Hey there, I’m Eric – what’s your name?”

Of the 359 students in MD1, most of the faces are new but there are some familiar ones. Through ice-breakers, orientation activities and lunch breaks, I’ve slowly begun to meet some of the new faces who I’ll be calling colleagues over the next few years, and catch up with old friends.

The act of mingling was draining in the first few weeks, but things are slowly settling down. Groups are beginning to form, with clusters in lectures and circles in lunch breaks taking shape. Without a doubt, getting to know new faces throughout the next few years is something I’m looking forward to.

Most people seem friendly and relaxed, making it easy to forget that many of these individuals are likely straight A students, accustomed to topping their classes and acing every exam. I wonder what will happen now that these students are now all together – how and if their expectations will shift throughout the years given the competitive nature of this course. On the other hand, not seeing faces who I’ve become accustomed to seeing during undergrad is a little strange; friends who have moved to different states, who have gone down different paths. But things like this happen, and I have faith they’ll do great things no matter where they’re placed.

RESILIENCE

Some of the themes of the first week of MD1 included resilience and developing a ‘growth mindset’ – stuff like if you ever fall, fall forward. Within these talks, the idea of imposter syndrome came up frequently as a reminder that yes, imposter syndrome happens to everyone and no, don’t listen to those thoughts – you absolutely deserve to be in this course.

There are many arguments that could be made against doing medicine. You are studying for a long time (essentially your whole life), you will probably experience some form of burnout in navigating patients and hospital systems, leading you to almost certainly work long hours whilst trying to maintain a healthy personal life. On top of that, you are in an inherently competitive field with a vast number of brilliant minds vying for a limited number of specialist positions, of which many exams stand along the way. It is no wonder imposter syndrome and burnout are such big problems in this field.

But of course, these are also reasons why one would decide to go into medicine. The thrill of lifelong learning, the opportunity to meet patients’ health needs as another human and the opportunity to work in a team of like-minded, capable individuals must surely be worth the inevitable struggle to receive these gifts or going to medical school would be nonsensical.

Things may change and I may drop out of med school in the future, but for now, I’m content on this path that God has placed me on.

Books That Shaped Me

Books That Shaped Me

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Perhaps the greatest habit my sister ever instilled in me was one of reading. While it took a while to see reading as a gift rather than a chore, the opportunity to learn and explore worlds from people I’ve never met has given me insights like no other. Here are 5 books which have had a massive influence on how I now see myself, the world or others – in roughly the order in which I read them. For each, I’ll try to give a brief overview of what it taught me.

Steal Like An Artist
Austin Kleon

This book was perhaps the biggest reason why I decided to start writing in a public domain – a notion which initially terrified me. A short read, but one which transformed the way I now think about creativity, networking and creating.

Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine
Gail Honeyman

I’ve never been as captivated by a fiction book as I was with this one. There were points in this book that were so engrossing that I seriously thought I could hear the characters’ voices through the pages. It was through this book and following the lens of Eleanor in which I began to understand the concept of sonder: that people are much more complex than they may seem.

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
Haruki Murakami

Often regarded as one of the most mystical and moreish fiction writers out there, Murakami stands on a creative pedestal in my head – a pedestal reserved for minds that have that extra creative reservoir. I was pleasantly surprised to find out Murakami also runs marathons and this memoir of his gives a glimpse into his life as a distance runner and artist, revealing insights related to creativity, sacrifice and running. In particular, it helped me see how running can be much more than the physical act itself, but as a medium to test one’s resilience and to step into a void.

Atomic Habits
James Clear

I personally tend to find personal development books a little simplistic and cheesy, but this one was pivotal in reshaping my attitudes towards habits and motivation. This book came at a time where my identity felt scattered between various domains and I wasn’t going anywhere. After reading this book, I was convinced on the idea of consistency and the importance of having a clear identity – ideas which helped get me out of many ruts since.

Knowing God
J. I. Packer

This was the first real theology book I’d ever read. While I found the topics in here heavy and complex, it helped clarify Christian teachings which I’ve struggled with for decades such as the incarnation of Christ, predestination and the nature of the Trinity. While I’m doubtful I’ll ever truly understand these, this book now serves as a useful resource for my walk as a Christian.

Other shout-outs include The Old Man and the Sea – the first work I’d read of Hemingway (who is now one of my favourite authors). Why We Sleep was also a big wake-up call (ha) on the importance of sleep and I’ve begun to prioritise it since. Antifragile is a book recommended by my brother-in-law I’m currently working through which is slowly changing my perceptions towards challenges and resilience. And of course, the Bible – which has shaped the lives of billions around the globe and continues to shape mine to this day in unexpected ways. I look forward to discovering new worlds through books this year and have all my current notions challenged in spectacular ways.

Do What You Are Doing

Do What You Are Doing

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I’ll admit it, I don’t like doing chores. Some chores – such as cleaning the toilet or doing the laundry – are okay, but I have a particular aversion for others like doing the dishes, vacuuming or cleaning my room. This aversion usually leads to my apartment being in a sub-optimum state and is mostly due to my mindset towards these chores: I’ve always seen them as a necessary evil; they’re boring, take effort and I would rather not do them (is the floor that messy? Surely not…). When I do end up doing chores, I usually require some sort of distraction in the form of a podcast or audiobook to get through the mundanity of it.

I’ve held this attitude for some time now, but I recently came across an article called Do What You Are Doing. The idea is that when we do anything, we should be fully immersed in whatever it is, rather than thinking about other things. The author, David, quotes a passage from a book on Speed Cleaning:

Pay attention. Almost everything else will fall into place if you do. Don’t think about revisions in the tax code. Or anything else. In Latin: Age quod agis—”Do what you are doing.”

David continues:

I take this to mean something more than just “don’t get distracted from the act of cleaning.” I interpret it as, “bring all of your concern to exactly the task you’re on now,” whether it’s wiping away soup spatters from the stovetop, or dragging the coffee table aside so you can vacuum.  

Reading this was a lightbulb moment for me. Perhaps my mindset towards chores was wrong. Perhaps I should see them as opportunities – opportunities to find contentment in the mundane, instead of seeing them as a waste of time.

And so, I tried it. When I needed to do the dishes next, I put down my headphones and reminded myself of Age quod agis—”Do what you are doing.” I proceeded to do the dishes, trying to be as fully immersed on the task as I could be. I focused on all the stains on the dishes, felt the sponge against the metal and washed every dish carefully, taking in the sensation of the warm water running against my skin. It was an oddly fascinating experience, one which has helped me break down my aversion towards the task.

Since this practice, I’ve begun to notice more things in passing. That really oddly-shaped stone on the ground. That faint, but beautiful melody from a distant bird. That certain phrase that my friend actually says quite a lot. This concept – that people, places, chores can be fascinating if you try – have added a little bit of extra magic to each day and is something I’ll be looking to apply in other areas of life.

January 2020: Check-in

January 2020: Check-in

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This post marks the 4th iteration of my quarterly check-in posts (1, 2 and 3), which I guess marks one whole year of reflecting in a public domain. I always find writing these helpful as they provide a sense of stability amongst the busyness of life, so I have no reason to stop. As always, I’ll aim to answer the following questions regarding the last 3 months:

  1. What was good?
  2. What wasn’t so good?
  3. Goals for the months ahead?

The good

1. Travelling

This period was the busiest travelling period I’ve ever had. Two new countries visited: New Zealand and Malaysia, and one new city: Canberra, on top of Perth and Sydney to visit family. Travelling this much was new for me and though it was undeniably tiring, I enjoyed creating experiences with some amazing people. From the mountains of Wanaka to Char Kuay Teow in Penang, these travels have given me insight on how beautiful this world is and how little of it I’ve seen. As a result, a resolution of mine is to travel more this year. One new country is already planned: Germany, for the Berlin marathon in September, which is exciting.   

2. Writing

In my last check-in post, I made it a goal to write publicly 3 times a month. I’m pleased to say I’ve managed to keep to this goal, with 9 posts being written over the last 3 months. Finding my own writing style is still a work in process, though it’s been fun playing with the style of personal dialogues (e.g. Challenges of Medicine) vs. more essay-based styles (e.g. The Queen’s Gambit and Undiscovered Narratives). I personally enjoy writing both, though the more dialogue-based posts tend to require a bit more vulnerability. I’m looking forward to writing and experimenting more this year, with poetry and short stories on the radar.

3. Reading

For me, reading seems to be the highest quality form of learning out there. Of course, there is merit in YouTube videos or podcasts but there is something special about a book, where decades of a one’s knowledge are condensed into a neat, little package ready for consumption. These last few months I managed to read 12 new books, including my first fantasy novel The Name of the Wind which I thoroughly enjoyed. New worlds and insights are hidden in books and I hope to uncover many more this year, amongst juggling my commitments as an incoming medical student.

The not-so-good

1. Laziness

This holiday season marked some of the laziest and most unproductive days of 2019. Healthy, established habits gradually gave way to damaging, old practices as my motivations for being productive approached zero. Some of these useless practices included gaming in the form of online chess and the MMORPG Guild Wars 2. YouTube is still a resource which I feel like I struggle to exert control over and often find myself lost on it for hours. Perhaps an argument could be made that the holidays warrant some unproductive behaviour but I’m not convinced – there are surely more productive forms of entertainment such as running or catching up with a friend. I’m not sure how I’m going to fully deal with this problem but as they say, the first step to solving any problem is recognising there is one.

2. Running

A drawback to travelling is the disruption of a consistent running schedule, amongst other things. Between November and now, I averaged only 10km of running a week, whereas between August to October had an average of 46km per week. I suspect my fitness level currently is the lowest it’s been in over a year. With a triathalon coming up in March and two marathons on the radar later this year, it’s time to get back into training.

Goals

  1. Running: Getting back to prior fitness: sub-19 5k by April.
  2. Writing a post every week. This is perhaps a little audacious but it’ll be a good challenge.
  3. Reading a book every fortnight.

The Queen’s Gambit and Undiscovered Narratives

The Queen’s Gambit and Undiscovered Narratives

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One of the most popular openings in chess is called the Queen’s Gambit. It’s played by White, who begins with d4, whereby black responds with d5. White then pushes its pawn to c4, attacking black’s pawn, but is itself able to be captured by black. It looks like this:

When I first studied this opening, I thought it was stupid. If black captures c4 (the Queen’s Gambit accepted), white has no way to immediately win back the piece – you’re essentially giving away a free pawn. Why on earth would anyone play this opening?

After studying more, I realised there is another story at play. If black captures c4, white can then play e4, allowing white to control the centre with its pawns. Turns out, controlling the centre is a fundamental tactic across all levels of chess, which I hadn’t known before. Only now does this opening make sense: with e4, white can control the centre and set up for a solid midgame position while black’s centre is more exposed and open to threats. The position now looks like this:

One lesson I took away from my Queen’s Gambit experience that applies outside of chess is one I’ll call undiscovered narratives. The reason the Queen’s Gambit was so baffling to me initially was because I hadn’t discovered the narrative of centre control. To look at this opening from a purely material perspective – the only narrative I knew – this opening was absolute garbage, sacking a pawn on the 2nd move. You can’t get much worse than that. But in light of this new narrative of centre control, the Queen’s Gambit made a lot more sense.

There are narratives in motion across all domains. The narrative of investing reasons why people save money instead of indulging on luxuries. The narrative of health reasons why people spend time and money on exercise. And the narrative of centre control in chess reasons why the Queen’s Gambit is a pretty legit opening. Without these narratives, these actions might seem questionable at best, plain stupid otherwise.

But of course, there are more complex narratives at play than the ones given above – ones involving aspirations, fears or motivations in peoples’ lives, for instance. These more nuanced narratives are constantly shifting in light of new experiences and coalesce with other narratives to mould one’s idiosyncrasies and values. It amazes me how many diverse narratives might exist out there, and how many I have yet to discover.

This serves as a reminder for me to pause before jumping to conclusions or criticising others. Just like the undiscovered narrative of centre control, there are undiscovered narratives playing out in other’s lives which I am ignorant to, and are likely far more deep and complex than I could ever imagine. It would certainly be a blunder to make judgements about others without considering any undiscovered narratives which might be in motion. Reflecting on this reminds me of the word sonder, defined as:

n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

What a humbling thought.

Biomed: Recap

Biomed: Recap

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February 2017

“Remember to call us, okay? And remember to eat eggs. Eggs are good for you.”

My mother studies my face hard and I smile back at her. A few weeks ago, I made the decision to accept my Bachelor of Biomedicine offer from Melbourne University. Since I grew up in Perth, this decision meant moving out to a city I’d never been to before, away from my family and the shelter I’d grown up in for 18 years. In my smile, I try to hide my nervousness for the uncertain road ahead, but I suspect mum sees past it.

“Of course, mum – I’ll see you in a few months. I love you.”

After a long hug, I wave my mother off as she departs back to Perth, leaving me behind in Melbourne for me to begin a new chapter: University.

Present

That day marked the beginning of my Undergraduate journey, which quickly swept me off my feet. Juggling Biomed’s study load, adulthood, a reasonable social life and extra-curriculars was both exhilarating and exhausting, never seeming to stop. Having recently graduated, marking an official end to this whirlwind (until the next degree), it feels strange to draw the curtains on this chapter. As for all good things, I find it helpful to reflect briefly on the time that has passed, so here we go.

Like a long-winded anime, various ‘arcs’ were played out throughout the 3 years of my degree. These included the chaotic GAMSAT and medicine interview preparation arcs as well as the more structured semester arcs (upper limb anatomy, you still haunt my nightmares). Amazingly, I’ve realised that throughout every single arc, I’ve had the opportunity to meet brilliant and caring individuals who I somehow now have the privilege to call my friends. To the friends whose paths have aligned with mine and have shaped this chapter of Biomed, thank you. Whether you were with me in Immunology cram sessions, 400m repeats on the track, practicing GAMSAT essays or there in the background as a friendly face, you have added some magic to the great and terrible days and I am grateful for you all.

No doubt, Biomed brought along its fair share of challenges which forced me to adapt. These adaptations include appreciating the importance of sleep, listening to lectures at 2x speed and training my taste buds to tolerate my shockingly bland cooking. Writing also became an interesting adaptation for me and rapidly became an antidote to my more pronounced introversion. Though I haven’t really found a writing style, I’ve had fun jotting down random thoughts and experimenting with how to write them.

Biomed was also a harsh teacher and brought on challenges which I drastically failed, exposing my flaws in broad daylight. It is somewhat of a sad paradox that despite having graduated from supposedly one of the most competitive courses in Australia, I feel like I know even less than when I came in. Perhaps this illustrates a recognition of my profound arrogance coming out of high school, but there is no doubt in my mind about it now: this world we inhabit and these bodies we possess are amazing and I know so incredibly little about it all. As this chapter of Biomed draws to a close, I am excited to explore whole new worlds as the next chapter in Medicine slowly draws open its curtains.

As 2020 brings on new challenges and friendships for everyone, here’s to many more magical times filled with awe, wonder and laughter.

To Those I Tried to Evangelise

To Those I Tried to Evangelise

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Evangelise.

The act of pushing one’s religion on another person – what a dirty sounding word. It’s a word that says, “Hey, did you know that you’ve got it all wrong? Your worldview is wrong. Your beliefs are wrong. Everything you know is wrong… and guess what? I’ve got it all right.”

For a while, this is how I thought of evangelism. A debate, a battle – no, a war between someone else’s heart and the truth I believed in. When I lost these wars, I felt frustrated. What did I do wrong? Was I too blunt? Too subtle? Too arrogant? For a long time, I prayed. I prayed for wisdom, to understand how to evangelise better.

And then one day, I realised: perhaps there is a better way to evangelise – one that doesn’t require words, because what you need aren’t arguments for a creator. Reasoning and unanswered questions, though perhaps important, aren’t the main forces holding you back.

No, instead of a confrontational opponent, you need a friend who will listen to you. You need someone who will support you through the hard times and who will rejoice with you throughout your successes. You need someone who cares for you – who genuinely cares for you, and who will love you in times other people will not.   

So, I need to rethink evangelism. I need to realise that my words won’t win you over. In fact, I need to accept that until you deny yourself and turn to God, you may not see my faith as anything but foolishness (1 Corinthians 1:18). I pray this time will come soon, friends. But in the meantime, I’ll try using my life, instead of my words, to be a testimony to you.

You can watch how I speak. I hope you will see someone who carefully uses his words to encourage and build people up according to their needs (Ephesians 4:29).

You can watch how I listen. I hope you will see someone who is quick to listen without judgement and who is slow to become angry (James 1:19-20).

You can watch how I work. I hope you will see someone who tirelessly works to do a job well, even in a place where we aren’t treated the way we should be (Colossians 3:23).

But most importantly, you can watch how I fail. Oh friends, you will see me fail in the most terrible and spectacular ways. But throughout these moments, I pray you’ll see where I turn. I hope you’ll see someone who is quick to acknowledge where they fall short and who turns to God to help them become someone better. And I hope when you see me in my better moments, you’ll see that everything good I have comes not from me, but from grace from the perfect God I serve.

Now friends, as I continue to evangelise, I won’t shower you with arguments or Bible verses to convince you of anything. Instead, I’ll try to live in a way that shows you why I live the way I do. Why I believe in a God who is loving and powerful in unimaginable ways. Why I believe there is a reason for the suffering and evil in the world. Why I believe life is beautiful, and so are you. And I pray that God will work in all of you, so that when you see my broken yet miraculous life, you might question my actions and begin exploring some of these incredulous ideas yourself.

The piece above was inspired by an article I read here, which had a tremendous impact on me. After writing this, I was reminded of a verse which I thought fit in quite nicely with the overall theme.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13:13 (NIV)
Monologue of an Introvert

Monologue of an Introvert

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I’m fading.

As I look back at my friend sitting across me, I’ve realised I’ve comprehended nothing of the last 2 minutes of our conversation. My mind, which is usually fairly awake, is fading quickly from 100% and going into shutdown mode, gradually blocking off the stimulus at the 21st birthday party I am at. Right now, I’m guessing I’ve faded around 50% and can feel my mind retreating into its cave. Much more of this and I’ll be close to complete mental shutdown, which is not a pretty sight. A voice in my head speaks very clearly to me.

Get out of here.

I quickly scan my surroundings for a getaway. I see a room full of people, finger food, photographers and lights and hear an overwhelming bundle of noises. I find the door that I entered from, the portal which leads to a quieter, less stimulating place. I turn my focus back to the conversation in front of me, my mind now closer to 60% faded. I immediately feel a pang of guilt – it’s unfair to talk to someone who’d rather leave the room than listen to what you have to say.

“I’m sorry.” I interrupt, excusing myself to the toilet.

“Oh, don’t be.” He laughs. “You gotta go when you gotta go.”

Not about the toilet – you deserve someone who will give you the attention you deserve. I’m sorry I couldn’t provide it.

As I leave the room, I hear my mind breath a sigh of relief. Finally – some quiet. I find the toilet and stare mind-numbingly at a wall. “Wouldn’t it be great if the Earth just swallowed us up right now?” I wonder.

Yes. I think so too.

But of course, I don’t control the Earth and I have a 21st to get back to. I begin the tug-of-war with my mind, cooing it to come out of its cave. “Come on, buddy.” I beg. “Be alive for just a little longer.”

Go away.

I sigh, and begin the familiar protocol to catalyse my mind’s recovery. Knowing my mind likes to be around nature, I walk out of the building, down the stairs into a cool, starry night and find some trees to pace amongst. Hearing my footsteps amongst the pebbles and feeling the cool breeze against my skin does something to stir my mind out of hibernation. The next step is to find somewhere with as little stimulus as possible. I move to somewhere quieter, with fewer street lights, and sit against a tree. Silence. Perfect. Next, I reflect on my day and any interesting conversations I’ve had. My mind traditionally enjoys this game and tonight is no exception: I can feel it emerging from its cave now. The last step, and usually the most effective, is to write: there is something magical about putting pen to paper that makes my mind dance. While I don’t have any paper, I take my phone out and begin jotting some notes down. This acts like coffee for my mind, and I feel myself coming back.

After a while, I walk back up the stairs to the party and check my watch. I was gone for around 10 minutes.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” I ask myself. After a moment, I hear the reluctant reply.

Okay. Let’s go.

I take a deep breath and step back into the room, flinching at the avalanche of stimulus, hoping it won’t be too long until I’ll have to leave it again.

2019 Melbourne Marathon

2019 Melbourne Marathon

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4 Months Out (Mid-June)

12pm. I’m on my laptop at home, reading messages from my running club’s group chat. Most of the messages are fairly standard:

“Who’s racing in cross country this weekend? Can I grab a lift?”
“Can someone tell coach I’m injured?”
“What’s the plan for our Sunday long run?”

Today however, one message stands out to me:

“MUAC team set up for Melbourne Mara”.

“Melbourne Mara” refers to the annual Melbourne Marathon in mid-October, covering a span of 42.2km throughout the city of Melbourne. It is usual for the Melbourne Uni team to send in a few runners for this event, though I’d never run one myself before.

“The marathon” I think to myself. “I’ve done a few half marathons already.. can a full marathon be that much harder?”

In an ideal world, I would remember that day the hip injury I’d acquired and that I’ve never run more than 25km in my life, and decide to try the marathon another time. But it turns out, today I’m sleep deprived and feeling particularly daring. A rash voice inside me gives clear instructions.

Do it.

And so I do. I go to sleep that night without a care in the world, $160 less in the bank, not realising the recklessness of the decision I’d just made.

3 weeks out (Late-September)

9am. I’m in the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from my eyes while drinking a tall glass of water. It’s a Sunday, and I’m due for my longest run in training for the Melbourne Marathon – the goal is to run for 3 hours and 10 minutes, which should equate to around 35km. I put on my shoes and hat and run out the door. After a moment, I decide to go back in for some sunnies.

After I signed up a few months ago, it took a few days for me to realise what I’d actually done and quickly made a training plan. 2 workouts a week. Sunday long runs, steadily increasing in distance. Easy runs, strength training, mobility work and recovery every other day. Today, I’m running along the Capital City Trail; a long and scenic route that stretches along the Yarra River to the city. The trail is mostly dirt or concrete with looming trees and windy hills.

Along the route, I see a group of runners from the Melbourne Uni elite squad run past, also on their Sunday long run. I see my coach in the group, who yells “Marathon Man!” as we pass each other. I flush, trying to conceal my tiredness. I also see my friend Ahra along the way, on her own long run despite nursing a knee injury. We chat briefly, give each other encouragement, and go off on our separate routes.

After 25km, my legs begin to ache – they aren’t used to running past 2 hours straight yet – but I hold my pace. I repeat my mantra to myself during difficult moments like these:

Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.

After some water at a nearby fountain, I manage to complete the 190-minute run, feeling quite tired towards the end. When I get back home, I stretch a bit, take a shower and proceed to nap for the next 3 hours. The hard aerobic work is done – the focus now is to maintain fitness and not get injured.

(This run can be found here).

Race Day (Mid-October)

7:59am. One minute before the start of the Melbourne Marathon. Ideally, I’d be ready and warmed up in my starting zone by this time, but I’ve gotten lost finding the bag drop area and am now half running to the start line. As I reach the flood of anxious runners, I hear the siren go off and see the crowd steadily moving. I silently berate myself for taking so long to get ready this morning, as my starting zone is now over 200m in front of me, separated by a few hundred people.

A few weeks ago, I decided the goal was to run between 3hr 15 and 3hr 30 for my first marathon. The plan was to stick with the 3:20 pacer for 30km, then try and take off at the end. As I see the 4:10 pacer in front of me, I realise the plan has abysmally failed: I would now have to try and catch the 3:20 pacer and hold on.

4km in

Flying. Having started so close to the back and desperate to catch up to the 3:20 pacers, I quickly find myself in a small pack of 4 who I’m guessing also came a little late, as we proceed to overtake hundreds of people. We pass the 4:10, 4:00 and the 3:50 pacers in quick succession. Along the way, I remember all the pasta, the gym sessions and the countless numbers of kilometres ran in preparation for this day. I wonder momentarily if it’s enough. The voice inside encouragingly whispers back.

It will be enough.

Nevertheless, I say a prayer for the next 3 hours or so, knowing very well they may suck a lot.

10km in

The wall. The moment during a marathon when your body begins to shut down. It’s typically projected to start around the 36km mark and is characterised by immense pain, with collapsing and vomiting not uncommon symptoms. As I continue to run, I am dimly aware that I’m running closer to ‘the wall’ and wonder what it might feel like.

Along the way, I find my friend Chris, who I seem to always bump into in half marathons. He’s a tall, Aussie bloke with long strides and a tendency to make witty comments during races. We get along quite well. We chat briefly when we see each other.

“How do you know when you’ve hit the wall?” I ask, knowing he has run marathons before.

“Oh mate, you’ll know. It’ll be one of the most painful experiences of your life.”

20km in

Moving steadily. We are running down St Kilda Road, a long road that follows St Kilda Beach. It’s usually filled with cars on a sunny day like this, but the roads are closed just for this event. Along this road, Chris and I pass the 3:40 and 3:30 pacers. I make some quick calculations in my head and work out if we maintain our current pace of 4:33/km, we can catch the 3hr 20 pacers. We begin to get in a rhythm and the kilometres fly by.

“How are you feeling?” Chris asks.
“Pretty good. You?”
“Me too.”
“Great.”

We say little for the next 10km, but continue to nudge each other on towards the finish line, feet pounding down together on the long, gravel road.

30km in

It came slowly, like a spider sneaking down from its long web. But sure enough, the insidious soreness that comes from distance racing hits me and Chris notices. He pulls out a packet of electrolyte lollies and hands them to me.

“Want a chewy?”

I grab one and mutter a word of thanks.

“Keep going, man. You got this.”

I chew, wishing I could believe it. I was not expecting to feel the soreness this early in the race, but it has happened, and now I must deal with it.

Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.

36km in

The cramps came in quick succession. One moment, I’m running normally despite slightly heavier steps and breathing. The next moment, every step has jolts of lightning firing up them and breathing seems like an enormous task. I slow down significantly these kilometres, limited by the range of motion of my stiff legs. Running up a hill near the Botanical gardens threatens to end me, and I become acutely aware of the possibility of collapsing very soon.

Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.

40km in

I’ve been reading a memoir recently called “Why Running Matters”. In the opening chapter, the author says something I find remarkable:

 First you run for fitness. Next you run for speed. Then you run for meaning.

– Ian Mortimer, “Why Running Matters”

At this point in the marathon, my body screams one question at me.

“Why are you doing this?”

My inner voice gives a simple answer.

For meaning.

It offers nothing more, no matter how much I question it.

I grit my teeth, pain firing through my legs in every step. The lactic acid accumulation from the last 40km has caused a mind-numbing pain so intense that I almost stop and collapse multiple times. Every time, the voice returns for some emergency assistance.

Keep going. You are nearly there.

The finish

The end of the Melbourne Marathon consists of a lap of the Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG) in front of a large crowd of spectators. Despite it not being more than 400m, the lap feels like an eternity. As I stumble to the end, I vaguely realise I must be the last runner for Melbourne Uni to finish. I nearly collapse at the finish line but am caught by a volunteer and helped further along. As I cross the line, I look up to see my friend Joanne standing in front of me, also volunteering for this event. She sees me, smiles, offers her congratulations and hands me a medal. It’s a nice distraction from the numbing pain that my body radiates. We chat briefly and she takes some photos of myself and Chris. I do my best to smile, acting as though I have energy to spare.

It takes a while for me to realise the race is over. My brain and body have been shocked so badly I suspect it’ll take a few days for me to register what’s just happened. Later that day, I find out my net time is 3:20:59, an average pace of 4:43/km – I never ended up catching the 3:20 pacer. As I begin stretching, I wonder if I’ll do another marathon in the future. The answer comes fast.

Yes.

But why? People tend to run away from painful experiences, not towards them. And for painful experiences, this one tops the list by far.

Perhaps it’s for meaning.

(This run can be found here).

Changing the World

Changing the World

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This is a short quote I stumbled across a few months ago. It had a big impact on me and I revisit it often when I am frustrated with life. It serves as a reminder that when the change you want doesn’t occur, perhaps it is not other people that needs changing but yourself.

Changing the world

When I was a young man, I wanted to change the world. I found it was difficult to change the world, so I tried to change my nation. When I found I couldn’t change the nation, I began to focus on my town. I couldn’t change the town and as an older man, I tried to change my family.

Now, as an old man, I realise the only thing I can change is myself, and suddenly I realise that if long ago I had changed myself, I could have made an impact on my family. My family and I could have made an impact on our town. Their impact could have changed the nation and I could indeed have changed the world.

(Source: supposedly from an unknown monk, 1100 A.D.)