Let go of the life you planned, to see what life is waiting for you.


So remember when I had that feeling I'd meet a very special person this time in 2012? I have a feeling their name starts with R. It's a very short name. I look forward to next November. :)

Sortie

It feels amazing to be back from our Euro Trip! We had a wonderful time in all the European countries, with all the different types of people and their languages and customs, and the scenic views and landmarks, and the drama experienced on the trip; both the highs and lows, but there is something different about home. The feeling I got when I stepped onto the crowded (new) Metropolitan Line train; metro newspaper (filled with articles people like to call news) under my arm, the announcer speaking in a language I could understand, the familiar roads in my area, the weather, and then home to the familiar musty smell of my bedroom, sitting down in my chair, surrounded by all my things, my wallpaper. The feeling I got when my mum had seen me returned safe and sound, listening to all the stories I had to tell. The cats, the gerbil and the rabbits. Unpacking my luggage and returning my possessions to where they belonged. The pile of post waiting to be opened. The pile of Medicine books waiting to be read. The friends waiting to be socialised with. The blog waiting to be updated.


There is no place like home.


P.S. I've returned to a house devoid of siblings; one has gone to Gaza, whilst the rest are visiting Grandma, which leaves just me and my parents; something that hasn't happened for 20 years! And now I'm off to play Fifa and Halo :)


(Btw, this new special person I'm supposed to be meeting at the end of next year, do they know me already? I'm confused.)

Summer So Far

Back from Norway, and currently lying in a hotel room in Budapest (Hungary) waiting for everyone to wake up so we can get on with the day's activities. So far (4 days in), we have had an absolute blast of a time, and even though we spent 23 hours straight on trains through Austria, Germany and Holland (including waiting outside a dodgy station in Venlow-Holland in the early hours of the morning), we haven't had a lack of entertainment. Bruges was stunningly beautiful, albeit a little on the touristy side, but definitely somewhere I'd like to go back to, even if it was just for their chocolate shops.

First impressions of Budapest weren't good; as soon as we left the station, it felt like we were still in a Soviet state; it just had that weird feel to it. But when we got more into the city, things started to look up, and so did we as we noticed the citadel and castle in the hills towering over us.

I plan to write about each place I visit and give it a rating out of ten, but that's as soon as all the places have been visited, inshaallah. If I don't misplace my passport. Yes it happened again, but this time it was in my bag and not in Seville airport!

Results

Do you remember when I said I'd be aiming for a 'merit' this year, after having narrowly missed out on one last year? Well, with the amount of extra-curricular work I found I'd taken on this year, that aim would have to be scrapped; no way could I be in the top quarter of my year group without dropping all of my societal commitments and becoming a bookworm for the rest of the year.

I can confidently say that I didn't do nearly as much work this year as I did last, and all that was on my mind during the revision period was just to pass and see myself through to third year Medicine. So for the three weeks leading up to exams, I spent all my time in the library, collating lecture slides I thought were the most important into separate powerpoints, one file for each module (or three in the case of Cardio-Respiratory). I had always intended to make a timetable and organise myself properly, but the sheer volume of work that needed to be covered, I thought, couldn't be compartmentalised into a simple tiimetable; as long as it's all covered, I thought, it should be fine.

My time in the library was funny; I mostly just sat there in front of a computer screen, reading stuff, occasionally going off for little walks, whilst everyone else isolated themselves in private cubicles and made colourful, detailed notes; occasionally interrupting me on their breaks and asking how revision was, to which my reply was always the same: 'it's alright I suppose'. And then they went on about how stressed out and 'behind' they were, when I know they clearly weren't, and they were just asking how my revision was so they could 'compete'; well that's how I analysed our encounters.

The last week before exams, a friend and I organised online revision sessions, covering one module's worth of PBLs a day. One person speaks on the microphone, guiding listeners through the Google powerpoint they made on their chosen PBL. It was a great success, with over 70 listeners on most days, but I found myself teaching many of the PBLs, and although this was good revision for myself, I thought the preparation time for all of these presentations could be put to better use. Time was running out, and things were starting to look desperate. The last few days of revision were dedicated to going through past papers and skimming through my powerpoints, and although we were assured by staff that past questions wouldn't be repeated, they were a good test of the knowledge I had, or I thought I had.

So exam day one: the Short Answer Question paper, the paper that everyone dreaded. I thought it went alright, compared to the majority of people who complained that it was too difficult. Their complaints continued the rest of the week with every other exam; the EMQ paper, OSCEs (practical exam where we get to see 'patients', and I always seemingly find pathologies that aren't supposed to be there), and the anatomy/microanatomy spotter, after which people's complaints were most vocal.

I thought all the exams went alright alhamdulillah; obviously some questions were impossibly difficult which just needed educated-ish guesses (and which were hotly debated over after the exam was done), but I found that my stress-free approach to things helped a great deal with getting through an exam as well as preparation for the next.

But by results day, when I logged on, I really was not expecting what I saw: I got a merit! Alhamdulillah :)

Free?

Slightly Busy

At the moment I'm in the process of cramming in more knowledge than I have ever accumulated in my life, so I apologise for the lack of 'monthly updates'. But expect a thorough and detailed review of the five months since the beginning of 2011. For the moment though, I need to revise for the exams starting on Monday!

^Something I made during a previous bout of revision boredom.

Willpower

It's been a few weeks since the London Marathon, and while the leg pain has subsided and I can think clearly now, I thought I'd write about how it all went. Preparation? Well, I'd always planned to train since the half-marathon in October, but I had never gotten round to it, not if you include a random 20km run with a friend once; and if you do the maths, 20km is less than half a marathon!

People had been training extremely hard for this one day; monitoring their diets and following intricately-planned training routines. Not that I don't believe in that sort of thing, but I've just been up to other stuff and didn't really have time for it all. I play football twice a week, run from home to the station (usually because I'm late), and that's about it. So I did have some reason to be slightly anxious the night before the race; the exhibition at Excel where we registered was full of eager beavers stocking up on their name-printed shirts and energy drinks. I bought a pair of South African-made running socks that felt quite padded and comfortable, got my running number and kit bag, then got out of there, passing the stalls where people from various other cities around the world were advertising their marathons.

The morning of the race; with pasta in my belly from the night before, and excitement levels at their highest, watching all the crowds converge from the tubes to marathon start line. My phone charger wasn't plugged in the night before, so I was relying on the half battery I had to take all the photos and make all the calls I needed during the race. Yes, I 'needed' to make calls; running can be that boring sometimes! I met my friend Farhan at the lorry where they take your kit bag to the finish line, so I got changed and gave my red numbered bag to the people at our lorry, before realising I'd left my phone inside, and thus began the frantic search for my bag.

So with my phone finally in my hand, and oyster and bank cards in the zip-up back pocket of my shorts, we started running, taking loads of photos of the wacky and bizarre costumes some runners wore, and witty comments people had written on their signs and vests. Things were going well the first 10 miles; not tired at all and Blackberry Messenger-ing my way through, occasionally grabbing a bottle of water or Lucozade the volunteers were handing out. It was a beautiful sunny day and the crowds of spectators along the route really spurred you on, with people even handing out their household reserves of fruit and sweets. I think this is why they call it the best marathon in the world; the people, the kids sticking their hands out to get as many high-fives as possible; the atmosphere was something I had never experienced before.

After the first 10 miles, I felt a little pain in my right knee, but I would not let this spoil my day. Just one foot in front of the other I thought, and stay with your friend. Look out for other friends running, say hello to them, before politely overtaking and wishing them luck. Halfway through we see the Barts Running Club congregated behind the barriers, cheering on the runners from our university. This stretch of road had two lanes; in one direction people just passing the halfway mark, and in the other direction was the 22 mile sign, with runners in this lane noticably more tired than in ours.

20 miles, and we were in the 'financial district' of London; Canary Wharf and other tall buildings, and where I had volunteered to help the year before. Here I bumped into another friend volunteering, and quickly took a picture of him, before telling him everything was fine, a bit of knee pain but that was it. I wish it had stayed that way! I had given up trying to encourage Farhan to keep up and keep breathing (more a motivation for myself than anything), and I lost him in the crowd behind me. I hadn't yet reached mile 21 and the pain started to kick in; the knowledge that if you stopped running for one second, your legs would cramp up... I had to keep going!

My photo-taking was less frequent now, just focused on reaching that finish line 5 miles away. And then, after passing the Tower of London, it happened. My entire right leg seized up and I was stopped in my tracks; the spectators on the side urging me on with their looks of sympathy. What could I do? I couldn't go on for another four miles in this state, with my leg refusing to continue, throbbing with pain. 'I can't give up now', I thought, so I wrapped my hands around my leg and lifted it, and with a cheer from my newly-formed fan group, I carried on; pain still radiating along my entire leg. For the rest of the run, the only emotions I had were fear; fear that things would get too bad for me to continue, and hope that I would get myself across the finish line. I had wondered how I could ever have gotten this far without the tubes of Lucozade gel people were handing out (of which I took more than one each time), the Red Bull shot I drank at Tower Bridge, and the company of my running companion.

I was alone, and through gritted teeth, clutching onto the Lycra that hugged my painful leg, I carried on. People were slowing down, slowing me down. I couldn't let that happen. I just wanted to push them out of the way, but instead had to squeeze past them with a polite 'excuse me' each time, the pain multiplying. And then came mile 22; and the Barts Running Club again; what a boost of morale they gave! I managed to take a quick picture of the cheering group of familiar faces, before they disappeared into the distance (or rather I did). Then Embankment, nearly there! The memories of all the people being stretchered away earlier served as a motivation to not let that happen to me, but just as I was approaching Westminster, my other leg cramped up. No! I massaged it for a little bit, ignored the burn, and limped laboriously on; the last stretch! And then I heard my name being called from behind the barriers; more friends! I couldn't give up now. I was practically there! The sign said 800 metres to go. That was like, two track lengths... I could do that!

Seeing Buckingham Palace had never been so pleasing, and as I approached the finish line, I ignored the pain and took in the atmosphere. This was amazing. A life moment in the making.

I crossed the finish line, and had a gold 'London Marathon 2011' medal placed around my neck. As I walked along the Mall, leaving the finish line behind me, a sudden overwhelming emotion gripped me. I wanted to cry. I don't know why, but I just wanted to. Now I understand why so many of the great sportspeople are overcome by this emotion. Something they plan and prepare themselves for for so long, and then they achieve it; everything paying off, after all the toil and sweat, they hadn't envisioned or prepared for the moments that came afterwards.

Ten minutes later, Farhan emerged from the crowds, and with medals around our necks, and wearing T-shirts that proclaimed us to be finishers of the London Marathon, we sat down in the radiant sunshine and reminisced, already discussing if we should run another marathon elsewhere.

Willpower played a major part in me finishing, but my legs were the things that carried me through. I don't know why they put up with me sometimes. I love my legs.