Why I love WY pt 4: what waiting tables taught me about choosing a medical specialty

living in the woods for a summer = legit

Part 4 of a 5 part series - Why I love Wyoming.

Pt 1: An intro

Pt 2: A summer of XC training in WY

Pt 2: Running a 100 mile week

Pt 3: Climbing Middle Teton

I spent the summer of 2007 in Flagg Ranch of Moran, Wyoming - smack dab inbetween Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Park.  

When I landed in Jackson Hole, Wyoming I had no idea what I was doing there.  In my joke of an online job application I listed three preferred jobs.  My #1 job was housekeeping because it had the least hours.

I ended up with the most time consuming job possible - the restaurant.  It opened up at 6:30 AM to please the early morning crowd, but also stayed open until 11 PM for the late-night drinkers.  Everyone in the restaurant had to work 50-60 hour weeks, and it was hard work - I've never done so much standing or speed walking in my life. Much respect to any waiters out there - your life is hard. 

the Flagg Ranch team

My favorite part of Flagg Ranch: My coworkers cared about life. There's a lot of boring people in this world, and I never wanted to be one of them.  I have a theory that society forces people into square pegs with words like "mature" and "important" which really just means "boring."  If there's anything that's bad for your soul, it's being bored.  I'd bet that boredom leads to more alcoholism and sexual infidelity than any other emotion.  So what's the cure to boredom? Adventure!

Enter my awesome coworkers.  Several of my coworkers at Flagg were kindred spirits - young college kids in a finding yourself mold.  There were also college students from Turkey, Jordan, Russia - wanting a taste of the American experience.  And then there were the older folks - including our fearless leader - the bartender that doubled as a youth gymnast, hardcore solo mountain climber, ladies man, entrepreneur extraordinaire.. the whole 9 yards.  

the backyard

Whether we were from the Midwest or the Middle East - we all made the conscious decision to leave our comfort zones and move to a place where we didn't know anyone.  We slaved away at tough day jobs, and all the while climbed some monstrous mountains, and met some fellow brave spirits.  These were people who were throwing up a middle finger to the square peg of society.  

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great book

I'm the kind of med student that's going to change my mind every six weeks about what sort of doctor I want to be, but whenever I think about match day 2,286 days from now, sidenote - WOW that is long. Anyways, whenever I think about the match - I remember those days waiting tables at Flagg Ranch.  

I want to be with people who give a shit.   

The life of a physiatrist sounds sweet - but I want a medical specialty where my co workers and I aren't chasing lifestyle. I want to live in a world where my friends and coworkers are after greatness.  Token NBA analogy - I'd rather be Kobe Bryant than Shaq.  I see my future filled with long nights in the hospital fixing babies hearts, drinking coffee at 3 AM, and talking shit about how the medical system is broken.  Peds CT surgery, see you in seven years.

See you on the other side,

from ken

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WY series pt 3: deye mon gen mon

 

All I could hear was Corey yelling at me, “Ken, COME ON, we’re almost there. We can’t stop now!” 

I replied back with a noticeable tinge of fear, “I.. I can’t, dude. I’m really really afraid of heights.” 

He snapped back, “You have to be kidding me! I can’t finish this by myself! We’re so close!” 

I didn’t know what to say. We were climbing Middle Teton, one of the highest mountains in Grand Teton National Park. The only thing on my mind was the deep valley to our side that looked like a long ways to fall. 

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Let me backtrack for a second. While I was in Wyoming I made a couple good friends, Corey and Stephen. We bonded through our long days in the restaurant and our adventures through the Wyoming wilderness. The three of us may never cross paths again, but after Middle Teton we would be friends forever. 

One night in the employee dining hall, we were chatting with our friends over a few pieces of oversalted pork chops. They were bragging endlessly about a mountain, Middle Teton, they had recently climbed – ice axes, glaciers, rock climbing, and all. Throughout the meal I could feel Corey’s competitive edge and Stephen’s need for intensity brewing. As we left the dining hall we were already figuring out how to coordinate our days off to attempt Middle Teton. 

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We arrived at the trailhead with a little less sunlight than we had planned, and as our ride wished us luck and drove off, it started raining. Before we knew it, we heard thunder. Half an hour into the trip we were already at each other’s throats. 

Stephen asked: “Yo, should we stop?” 

Corey grumbled back: “F this!” 

I ignored them, trudging ahead and mumbling under my breath: “I told you we should’ve gone on Wednesday.” 

We went forward with the long climb to the base, switchback after switchback. Before we knew it, the rain had stopped, we had set up camp for the night, and we were catching picturesque views of the Wyoming wilderness. 

The next morning we set out, rumbling over rocks until we made it to the first glacier. It was one of those, don’t-look-up don’t-look-down just-keep-going-climbs, but I couldn’t help myself and I peaked down. We were higher than I thought. 

Sidenote – I’m afraid of heights. I thought this whole adventure could be one of those stereotypical overcoming fear stories – Ken fears heights, climbs mountain, overcomes fear. Instead, it was more like – Ken fears heights, climbs mountain, still afraid of heights. The lesson as always, you can’t win. 

After the glacier we took a well-deserved break. In fact, we took several breaks along the way. Nobody would say it outright, but you could feel the energy of the conversation shifting with every break. We started out saying, “Dude, I can’t believe we’re doing this,” but on later breaks we were saying, “Dude, I can’t believe we’re doing this.” 

We eventually reached a valley where we could see for what felt like miles away and miles down. I was at the height of my fear.

All I could hear was Corey yelling at me, “Ken, COME ON, we’re almost there. We can’t stop now!” 

“OK OK.” 

I leapt, and landed on the ledge by Corey’s footstep. There was what seemed like inches between our feet and an endless fall. 

“See, I said you’d make it!” 

I felt paralyzed by my fear of heights, but my competitive side was fighting. I could feel the two voices going at it, when suddenly Corey jumped and pulled himself onto the next rock. He glanced down at me: 

“You can sit here if you want, but I’m getting to the top.” 

And with that he was off. 

From there it’s all a blur – we were scrambling, problem-solving the safest routes up treacherous rock formations, and at the same time in the midst of a race to the top. I barely even remember the summit, I vaguely recall running ahead of Corey as I sensed the peak coming, but I couldn’t tell you much. 

Looking back, that adventure was an epic victory. I at one time referred to it as the greatest two days of my life. A victory over my fear of heights, over the greatest creations of mother nature, but mostly it was a victory of the thrill of adventure over the boredom of everyday life. 

All I know is, I would never have made it alone.

See you on the other side, 

from ken

Why I love Wyoming pt 2: A well earned celebratory hand gesture

One of the big running mile markers, pun intended, is the one hundred mile week. It doesn’t really mean anything, but at the same time, it means everything. I had several consistent 90 mile weeks, but the 100 mile week just felt like a higher level. 

One week I had unknowingly racked up the miles, including a 20 mile long run. Near the end of that week, it was Saturday afternoon, the last day of my running week, and I was sitting at 93 miles. I had scheduled a six miler. 

Was it worth it to go seven miles to reach one hundred? 

Would I just be caving into looking good rather than being good, and wanting that three digit week? 

The answer to both those questions, was yes. But I didn’t know that when I departed. 

I set out the door that afternoon settled on a six mile run, and I saw one of my buddies, Samet, a Turkish soccer player. He was about to leave for a short twenty minute jog to stay in shape, but when he saw me running I could sense his competitive side awakening. He casually asked to run with me. 

We set out jogging easy, and I told him I was planning to run six miles. He told me he’d turn back when he felt tired. We checked past the two mile marker, and the three mile marker. Eventually, we passed the tree that signaled three and a half miles. 

We would be running back on the same road, so at that point I knew. I had one hundred miles this week, in the bank. It felt a bit surreal, but it was hard to take in at the moment because Samet and I were in the midst of a heated discussion about the philosophical aspects of our sports. 

We talked about what made us train at grueling levels and why we fell in love with our sports. We had lots of aimless tangents, but ultimately settled on one point. These sports, these challenges, they tested our character. They tested the amount of soul we had in our fragile human bodies. Maybe we were just too proud to give up. 

As we went on, I realized I was doing most of the talking. A rare thing when I'm with a new friend.  Samet was breathing hard, real hard. I paused my ranting for a second to check if he was ok. He told me, inbetween breaths, that he had never ran more than four miles. At that exact moment we were approaching six miles. 

I tried to encourage him, but I knew this was out of my hands. He kept telling me he had to walk it in, he had to give up. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. I just kept running. 

Before I knew it, the employee dorms were just a short 100 yards away. When we turned that last corner something in Samet’s dead tired body just clicked. The way it clicks in a toddler’s head when he first walks on his own two legs - Whoa, I can do this. 

At that moment Samet muttered, “Thanks,” and with that he took off in a dead sprint. Samet was screaming at the top of his dried out lungs, in broken English, “NEVER GIVE UP, NEVER GIVE UP.” I get chills just putting those words down on paper. 

Samet had gained noticeable ground on me as I got back to our starting point, the employee rec hall. When I stopped, I made eye contact with him and silently acknowledged that we had helped each other reach a higher level of ourselves. He had ran a longer distance than he ever thought possible, and not only that, he had proven to himself the exact reason why he got into soccer in the first place. He never wanted to give up. He wanted to give his best, every moment he was alive. 

And for me, I had reached the seemingly impossible. When I started running in high school, I was a below average runner at best, struggling to break 20 minutes in the 5k. I never thought I would attain the level of running and strength it took to run a one hundred mile week. But here I was, standing with Samet, 100 miles logged on my legs over the past week. 

I will always remember that moment. Seeing the look on Samet’s face, I knew we had attained a connection only possible for those working together, shooting for levels of life higher than the normal person would dare to imagine. We had achieved, together, what life was like when you stick to the grind. 

I stuck out my hand, and he slapped me five. A good day.

See you on the other side, 

from ken  

Feel free to comment! I would love to hear your thoughts.

Why Wyoming is my favorite state pt. 2: The Trial of Miles

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“You know people just don’t, people just don’t see how much work is really involved in this rap shit. I didn’t know it, I didn’t see it, I never saw it until I was actually in it. You really gotta be in it, to understand what it’s like, but you always gotta, people always gotta see you smiling, you always gotta put on that fake, you know what I’m saying? Like, no matter what you just been through, it has gotta be right.”

        - Cypress Hill

When I shipped out to Wyoming, I made a list of five goals.  In retrospect, I don't even remember them.  Except for the one I stuck to: Running 1000 miles in the 90 days I would spend in Wyoming.  Some quick math reveals that, on average, I would need to run over eleven miles every single day.

It was the summer before my junior year cross country season.  As everyone who has run cross country knows, the real preparation is done in the summer, and when the season rolls around in the fall, it’s all just fine tuning.  That summer, everyone on our team knew we were getting ready for a huge season.  We had a strong class of seniors, and we knew this would be our big shot at making nationals.  Everyone was amped, and the summer really showed it.  Every week people were putting up 70, 80, 90 mile weeks like it was nothing.  It is not nothing to run over 10 miles a day.  It is hard.  And it takes a toll on your soul.

When I reached my summer training grounds, Wyoming, the first challenge was adapting to the climate.  For one, there was snow until late June.  On top of that, it was over 6,000 ft altitude.  My first run was a three miler - for a runner at my level a three mile run was the equivalent of walking down your front steps to pick up the morning paper - but the second day I got there when I went on that three miler, I thought I was having a heart attack.

The second challenge was deciding where to train.  There was a gravel/dirt road, Grassy Lake road, that lead out from our ranch all the way to Idaho.  So everyday I chose to run on that road, out and back.  It could have been nice to train on different terrain and varied scenery, but there was something unexplainably valuable to training on the same road day in and day out.  So after the snow melted, I began my daily ventures on Grassy Lake road:

It took me a couple weeks to shake off the rust and get my legs back underneath me after the track season, but soon enough I was hitting the high mileage.

There are always different philosophies on training, but I was always a big fan of two a days.  I got up before work and cracked out a real easy half hour jog.  It got my heart rate going a bit, and helped my legs recover from the main afternoon run.  In the afternoon, after work or between shifts, I would pound out the main session – a good hour or more.

On my days off, I would crank out a good two hour long run.  Those runs were thrilling in the sense that they made me feel powerful.  I saw my pre-conceived limits bowing down to the reality I was creating.  One such reality was the volume of running my rail-thin body could handle.

To be continued next week.

See you on the other side,

from ken 

Feel free to comment! I would love to hear your thoughts on the writing.

Why Wyoming is my favorite state

Wyoming is my favorite state, and not only because my wife and family are from there.  It’s also a place where I spent a once in a lifetime summer.  I realized I’ve referenced Wyoming, and that experience several times, but I’ve never written at length about it.  So I thought I’d put together a short series of pieces about it.  It’s a 5 part piece describing:

1) why I chose Wyoming

2) the running I did there

3) climbing Middle Teton

4) my work friends at the restaurant

5) my conclusions

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Why Wyoming is my favorite state pt. 1: Why I went to Wyoming

I was moving towards summer during my sophomore year at college.  I was talking with a biology professor about sticking around to do summer lab research.  Simultaneously, I was looking into summer jobs at resorts in Michigan, Cape Cod, Yosemite, Yellowstone, everywhere.  Sidenote – I wish I had writing from back then, so I could go back and look at my thoughts, but instead I’ll have to rely on human memory.

I remember that winter break I was in Lawrence, Kansas with some of my college homies.  We were sitting in a coffee shop, and I noticed an email pop up in my inbox from Flagg Ranch.  They were offering me a job that summer, waiting tables in Wyoming. 

The next couple hours I was calling my brain trust, some of my friends from home, about the potential decision not to come home for the summer.  Really I just needed someone’s approval.  I’m needy like that.

One of them told me,

“Damn, such a Ken thing.  Always doing weird bold things out of nowhere.”  

The next day, with the approval of the brain trust, I took the job.

Flagg Ranch was located in the awkward inbetween space between the two Wyoming national parks, Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons.  It was geographically isolated since it wasn’t in the parks, but on top of that, it didn’t have ready access to the internet, nor did it have cell phone service.  Basically, you were only going to interact with the sixty or so people at the ranch, which was a weird experience in and of itself. 

I hope these next few posts will explain my story in Wyoming: the relationships I formed at this isolated ranch, the miles I covered by foot, and the mountains I climbed.  If nothing else, it will be valuable practice for me as I train to write books, and stories longer than 500 words.  Sidenote - I think my story about Wyoming will be one of my first books, which will eventually get re-published after I write a hit memoir about medicine, and people will be duped into buying it because I had one successful book.  Yes, this just happened to me and I’m bitter about it.  But anyways.

Overall, I can’t tell you what I wanted to get out of Wyoming, but I can tell you what I got from it: Wyoming was where I learned the answer to this question. 

“There will come a point in the race.  When you alone will need to decide.  You will need to make a decision.  Do you really want it?  You will need to decide.”

            - Paul Tergat, 2004 Olympic Marathon Gold

See you on the other side,

from ken

 

Feel free to comment! I would love to hear your thoughts.