I'd had it all planned out: I'd write about how to train hard in graduate school. It'd be awesome. So I'd grab a glass of water, sit down, and open up a tab. I'd try to type. And my fingers would resist, bracing themselves for grandiosity. Trim 10 Minutes Off Your SAT-Solving Algorithm With This One Cute Heuristic. Three Researchers Extend The Simply-Typed Lambda Calculus, And You Won't Believe What Happens Next. Normal people say "like pulling teeth." I think a more apt comparison is "like writing an NSF research proposal."
Alas.
My friend Chandra asked me last month how I manage my time so well. She said that she and another first-year had been talking about how good I am at it. I remember thinking, "oh god, is that really the impression I give?" I have a few things I really like, and I try to build my life around them. All the while, I spend entire Sundays stubbornly hacking away at problems I could probably solve in thirty minutes with a fresh mind the next day. I forget to do basic human things like eat and drink.
The reason people think this, I guess, is because I don't complain a lot. And I'll tell you why I don't complain: I'm happy. I spent three years reflecting on whether or not this was what I wanted to do with my life, and I concluded that yes, it absolutely is. There are few things I'm sure of, and this is one of them. But I should probably complain a little.
Here's what training in graduate school is really like: Some weeks are great. Your research is going super well. You made a breakthrough, got so much done. You don't have much classwork to worry about, and you actually did all of the reading for your reading groups for once. You're still working more than a standard nine-to-five, but it's fun, so you don't really mind. You run-commute some days to save time. There are showers downstairs. Cool. Nobody looks at you funny when you leave at 4:30 PM on a Wednesday to make it to track practice. You meet a dude in your lab who's like, "yeah, I lift," so you have a lifting buddy, too. Your social life is glowing; everyone is awesome. Seventy-five miles, smooth.
Here's what training in graduate school is really like: Some weeks are a mess. You're kind of at a boring point in your research, and you have a super cool side-project you'd rather be thinking about, but you know that you need to get through this part so you can get a paper out of it, because there's some other cool stuff you did that is probably paper-worthy. You also have a take-home midterm. You know that if you put it off, you're going to be thinking about it while you try to do your research, so you try to get as much done as quickly as possible. You get stuck on one problem, and it's 4:00 PM on a Wednesday, and you say, whatever, thirty minutes and I'll leave for practice. And then it's 5:00 PM. And then 6:00 PM. At 7:00 PM you cave and realize practice isn't happening (but at least you solved the problem) so you run-commute home in jeans and a T-shirt. You wake up at 6:00 AM to do a tempo and some 800s, but part-way through the 800s you're like "oh god, I feel awful," so you head up the hill for a Fartlek instead.
(And I haven't even had a paper deadline yet.)
XC did not go well for me. I ran in two meets, and I was really tired for both of them. They were slow. I figure I'm adjusting to a new lifestyle; it will take time.
It ended abruptly a few weeks ago when I tore a glute lifting weights. I was in a hurry to try to get to a board meeting, so I didn't warm up. During my sixth deadlift rep I felt a sharp pain. It was slight, though, so I figured I'd be fine if I just rested and kept going. A few reps later, it came back, searing, shooting. Pride carried me to the locker room, where I stared at my locker, wondering how the hell I was going to get out of the gym without anyone noticing. Please don't notice, please don't notice, oh god this hurts so badly that my vision is going black and I'm going to faint. I need to lie down. I guess I'll lie down.
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| The message I sent to Pavel, my lifting buddy |
I couldn't actually get off the ground, so someone in the locker room called over a lifeguard. The lifeguard thought I was "having cramps," so she kept trying to convince me to get up. Every time I moved, my glute went into a violent spasm. So the firemen came, and then the EMTs, who got me up onto a stretcher (I had never screamed so loudly in my life) and carried me out of the gym. The whole time, I was like, please don't notice, oh god, this is so embarrassing, everyone is going to think I'm weak and I don't know what I'm doing, and I really don't want this attention, please don't look at me, please don't look at me.
This sounds like a miserable story, sure. It's a memory I hold kind of fondly, though. In part because it's hilarious. I mean, I had to take an ambulance from the gym to the ER which is literally two minutes from the gym (the bill to my insurance for this was $750), and the only thing I was concerned about was not being noticed.
But also, Pavel went with me to the ER. And then he texted Zach, a professor in our group, who picked me up after five hours of morphine, muscle relaxers, and periodic screaming. I wouldn't have asked for help on my own. I would have probably taken an Uber.
I got in the next day to this:
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| Best research group ever |
One of the reasons that I waited three years before starting graduate school was to find balance. In college I was super intense. I worked very hard and kept mostly to myself. Everyone knew me, but nobody knew me. So I had to find out how to balance my life a little. I found a second family in Seattle: Club Northwest. I poured myself into my running.
I didn't expect it to work both ways. Graduate school balances me, too. I am surrounded by people I love, doing something I love. It's nice to have two things going for you, because running, like research, ebbs and flows.
I've barely been able to run for the past few weeks. But it's honestly been OK.
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