F
Field Ethos
Guest
By Clayton Young
Bzzzzzz …
With the energy only a 2-year-old has, my son is frantically demonstrating an extraordinary crash between two race cars leading to the destruction of a multicolor magnet tile house my wife just built him.
Bzzzzzz …
I hate checking my phone when I am with my family but as the kids say, “I’m getting overstimulated.” I break my promise to myself and open my email. “Have you seen the latest FE Outrider film?” Probably, I think as I click. What greets my eyes is the iconic wardrobe of the most recognizable party on earth, San Fermin, more commonly known as The Running of the Bulls. Truthfully, I was never much of a reader as a kid, so I did not know of the festival from Hemingway’s “The Sun Also Rises.” Rather from horror stories of gore and mutilation on the playground and its grip on the cultural zeitgeist for anyone with a Y chromosome.
Truthfully, I can’t remember the first time I heard about the festival, only how I always wanted to do it. Like tinnitus, it has always been a background call to adventure. A paragon of living life to the fullest. I didn’t grow up going on European vacations or international travel, unless you count crossing the Ambassador Bridge to buy ice skates in Canada. I knew I wanted to be a doctor and the smart thing to do was to go from high school to college to medical school as soon as possible, with no big gaps for adventure or backpacking foreign lands, during the time of life with no commitments. The closest I ever came was when a female friend was talking about house sitting in Spain for the summer after college and going to San Fermin. We briefly knocked around the idea of me tagging along but nothing came to fruition. I decided to do the smart thing and work hard to save up some money instead.
Doing the smart and safe thing worked out great for me. I met a beautiful girl, who showed me soulmates actually exist, so I married her. I got into medical school, essentially guaranteeing me a comfortable life if I just put in the work. Studying for 12 hours a day for weeks on end when all your other friends are starting the “pay off” part of life really lights a fire under your ass to start living life with a bit more excitement. So, we started traveling more, having more adventures off the beaten path. Overall, we both became more adventurous during those years. A novel corona virus canceled our plans to backpack Europe the summer after I graduated. Many lost far more than a vacation, but having a trip that was the light at the end of a long tunnel taken away stung. We turned this into motivation to keep seeking new horizons.
Once my post-medical school residency began, the adventures got bigger and more pronounced, as we could finally afford it. The hours were long, and the pay was meager; the janitors made more per hour than us some months. But at 28 I was finally making more than $10 an hour. The trips weren’t extravagant, but our budget prioritized feeding wanderlust instead of comfort. As all stages of life, residency came and went, though with the addition of the cutest little race car driver mentioned above. It was finally time for a big trip, but now I was in the most important stage of life. Fatherhood. We settled on going to Europe, starting with Spain. A war of Russian aggression made us nervous to plan anything in Europe, but that was almost two thousand miles away. We decided if a once-in-a-hundred-year pandemic followed by World War 3 kept us away, we would take it as a sign.
Like the Green Goblin mask calling to Willem Dafoe, I knew what I had to do. As an endless example of why you marry a good woman, my wife agreed we could not count the trip a success unless I ran. She knew I would never allow myself to watch others do what I always wanted to. Was it advisable to do something this stupid, at the outset of an amazing career, after starting a new family? NO! The headline writes itself: “Newly Minted Father and Doctor Gets Decapitated by Bull in Spain.” I know this was in my sweet mother’s mind when she heard we were going to Spain and her first response was, “You’re not going to run with the bulls are you?”
Sometimes in life, there are moments you know you must capitalize on if you ever want to hold eye contact with a mirror. This was one of them. What I want more than anything else is to be there for my son, but sometimes you also have to be an example. You need to show the kids how to live a life worth living. Us Emergency Department doctors know tomorrow is not a sure thing. It could be a drunk driver, debris thrown from a roller coaster, or a bull’s horn to the face.
The festival starts each day with the runners packing themselves into the holding pen like the delicious sardines the region is famous for. Shoulder to shoulder, with all routes of escape boarded off, I did start to doubt myself. But as us runners started singing with the onlookers, the excitement began to build. As did the sense of unity among us fools. All of the online research I did was not enough to make me feel confident in the spot that I preplanned. All that was left to do was get that nervous energy out by jumping in place and stretching with thousands of others. Excited energy builds as you wait for the first gun to go off signaling the toro bravos release. It took longer than I expected to see a wave of nervous runners headed towards me.
Go time
Running because my life depended on it is something I had not done before or since. Originally, time didn’t slow; instead, I felt more aware of my surroundings. Dodging the less nimble who had already fallen, instinctually having sure footing with each step, and observing my location in relationship to the crowd, and the inevitably of approaching bulls. In a moment of clarity, only rivaled by the birth of my children and the moment I found my wife the most striking being in existence, I looked over my right shoulder mid stride to see a hulking bull only feet from me. With its tan mass frozen mid-stride, I noticed how quiet everything was. As if a spell was broken, time resumed, and the herd ran through.
I continued running into the stadium with all but the most unlucky and uncoordinated. Running full tilt into a stadium of thousands cheering for you, with a sense of accomplishment, and adrenaline coursing through your veins was a high I had not anticipated. A second moment not experienced before or since. I cherish that memory. The only thing I would change is that I was by myself in that crowd. Man is a social creature; I am no exception. I lost track of the random Aussies I was making small talk with before the chaos, but it would not have been the same as dodging bulls with my tribe. I want to go back to rectify this one day. So, my advice to you dear reader, is go and do it, but if you do, go with those you know. You will make crystal clear memories to last a life time.
P.S. If you are short on friends who are as mad as you, the FE Outrider trip seems like a good way to meet some.
The post The Best Bad Decision appeared first on Field Ethos.
Continue reading...
Bzzzzzz …
With the energy only a 2-year-old has, my son is frantically demonstrating an extraordinary crash between two race cars leading to the destruction of a multicolor magnet tile house my wife just built him.
Bzzzzzz …
I hate checking my phone when I am with my family but as the kids say, “I’m getting overstimulated.” I break my promise to myself and open my email. “Have you seen the latest FE Outrider film?” Probably, I think as I click. What greets my eyes is the iconic wardrobe of the most recognizable party on earth, San Fermin, more commonly known as The Running of the Bulls. Truthfully, I was never much of a reader as a kid, so I did not know of the festival from Hemingway’s “The Sun Also Rises.” Rather from horror stories of gore and mutilation on the playground and its grip on the cultural zeitgeist for anyone with a Y chromosome.
Truthfully, I can’t remember the first time I heard about the festival, only how I always wanted to do it. Like tinnitus, it has always been a background call to adventure. A paragon of living life to the fullest. I didn’t grow up going on European vacations or international travel, unless you count crossing the Ambassador Bridge to buy ice skates in Canada. I knew I wanted to be a doctor and the smart thing to do was to go from high school to college to medical school as soon as possible, with no big gaps for adventure or backpacking foreign lands, during the time of life with no commitments. The closest I ever came was when a female friend was talking about house sitting in Spain for the summer after college and going to San Fermin. We briefly knocked around the idea of me tagging along but nothing came to fruition. I decided to do the smart thing and work hard to save up some money instead.
Doing the Smart Thing
Doing the smart and safe thing worked out great for me. I met a beautiful girl, who showed me soulmates actually exist, so I married her. I got into medical school, essentially guaranteeing me a comfortable life if I just put in the work. Studying for 12 hours a day for weeks on end when all your other friends are starting the “pay off” part of life really lights a fire under your ass to start living life with a bit more excitement. So, we started traveling more, having more adventures off the beaten path. Overall, we both became more adventurous during those years. A novel corona virus canceled our plans to backpack Europe the summer after I graduated. Many lost far more than a vacation, but having a trip that was the light at the end of a long tunnel taken away stung. We turned this into motivation to keep seeking new horizons.
Once my post-medical school residency began, the adventures got bigger and more pronounced, as we could finally afford it. The hours were long, and the pay was meager; the janitors made more per hour than us some months. But at 28 I was finally making more than $10 an hour. The trips weren’t extravagant, but our budget prioritized feeding wanderlust instead of comfort. As all stages of life, residency came and went, though with the addition of the cutest little race car driver mentioned above. It was finally time for a big trip, but now I was in the most important stage of life. Fatherhood. We settled on going to Europe, starting with Spain. A war of Russian aggression made us nervous to plan anything in Europe, but that was almost two thousand miles away. We decided if a once-in-a-hundred-year pandemic followed by World War 3 kept us away, we would take it as a sign.
Like the Green Goblin mask calling to Willem Dafoe, I knew what I had to do. As an endless example of why you marry a good woman, my wife agreed we could not count the trip a success unless I ran. She knew I would never allow myself to watch others do what I always wanted to. Was it advisable to do something this stupid, at the outset of an amazing career, after starting a new family? NO! The headline writes itself: “Newly Minted Father and Doctor Gets Decapitated by Bull in Spain.” I know this was in my sweet mother’s mind when she heard we were going to Spain and her first response was, “You’re not going to run with the bulls are you?”
Sometimes in life, there are moments you know you must capitalize on if you ever want to hold eye contact with a mirror. This was one of them. What I want more than anything else is to be there for my son, but sometimes you also have to be an example. You need to show the kids how to live a life worth living. Us Emergency Department doctors know tomorrow is not a sure thing. It could be a drunk driver, debris thrown from a roller coaster, or a bull’s horn to the face.
Fiestas de San Fermin
The festival starts each day with the runners packing themselves into the holding pen like the delicious sardines the region is famous for. Shoulder to shoulder, with all routes of escape boarded off, I did start to doubt myself. But as us runners started singing with the onlookers, the excitement began to build. As did the sense of unity among us fools. All of the online research I did was not enough to make me feel confident in the spot that I preplanned. All that was left to do was get that nervous energy out by jumping in place and stretching with thousands of others. Excited energy builds as you wait for the first gun to go off signaling the toro bravos release. It took longer than I expected to see a wave of nervous runners headed towards me.
Go time
Running because my life depended on it is something I had not done before or since. Originally, time didn’t slow; instead, I felt more aware of my surroundings. Dodging the less nimble who had already fallen, instinctually having sure footing with each step, and observing my location in relationship to the crowd, and the inevitably of approaching bulls. In a moment of clarity, only rivaled by the birth of my children and the moment I found my wife the most striking being in existence, I looked over my right shoulder mid stride to see a hulking bull only feet from me. With its tan mass frozen mid-stride, I noticed how quiet everything was. As if a spell was broken, time resumed, and the herd ran through.
I continued running into the stadium with all but the most unlucky and uncoordinated. Running full tilt into a stadium of thousands cheering for you, with a sense of accomplishment, and adrenaline coursing through your veins was a high I had not anticipated. A second moment not experienced before or since. I cherish that memory. The only thing I would change is that I was by myself in that crowd. Man is a social creature; I am no exception. I lost track of the random Aussies I was making small talk with before the chaos, but it would not have been the same as dodging bulls with my tribe. I want to go back to rectify this one day. So, my advice to you dear reader, is go and do it, but if you do, go with those you know. You will make crystal clear memories to last a life time.
P.S. If you are short on friends who are as mad as you, the FE Outrider trip seems like a good way to meet some.
The post The Best Bad Decision appeared first on Field Ethos.
Continue reading...
