(My dream this morning right before waking up, might be obvious where this is coming from):
The weekend of the PCTR San Francisco One Day has come, but I'm looking at my calendar, and I notice that I'm on call for my internal medicine rotation on Sunday, which is when the race finishes. It's a Q3 rotation (meaning our team takes calls for hospital admissions every third day), and yes, there it is. Call, Sunday. Damn! I'm either an intern / 1st-year resident, or lower yet in the academic hospital pecking order, a medical student. Shirking my duties and being late to arrive will have serious repercussions on the evaluation for this rotation. I'm screwed. How am I going to finish the race and on-time to hospital, not to even mention lucid? My drop bag isn't even prepared yet.
All of sudden, I realize it's Saturday morning, the day of the race. I'm still in the hospital. Shit! The race begins at 9 a.m. If there was any chance of getting someone to cover my patients for rounds, it's too late! I see my attending in the hallway, a burly guy from Iran or Pakistan, who looks at me as if to pimp me in his thick Iranian or Pakistani accent: ("So, Mark, what is the differential diagnosis of our lady with the unexplained lowered creatinine clearance?" I imagine he will ask.) I duck out. Forget my evaluation. Forget my future in medicine. Screw it all. I gotta get to the race.
I run out to the parking garage, there's construction downtown and rush hour traffic. (I know it's supposed to be Saturday, and there large urban downtowns in Marin, but this is a dream...), I have to cross the Golden Gate Bridge to get into the city.
I finally get to where the race is supposed to be, Crissy Field. Instead of an open field, the race loops around a big 12 foot high black wall. Everyone has already started. I see co-RD Sarah Spelt, I'm embarrassed that I'm so late (it's almost 11). She says something to me, but I feel so guilty, like I wasn't taking her race seriously enough, that I don't hear what she says. I'm so disorganized.
I start running, doing calculations in my head for how fast I'll now have to run to both win and set a new course record, which for some reason, I just HAD to do. I can't just kick back and have fun. This is really going to hurt.
Oh, man this is going to suck!
(Shortly after this, my kids start pounding on my door, awakening me from this nightmare, though cutting my sleep short since I went to bed at 4. Maybe it's lucky that I have to stay up all night tonight, working...)