Keep Dancin', Kate Hansen

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Since the eighth grade, I have been a devout disciple of Pentel R.S.V.P. 0.7mm fine tip ballpoint pens. After whatever mysterious Writing Implement Dating Service in the sky fortuitously brought the two of us together, not once have I bothered to look for another brand. Anxiety overtakes me if I am forced to cheat on my beloved. When I ask to borrow a pen from someone and they hand me a bland BIC with a 1.0mm tip, my fingers blister with ire as I consider the barbaric marks forced onto my poor, innocent paper by such a ludicrously large tip. Cruelty, I say.

There is but one other person in my class who has the same dedication to this specific pen. We often giggle over how smooth the ink slides onto the paper, and occasionally, we commiserate when a trusty pen has written its last word. (And in case you were wondering, yes, we were both in marching band. Yes, we really are that geeky. Laugh away. Go on, I’ll wait.) Efficient and clean writing is serious business, people.

My point is this: athletes are creatures of habit. If you’ve ever participated in any type of competition, chances are, you have routines that you go through to amp ourselves up for the big show. Whether it’s slapping a sign above the locker room entrance, listening to Eminem rap about pasta that he just upchucked, or mentally running through your recital piece in the shower, we all have our own little quirks that guarantee flawless victory.

Much of the same could be said for medical students. Sure, our lives don’t revolve around physically busting our humps like NFL running backs. But this absurd, four-year marathon we we naively sign up for requires mastery of non-stop mental acrobatics. The stamina, discipline, and fatigue that go along with memorizing stacks of flashcards while simultaneously cranking through lecture podcasts and double speed is as intense as that required of NASCAR drivers. We are severely goal-oriented animals, and anybody getting in our way of dominating Step 1 should have a first aid kit nearby. We’re going to do what it takes to succeed, and if that involves hunting down a rabbit, sawing its foot off, and keeping it as a keychain while turning the rest into a delicious stew, so be it.

At this point in the game, it is almost impossible to succeed without a routine. For my beloved, free-spirited Berkeleyans from 1972 who believe that schedules are for suckers and suits (and believe that suits suck), you’re not necessarily wrong. I, too, miss the carefree days of strolling across campus with the California sun in my face and an ice cream cone in my hand, thinking about all the things I don’t have to do in the next few hours. Sadly, we medical students lost that luxury a while ago. But that is where routines come in handy. I used to sit around, thinking about all the nonsense I had to do that day. Review these four lectures! Then do flashcards! Oh, but I have to review that one lecture from three days ago that I didn’t really get! My days were utter chaos, and more often than not, I spent more time being dumbfounded and falling behind than actually getting things done. Having a good schedule helps you organize your day into bite-sized, achievable goals so that you’re not instantly overwhelmed. It can help keep your drive so that you work on crossing those items off the checklist, even if slower than expected. Keeping a good rhythm helps keep your head in the game. And if keeping that rhythm and getting your mind right requires eating the same breakfast before every test, nobody’s going to blame you. (They may label you with obsessive-compulsive personality disorder, but blame? Nah.)

Logic and reason tell us that none of these silly pre-game rituals matter. But deep down in our hearts, we are convinced that if we don't wear our lucky spaceship underwear or park anywhere but the third spot from the right, we are doomed to inevitable failure. There is a reason why Phelps always blasts Eminem before winning gold medals or why LeBron always chokes his fans by throwing chalk dust in their faces. It’s a routine that gets them into their flow before they go out there and tear the competition limb from limb. So I urge you, fellow medical students, to find your routine and make it work for you. Take after Harvey Dent and make your own luck. Forget what anybody else says. Stick to your pens, if not your guns. You do you. Remember, it’s only weird if it doesn’t work. (That’ll be $500 please, Bud Light.)