The day was as normal as any other day working the cash register at the hardware store. During a shift I see all different kinds of people; some flustered about their plumbing problems, others listlessly browsing the home goods section. I gave the unassuming older gentleman carrying bird seed a quick glance up and down; I just had a feeling that he was different. I could have finished the transaction after asking him more about his purchase, but instead I asked him what birds he hoped to see. My mom has always encouraged me to be curious about people’s lives. A world famous conservationist, he was leaving for the deep jungles of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. I was hooked on this man's story. Questions poured out of me until he directed me to his website for information on volunteering. He teased me with the idea of a great adventure by saying, “we can always use field workers”. But who am I kidding, I can’t drop months out of my life. I want to be a surgeon, and that path ahead is clear: Go to a four year university. Find a good medical school. Complete residency, and practice as a Board Certified Surgeon. Sure, the idea of taking the MCAT or completing a surgery fellowship is daunting, but nothing is going to stop me in my pursuit of this goal. This is the tried and true way to get there. But I’m too curious to be limited by what everyone else is doing. My years of reading travel almanacs, countless hours playing the ukulele, and fantasies of being a professional mountaineer did not set me up to take the standard road to success. Yes, I want to be a surgeon, but I want to be extraordinary and different too. Balance is vital to my mental and physical health, and I need to pursue experiences that are fulfilling to all parts of my personality. I can stay on the standard highway to success as most people do, or I can find my own scree trail through the woods to get to my goal. Dr. John Hart, the bird-seed customer, and his wife Terese, have spearheaded conservation efforts in the Congo since the late 1970s. His life is more mysterious and extraordinary than anyone I’ve ever met. Our conversation made me want to make space in my life to make the Congo dream a reality. I want to live a deeply interesting life. Sometimes that means digging deep to learn about others’ experiences. Other times that means finding ways to pull adventure into my otherwise ordinary life. Luckily for me, my Colorado backyard is full of opportunities to push myself. “Go for it,” my dad groggily said to me out of the makeshift sleeping quarters in the bed of our truck. My running watch read 4:30am. “It” is what I was waiting for. Running to the summit of Mount Princeton alone. I had been begging him to let me do a solo summit, and this show of support made me confident in my ability to navigate my own path. I donned the running pack, said my goodbyes, and started off into the dark. That feeling of being alone in the dark, and with a massive task at hand may be daunting to others, but I know that’s the only way to uncover extraordinary parts of myself. The difference between climbing a 14,000ft peak and learning about a man's story at the cash register may seem drastically different, but not to me. That first step up the mountain, and that simple follow up question about birdseed opened up a world of opportunity to learn more about myself, and the world around me. It encourages me to stay curious and excited about life, whether on some grand adventure in the mountains, or in the classroom studying to be a doctor.

One of my biggest plans this last summer, was a long weekend of camping with my friends. The plan was to drive the 3 hours from Boulder, where I live, to Buena Vista, and fill 3 days with as much trail running, river surfing, and 14er hiking as possible. We loaded my old Honda Pilot to the brim with surfboards, tents, and other gear, and headed off. After a late night camp in Buena Vista, we abandoned our original plan of climbing Mt. Antero due to thunderstorms, and decided to do a smaller hike to waterfall just outside of town. Being seasoned cross country runners, we made quick work of the 3 mile ascent, getting to Browns Creek Falls in just under an hour. Being in late June meant the falls was absolutely roaring with fresh runoff from the Collegiate Peaks, and the scree trails that lined the waterfall on each side were covered in mist. After climbing a small side trail, in a split second I found myself flying through the air, down the 20 foot waterfall towards the rocks at the bottom. I was then swept down a second smaller drop, then managed to fight the flow and get out. The more I replay that moment in my mind, the more I realize it was miracle that I survived. Had I hit my head, neck, or spine, I would've certainly been paralyzed. That was the first big fall I had ever had in the backcountry, and it showed me how quickly things can take a turn for the worse in the wilderness. With the help of my friends, I hiked the 3 miles back to the car in an agonizing 5 hours, with extreme. Over these 5 hours, thoughts raced through my mind, thoughts of my senior cross country season being usurped by a torn ACL or a blown out meniscus. After the long ride home, and a painful night of sleep, I took the long awaited visit to the Orthopedic Urgent Care in Boulder, where I would finally receive the diagnoses that I so dreaded. I was fully prepared for surgery, months on crutches, and endless PT to get back to running. Needless to say I was worried. When the surgeon eventually came into the room, I was met by a couple curt diagnoses that I didn't understand, requested an MRI, and then left the exam room. While I understand doctors or busy people, I wanted more from that appointment. I wanted some empathy, some reassurance, some kind words. Instead I got nothing. The following appointments with him went the same as the others. Though I was extremely lucky to not need surgery, and for the injury to be very minor, the surgeon didn't make me feel any more reassured. Surprisingly, these appointments are what have inspired me to become a physician. I know that I can connect with my patients more than the surgeon I had. I strive to make a difference in every one of my patients lives, by comforting and connecting with them. By understanding their situations, and empathizing with them. As a doctor I belief you have a responsibility to care for the whole patient, including their mental health. This is what inspires me to continue my studies to become a doctor.

My favorite Team USA athlete to cheer for is Yared Nuguse, recent silver-medalist on the track at the Paris Olympics. As a distance runner myself, it is inspiring to see Yared win a medal in a distance event, something not often done by a Team USA member. On a more personal not, Yared and his teammates on the On Athletics Club, train at my high school track every week, and it is even more inspiring to see him run in person. His coach is the father of a friend of mine, and I have been able to meet both the various members of the team, and Yared himself. Every once in a while driving back from lunch, I will see Yared running and give him a wave. Yared is also famous for his ambition to become a dentist after his elite running career is over. As a college athlete at Notre Dame, Yared was excellent in the classroom; something that I aspire to do. I am going to run collegiate Cross Country and Track at Pomona College this upcoming fall, and plan to go into the field of medicine. Yared’s balance of pursuing a medical career and distance running at an elite level is something that inspires me in school and in training every single day.

“Everything is a derivative. The world is constantly changing, and all of this change can be described as a function. Everything is math!” -Mrs. Schlagel. These were the first words spoken to me by my AP Calculus teacher, and they’ve stuck with me ever since. Since that lesson, I see math everywhere I go; from my job as a cashier, to my Fantasy Football team odds, to the biomechanics of running. For me, there is no more satisfying feeling than tackling a hard math problem, and making it out the other side with the correct answer. As my Mrs. Schlagel always says: “Physics is applied math, chemistry is applied physics, biology is applied chemistry, and EVERYTHING is applied biology.” Math is at the foundation of all physical sciences, and when creative, everything can be boiled down to it. My ultimate goal is to apply what I love about math to solve real world problems. Using my strong foundation in the math found in physics, chemistry, and biology; I aspire to be a surgeon. At Pomona College, where I will be attending this fall, the math professors specialize in the analysis of growing tumors using calculus. I hope to major in math, and use it as a pathway to discover more about how the fields of health and math intersect.

One of my biggest plans this last summer, was a long weekend of camping with my friends. The plan was to drive the 3 hours from Boulder, where I live, to Buena Vista, and fill 3 days with as much trail running, river surfing, and 14er hiking as possible. We loaded my old Honda Pilot to the brim with surfboards, tents, and other gear, and headed off. After a late night camp in Buena Vista, we abandoned our original plan of climbing Mt. Antero due to thunderstorms, and decided to do a smaller hike to waterfall just outside of town. Being seasoned cross country runners, we made quick work of the 3 mile ascent, getting to Browns Creek Falls in just under an hour. Being in late June meant the falls was absolutely roaring with fresh runoff from the Collegiate Peaks, and the scree trails that lined the waterfall on each side were covered in mist. After climbing a small side trail, in a split second I found myself flying through the air, down the 20 foot waterfall towards the rocks at the bottom. I was then swept down a second smaller drop, then managed to fight the flow and get out. The more I replay that moment in my mind, the more I realize it was miracle that I survived. Had I hit my head, neck, or spine, I would've certainly been paralyzed. That was the first big fall I had ever had in the backcountry, and it showed me how quickly things can take a turn for the worse in the wilderness. With the help of my friends, I hiked the 3 miles back to the car in an agonizing 5 hours, with extreme. Over these 5 hours, thoughts raced through my mind, thoughts of my senior cross country season being usurped by a torn ACL or a blown out meniscus. After the long ride home, and a painful night of sleep, I took the long awaited visit to the Orthopedic Urgent Care in Boulder, where I would finally receive the diagnoses that I so dreaded. I was fully prepared for surgery, months on crutches, and endless PT to get back to running. Needless to say I was worried. When the surgeon eventually came into the room, I was met by a couple curt diagnoses that I didn't understand, requested an MRI, and then left the exam room. While I understand doctors or busy people, I wanted more from that appointment. I wanted some empathy, some reassurance, some kind words. Instead I got nothing. The following appointments with him went the same as the others. Though I was extremely lucky to not need surgery, and for the injury to be very minor, the surgeon didn't make me feel any more reassured. Surprisingly, these appointments are what have inspired me to become a physician. I know that I can connect with my patients more than the surgeon I had. I strive to make a difference in every one of my patients lives, by comforting and connecting with them. By understanding their situations, and empathizing with them. As a doctor I belief you have a responsibility to care for the whole patient, including their mental health. This is what inspires me to continue my studies to become a doctor.

The day was like any other working the cash register at the hardware store. During a shift, I see a wide variety of people: some flustered about plumbing problems, others browsing the home goods section. I gave the unassuming older gentleman carrying bird seed a quick glance. Something about him seemed different. I asked him what birds he was hoping to see; my mom has always encouraged me to be curious about people’s lives. It turned out he was a world-renowned conservationist, leaving for the jungles of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. I was hooked on his story. Questions poured out of me until he directed me to his website for information on volunteering. He teased the idea of a great adventure, saying, “We can always use field workers.” Who am I kidding? I can’t drop months of my life. I want to be a surgeon, that path is clear: go to a four-year university, get into medical school, complete residency, and practice as a Board-Certified Surgeon. Sure, the idea of the MCAT and a surgery fellowship is daunting, but nothing will stop me from pursuing this goal. It’s the tried and true way to success. But I’m too curious to be limited by the status quo. My years of reading travel almanacs, countless hours playing the ukulele, and dreams of being a professional mountaineer haven’t set me up to take the standard road to success. Yes, I want to be a surgeon, but I also want to honor my curiosity and desire for adventure. I could stick to the standard path to success, or I could find my own scree trail through the woods to achieve my goal. Dr. John Hart, the bird-seed customer, and his wife Terese have led conservation efforts in the Congo since the late 1970s. His life is more extraordinary than anyone I’ve met. Our conversation inspired me to make the Congo dream a reality. I want to live a deeply interesting life. Sometimes that means digging deep to learn about others’ experiences; other times, it means finding ways to bring adventure into my ordinary life. Luckily for me, my Colorado backyard is full of opportunities to push myself. “Go for it,” my dad groggily said from the makeshift sleeping quarters in the bed of our truck. My running watch read 4:30am. “It” was what I was waiting for: running to the summit of Mount Princeton alone. I had begged him to let me do a solo summit, and his support gave me the confidence I needed. I donned my running pack, said my goodbyes, and started off. The feeling of being alone in the dark with a massive task ahead may be daunting to others, but for me, it’s the only way to uncover extraordinary parts of myself. The difference between climbing a 14,000-foot peak and learning about a man’s story at the cash register may seem drastic, but not to me. That first step up the mountain and that simple follow-up question about birdseed opened up a world of opportunity for me to learn more about myself and the world around me. It encourages me to stay curious and excited about life, whether it’s on a grand adventure in the mountains or in the classroom studying to be a doctor.

Some of my earliest memories come from being on the river. My parents met as raft guides on the Arkansas River, so I have been so lucky to have rafted many rivers in the US, from the Grand Canyon to the Salmon River. I am so grateful for these experiences, but being exposed to such amazing places from such an early age has made me take for granted just how special they are. This realization really hit me the week before my dream rafting trip: the Selway River. This being a once in a lifetime permit to secure, my dad and I anxiously waited for the launch date. We pre-rigged the boats that we were taking, allocated all of our gear, and were ready to leave for Idaho later that week. To fill the gap that would have otherwise been spent checking and re-checking our rigging, I did my second favorite thing outdoors, and took my friends camping. The plan was to drive the 3 hours from Boulder, where I live, to Buena Vista, and fill 3 days with as much trail running, river surfing, and 14er hiking as possible. We loaded my old Honda Pilot to the brim with surfboards, tents, and other gear, and headed off. After a late night camp in Buena Vista, we abandoned our original plan of climbing Mt. Antero due to thunderstorms, and decided to do a smaller hike to waterfall just outside of town. Being seasoned cross country runners, we made quick work of the 3 mile ascent, getting to Browns Creek Falls in just under an hour. Being in late June meant the falls was absolutely roaring with fresh runoff from the Collegiate Peaks, and the scree trails that lined the waterfall on each side were covered in mist. After climbing a small side trail, in a split second I found myself flying through the air, down the 20 foot waterfall towards the rocks at the bottom. I was then swept down a second smaller drop, then managed to fight the flow and get out. The more I replay that moment in my mind, the more I realize it was miracle that I survived. Had I hit my head, neck, or spine, I would've certainly been paralyzed. That was the first big fall I had ever had in the backcountry, and it showed me how quickly things can take a turn for the worse in the wilderness. With the help of my friends, I hiked the 3 miles back to the car in an agonizing 5 hours. After a trip to the orthopedic surgeon, we found out I had a fractured femur. I was incredibly lucky to not need surgery, and was running within 3 months. Without the support of my friends to hike down, I don't know what I would've done. While this was certainly the most traumatic event in my life, and certainly the most memorable event in the wilderness, I learned so much from the experience. Without that trip to the doctor, I never would've discovered my interest in medicine. Without missing my dream rafting trip, I wouldn't have realized the true appreciation I have for the river and the people I get to share it with. Without falling off that waterfall, I'm not sure what my life would look like right now, and even for such a traumatic experience, it might have been a blessing in disguise. I am more grateful for everyone and everything in my life since that day.

The day was like any other working the cash register at the hardware store. During a shift, I see a wide variety of people: some flustered about plumbing problems, others browsing the home goods section. I gave the unassuming older gentleman carrying bird seed a quick glance. Something about him seemed different. I asked him what birds he was hoping to see; my mom has always encouraged me to be curious about people’s lives. It turned out he was a world-renowned conservationist, leaving for the jungles of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. I was hooked on his story. Questions poured out of me until he directed me to his website for information on volunteering. He teased the idea of a great adventure, saying, “We can always use field workers.” Who am I kidding? I can’t drop months of my life. I want to be a surgeon, that path is clear: go to a four-year university, get into medical school, complete residency, and practice as a Board-Certified Surgeon. Sure, the idea of the MCAT and a surgery fellowship is daunting, but nothing will stop me from pursuing this goal. It’s the tried and true way to success. But I’m too curious to be limited by the status quo. My years of reading travel almanacs, countless hours playing the ukulele, and dreams of being a professional mountaineer haven’t set me up to take the standard road to success. Yes, I want to be a surgeon, but I also want to honor my curiosity and desire for adventure. I could stick to the standard path to success, or I could find my own scree trail through the woods to achieve my goal. Dr. John Hart, the bird-seed customer, and his wife Terese have led conservation efforts in the Congo since the late 1970s. His life is more extraordinary than anyone I’ve met. Our conversation inspired me to make the Congo dream a reality. I want to live a deeply interesting life. Sometimes that means digging deep to learn about others’ experiences; other times, it means finding ways to bring adventure into my ordinary life. Luckily for me, my Colorado backyard is full of opportunities to push myself. “Go for it,” my dad groggily said from the makeshift sleeping quarters in the bed of our truck. My running watch read 4:30am. “It” was what I was waiting for: running to the summit of Mount Princeton alone. I had begged him to let me do a solo summit, and his support gave me the confidence I needed. I donned my running pack, said my goodbyes, and started off. The feeling of being alone in the dark with a massive task ahead may be daunting to others, but for me, it’s the only way to uncover extraordinary parts of myself. The difference between climbing a 14,000-foot peak and learning about a man’s story at the cash register may seem drastic, but not to me. That first step up the mountain and that simple follow-up question about birdseed opened up a world of opportunity for me to learn more about myself and the world around me. It encourages me to stay curious and excited about life, whether it’s on a grand adventure in the mountains or in the classroom studying to be a doctor.