On Papers and Concerts

 

View of 94 at sunset - Nov 21, 2025

Dear friends,

Oh, what a week in writing! My brain is stretched, and full, and happy. Per usual, this is attempt number one hundred and eleven (give or take) of this post…

The challenge this week: I really want to talk about ability. Where the line between ‘sick’ and ‘disabled’ falls in my life, and what it means for me and my schooling. Alas, I am still searching for the right words. In the meantime, please enjoy my reflections on running, and why “sitting out” is not always a negative. Cheers to more writing about writing woes. 😉

A short 'essay' in Russian - Nov 17, 2025

Every Tuesday following Russian, I rush across campus. There are only 15 minutes to get from RUSS 3001 to HMED 3993 for my weekly appointment with my research advisor, Dr. Roberts. I have made this transition every week for the past year and a half (with the exception of my time abroad this summer).

Along the way, my phone buzzes, just as it always does. It’s the Tubas, I was spotted:

“Eleven, passing Scholars Walk.”

Barely treading water in my other classes and still dealing with major post-op fatigue, I have not been able to return to marching band since surgery two weeks ago. On my first day out and about, the tubas made it clear my absence did not imply my resignation. 

The Tuba Discord is a place of great amusement… and mild annoyance. It is always going off. Though there are only eighteen of us this year, eyes seem to follow me across campus. In addition to “tuba sightings,” there are subchannels for the quote log, announcements, attendance, off-topic, questions, and—of course—memes (which I have muted entirely). I joined the Discord when I joined the marching band in 2023 and have stayed an active member ever since. This includes last season, when I had to sit out entirely due to my urgent (and extremely unexpected) abdominal surgery in August 2024.

I’ll be honest: my season “off” was a real bummer. I want to write that I stayed involved in the band—that I went to football games and parades to cheer on my tuba friends. But in truth, the thought of what I was missing out on was just too upsetting— the only band event I attended last season was a field trip to Northrop, to watch the Indoor Marching Band Concert in November. Instead of band, I threw myself into research. I spent every spare moment reading, writing, and learning all I could about WWI New Zealand POWs, with the help of Dr. Roberts.

Dr. Roberts works in the History of Medicine program at the U. When I first heard of his work I was floored to learn that there was a researcher, at the same university I was attending, studying relevant New Zealand history from within a department I was already involved in (and had come to love).

Our original plan was to start my work with him in the spring of 2025, but surgery meant no band, which meant ample free time for extra courses. I began my first directed study that fall, and continued with my capstone paper into the spring. This research opened unexpected and exciting doors (including a way back to New Zealand, and with any luck, admission into graduate school).

The more I reflect, the more I believe that sitting out of band last year was important to my character. It added value to this (2025) season, to the moments when I could be involved. It gave me space to grow in other areas of my life and make connections outside of the tuba section. It led to the development of my writing, to newer and grander goals… and it’s an evolving story.

I am pleased to report that last week’s advising meeting went well (as they always do!). Dr. Roberts is happy with my writing progress.

I, on the other hand, feel a bit differently.

Ask Taylor, my friends, my family, (the tubas)… They can all attest that I have been spending so much (all?) of my free time outside of marching band working on this paper. And yet the question remains: how on earth is it not done? How have I not reached the editing phase? Will I ever be at a place where I can share my grand production with the historical community at large? Will anyone like it anyway?

Half of our time each week is reassurance. Even when I am panicked, Dr. Roberts is patient. To thank him for a year of calming me down, I brought him a gift of honey from my father’s bees in Roseville. In accordance with Minnesota law, the jar was labeled with my parents’ address and phone number.

“I know where that is, I’ve run past there.”

Turns out, Dr. Roberts has run all of Roseville, like every street in Roseville, so he has indeed passed by my parents’ address. We got to chatting. He runs a lot. This fall, he has been capitalizing on the warm weather by “run commuting” to campus.

Running has been a point of connection for us outside of books. We joke about my running stories from New Zealand—my “run commutes” back from Hobbiton. He’s heard the stories of my DIY marathon along East River Road in March 2024, when (planned) surgery that April derailed my chance to run Grandma’s Marathon that June.

On Tuesday, Dr. Roberts compared where I am at with writing to mile 20 of a marathon.

“But Dr. Roberts,” I said, “I walked all of mile 20 in my marathon!”

“But you still finished,” he joked.

I did. I kept going at my 13:34 min/mile pace and ended triumphantly (if a bit nauseated) at the boathouse. The tubas even came to play for me as I crossed the “finish line” (aka, turned off strava). What he does not know about that marathon is that I ran it about just three months post submassive Pulmonary Embolism. 

DIY marathon - March 30, 2024

Not everyone has the same starting place. When I came back to the University of Minnesota, it had been a decade since my last formal classroom experience—and even then, my high school career was hardly productive. Considering the eleven* surgeries that have disrupted my undergraduate career so far, my writing is coming along nicely. It is so exciting to see!

My tuba friends, as well— many of them marched in high school. All are in their late teens or early twenties. They seem to lift and handle their horns with an ease and grace I could never muster, no matter how many miles I trot or PT appointments I log. Right now, they’re all busy with the annual Indoor Concert, which I am sitting out (per my lifting restrictions from surgery earlier this month). The Discord is, for once, silent while I write.

I got to see them perform at indoor yesterday, it was magnificent. Following the concert, the band marches out to the stairs in front of Nothrop for an encore performance, and following that, the tubas play shorts. It's a marathon of an event, so to speak.

During shorts, I was offered a horn to play along. My heart leapt at the opportunity, but I felt torn between recovery and music. Luckily, there were chairs nearby. As it turned out, a seated sousaphone is just as fun (and loud) and a standing one. In the brisk November air, I got to play shorts with my friends in a comfortable and safe position. Afterwards we gathered for the annual section picture with smiles that lit up the night. 

UMMB tubas - Nov 22, 2025

Hindsight is fascinating, and healing. The abdominal surgery I had—the one that forced me out of band last year— also meant the end of my days running. I am sad to have lost an activity I hold dear, but it makes the memories all the more cherished (precious?… I’ll stop). I may not be running or tuba-ing, in the same way anymore, but I am swimming and walking (and breathing and talking) and writing. 

What if we measured progress differently for different bodies, for different starting lines? What if everybody did not fit into the prescribed box? What if that was still just as impressive? What if I am a good writer afterall?

Until next week,

El

Indoor Concert - circa 2023