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vibram running A doctor's duty Cincinnati (CNN) As he cradled his wife's limp body in his arms, Tim Delgado told himself, "You have to do this." The fate of Alison, his wife, best friend and medical school classmate, depended on it. His usually steady hands quivered as he held her pale face steady and fumbled with the tools that could save her life. Her doe eyes rolled to the back of her head. It was November 21, 2010, and just a few minutes earlier, the newlyweds had climbed into bed. Married just six months and focused on their careers, the couple hadn't even had time to pick out wedding photos to frame for their new house. Now all that and more would be put on hold. They were getting ready to sleep when an aneurysm ruptured in Alison's brain, triggering a violent seizure. Without an airway tube to help her breathe, she could have choked on her own vomit and died. For Tim, a second year medical resident, jamming a tube in his wife's neck without drugs "was the most difficult thing I ever had to do." What Tim Delgado experienced that night ranks as one of the greatest fears of people in the field of medicine that someday, the life they must save will be a loved one's. Incredibly, it was the second time Alison's life depended on Tim and on this day, he was going to keep his cool. A bad first date For Alison, the night of her seizure is a blur. She doesn't recall the tracheotomy tube and it's probably better that way. Alison links her arm with her husband's on the couple's couch in their home in Cincinnati. On the wall above them, framed photographs chronicle the Delgados' adventures: the New Mexico mountains they climbed together, road trips to Wyoming, family gatherings. Five years ago, Tim took note of his medical school classmate, Alison Bedingfield. A lifelong runner, Alison carried her lithe frame gracefully. She seemed easygoing to Tim. Her friends affectionately called her Ali B. After microbiology lab one day, Tim asked her out. She agreed. He took her to the school gym. "That was really dumb," he says now, sheepishly. "It wasn't really a date." They treaded side by side on the elliptical machines and talked. The experience left Alison with a strong impression: Tim was "very intense." With dark eyes and closely cropped hair, Tim exuded energy. After a 12 hour shift in the hospital, he sometimes cycled for five hours. One summer, he followed the Tour de France course behind the pros. With its fast pace and high pressure, medicine was perfect for him. It also fit Alison's high achieving personality. She was raised on cross country running and the Midwestern value of hard work. She won the first marathon she ever ran. And she breezed through college, graduating early and entering the University Of Cincinnati College of Medicine in her hometown. Tim walked away from the first date with an impression, too: She was also intense. But he hesitated to ask her out again, because she seemed "too nice." A few months passed. Alison went on a medical students' white water rafting trip organized by Tim. At last, they realized how much they shared in common: They were two future doctors constantly on the move: Alison a runner, and Tim an avid cyclist. They were a team. Tim introduced Alison to sushi and taught her to use chopsticks. During long nights before exams, they huddled in a cold study hall, draped in blankets, and pored over their textbooks toting a space heater and French press coffee maker. In 2008, he dropped to one knee after a grueling bike ride up Lookout Mountain in Colorado and asked her to marry him.