You know, for the newly proclaimed “world's best brain,” I don't really feel any different.
Sure, I now have a hefty prize, congratulations from my friends and family and something incredibly impressive to put on my college applications. But I'm not sure how I feel about being the high-school world champion in neuroscience. I suppose it would be relieved and surprised—relieved that the stress of the competition is over and that I did my absolute best, surprised that I even managed to get to the international finals in the first place. Heck, I didn't think I would win DC regionals. Me, a world champion? Little old me?
No, I don't think I had due confidence in myself at any level of the competition, especially since I first found out about the Brain Bee from Elena Perry, last year's international champion. She had watched the competition for the past two years and then spent a month making a thousand flash cards out of every question that could possibly be construed from the study materials.
But I figured it was worth a shot. I've loved neuroscience ever since I knew what it was, and here was a way I could demonstrate that passion to others, seeing as there's very little way to do so otherwise. One can't really create mouse models of schizophrenia for the school science fair. But I had no idea my love of all things brain would have such a payoff.
I feel a bit obligated here to explain how I got into brains in the first place. After all, it's not your average teenage hobby. I suppose the philosophical reason is that I value science as the most rational and complete form of knowledge, and I find the human mind the most mysterious and fascinating thing in existence, so a scientific way of describing the mind is pretty much the coolest thing ever.
A bunch of things are almost equally as cool, though, such as quantum physics and evolutionary biology, so I guess it's my nurture as well as my nature that caused me to choose neuroscience. My mom is a psychiatrist, and whenever I stopped by her office I was endlessly intrigued by her bookshelf and busied myself reading The Child's Conception of the World and the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders IV. Also, in my tweenage years, I had discovered the writings of Oliver Sacks and loved his true-life stories; I would try to guess the disorders the patients were suffering from, look up the diseases online and even write my own stories where characters would suffer from the same problems. Even in childhood I gradually began to see every part of society around me in the light of neuroscience and found this view of the world much to my liking.
Thus I figured I'd put my neurological knowledge and good memory for facts to the test in the DC regional brain bee. I was just trying it out this year, I told myself, and if I didn't win I would try again seriously next year. To my shock, I managed to answer all but one of the questions in the local bee correctly.
Accepting my check with wonder, I realized I would have to really devote myself to cramming for the U.S. national competition a month later. This time, knowing that there would be neuroanatomy and patient diagnosis portions as well as simple factual questions, I decided to get to know the contest inside and out. To do this, I turned to the best local source of Brain Bee knowledge, one Elena Perry. I barraged her with questions on how the different rounds operated, what her secrets for success were, whether we needed to know all those tiny cranial nerves and how on earth one could diagnose neurological AIDS. Elena obligingly answered all my questions and even lent me her neuroscience textbook and plastic brain models, for which I am completely indebted to her.
As well as my personal knack for brains and Elena's help, I was armed with the total confidence of my family, who consider me their super genius child. Even my dad, who is rarely enthusiastic about anything, urged me on, telling me, “the only person that can defeat you is you.” So I approached the U.S. nationals with a lot of anxiety but faith that I stood a chance of winning if I did my best. I was comforted when I met the competitors from the other states—not that I felt better than them, but that they all were so friendly and good-spirited that the tension in the air was completely dispersed. Despite a few pitfalls during the competition—I was only in third place before the last round and had to calm my nerves with a dinner of shrimp pasta—I pulled ahead in the final lightning round (which greatly resembled the DC regional contest). In the glimmer of camera lights, trophies and relief, I accepted my laurels and beamed.
I had a few months to laze about and spent half my prize on video games before I was confronted with internationals. I worried that I had forgotten the information, or that I hadn't given myself enough time to study or that the other nations were taking this more seriously than I was. (Though I wasn't by any means flippant about it!) But this time I had more of a feeling that I could really do it. Sure enough, I stayed in the lead throughout and ended up winning by two points.
So here I am, tapping away at my computer amidst my mess of a desk, an international champion. I'm not sure what that means to me, and I'm even less sure what it means to you, dear reader. But I do know one thing: that it was a lot of fun getting here through simply indulging my passion for brains. To all who aspire to a similar path: good luck!
Julia Chartove, who will enter her senior year at Richard Montgomery High School in Rockville, Md., this fall, won the D.C. Regional Brain Bee contest before placing first at the U.S. National and International Brain Bee contests.