Limits Anonymous

In front of the board stood two kindergarteners, a classmate and I, ready to engage in fierce competition. The task? Simply solving a two-digit addition problem. I felt my heartbeat racing, my hands shaking while holding the marker. I had no reason to worry — I had been practicing triple-digit addition long before kindergarten.

“Ready?” my kindergarten teacher asks. “53+31.”

The expo marker hits the board before she had even finished speaking. By the time she finished, I already scrawled on the board “53 +.” It was only a matter of speed. My objective? To finish the addition problem light years before my opponent. I was the undisputed champion. And that was exhilarating.

This competition continued through first and second grade. As always, I was the one to beat. I was the gold standard. It was in second grade that I started to notice a challenger, someone I could call my rival. My teachers would often pit us against each other, testing the limits of our speed. A split second hesitation would cost me the match. For every win she secured, I made sure I would take the next one. By the end of the year, we were still within mere milliseconds of finishing from each other, but light years ahead of our classmates.

Math...