1. You retain a fetish for $\mathrm{\LaTeX}$.
Microsoft Equation has become superb and easy to use, but nothing can really beat the oomph of sexily typeset mathematics (or chemistry, or physics):
$$ i\hbar\frac{\partial}{\partial t} \Psi(\mathbf{r},t) = \left [ \frac{-\hbar^2}{2m}\nabla^2 + V(\mathbf{r},t)\right ] \Psi(\mathbf{r},t)$$Look at my pretty equation, ye mighty, and despair!
(Sorry, Shelley.) Back in the day, to typeset in $\mathrm{\LaTeX}$ was to be the Voice of Unerring Authority. Today, well, it's still pretty (for me, at least). And it still commands a sort of respect from the reader (Me, at least. But who can't appreciate good vector renderings?) Sure, I might just be saying $\int e^x = f_u\left(n\right)$, but the typesetting nevertheless screams, "I am serious about my math". (But then I wouldn't be; I missed a differential $\mathrm{d}x$ over there.)
2. Math jokes aren't funny anymore.
After more than a few summers training, you have probably encountered so many math jokes, that the ones circulating on Facebook have entirely lost their appeal on you. And then there are those that evoke a visceral response instead of the funny bone:
Blasphemy! What makes you laugh then? If you miss an easy solution, or discover a beautiful one. Dedicated flippancy in maths, on the other hand, you engage in in a concealed manner, all the while maintaining to the rest of us that "I am serious about my math!"
After more than a few summers training, you have probably encountered so many math jokes, that the ones circulating on Facebook have entirely lost their appeal on you. And then there are those that evoke a visceral response instead of the funny bone:
 |
| Girl facepalms because the maths is simply WRONG! If I'm really the one, then my sine is $\sin(1)\approx 0.841$. |
3. You keep a Notebook of Secrets.
It's nice to keep a handy notebook-sized formula list to review before gigs and to jot down new tools during class or self-training. Admittedly, I could never bring myself to remember prosthaphaeresis formulas (I mean, the spelling itself is hard to remember.) With the notebook, I could at least jog my memory on what they look like minutes before the test.
Many of the contents of this blog (especially the Codex) will springboard from my own notebook, in my own way of formalizing and encoding the scribbling therein.
4. You know it will end.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
The Tempest Act 4, scene 1, 148–158
All good things must come to an end. And if you're a maturing mathlete, you have begun counting the months until your final contest. Of course, you know that whether you make it to that contest at all depends on how well you did in the screenings. You count anyway.
It's a sobering realization that I think every high school mathlete has to come to terms with. This is the last go, the last set of gigs to remember - of course everyone wants to score well in this one. More importantly for some, only a few deserving individuals will make it to the last contest available for high schoolchildren. It's a fact enough to make mathletes question their priorities, and rightfully so. The finality of things forces us to the point where it is absolutely necessary, to be true to oneself. The last steps are the the most testing, and the possible aftermaths, harder still. The sweet punishment of enduring them may not be worth it if one isn't thoroughly addicted to the art of problem solving.
For the game ends as it begins - with nothing but oneself and one's wits.
At any rate, I hope that readers who are soon ending their mathletic journeys soon have found it as pleasurable and enriching an experience as I have; and that those whose journeys have just begun will strive to make it worth every hour of their time.
It's a sobering realization that I think every high school mathlete has to come to terms with. This is the last go, the last set of gigs to remember - of course everyone wants to score well in this one. More importantly for some, only a few deserving individuals will make it to the last contest available for high schoolchildren. It's a fact enough to make mathletes question their priorities, and rightfully so. The finality of things forces us to the point where it is absolutely necessary, to be true to oneself. The last steps are the the most testing, and the possible aftermaths, harder still. The sweet punishment of enduring them may not be worth it if one isn't thoroughly addicted to the art of problem solving.
For the game ends as it begins - with nothing but oneself and one's wits.
At any rate, I hope that readers who are soon ending their mathletic journeys soon have found it as pleasurable and enriching an experience as I have; and that those whose journeys have just begun will strive to make it worth every hour of their time.
5. You set up blogs such as Project Phi to recapture the wonder of it all.
'Nuff said.
'Nuff said.
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