The average person believes themselves to be smarter than the average person–this weird phenomenon, known as the Dunning-Kruger effect, furthers that unskilled novices oftentimes believe themselves to be more adept than they really are–their own shortcomings blinding them to their ineptitudes.

My cross-country career began in eighth grade; after two years of online school, what few muscles I previously possessed had all but withered away, leaving behind husks barely capable of making my daily commute from my bedroom to the kitchen and back. At the behest of my doctor, and recalling his glory days as an avid high school runner, my dad enlisted me for cross-country; thus began Bill the Minecraft Youtuber’s transformation into our team’s (semi-)ironically feared “Hurricane Bill.” My coaches, however, had another nickname for me and my fellow back-of-the-pack stragglers; on long runs, we’d fall so far behind that they’d lose sight of us, birthing the affectionate moniker “Pluto.” Despite years of effort, I could never shake my dwarf planet status–it seemed that unlike my old man, my skeletal frame could not conjure up cross-country greatness.

Meanwhile, I also joined my school’s debate team in eighth grade, though it rested on my backburner until I was assigned a partner sophomore year. James and I weren’t tight, but shared plenty of mutual friends. Plus, our alliance sounded great on paper: James, renowned grade genius, had enough brains for the two of us, and I, anxious oldest sibling, would take meticulous care in crafting our ethos and pathos. In reality, however, our collaboration was anything but frictionless; James’s self-reliance built on raw intelligence led him to waive my input, and I grew frustrated over his absences due to play rehearsal and his nonstop, exaggerated recounts of his family’s exotic vacations. The flashes of potential turned out to be sparks erupting from our suppressed frustrations, and in the end, our asynchronization culminated in a brutal 2-16 stretch. The straw had already broken the camel’s back, and only a faint ember was needed for tensions to burst into flames. Annoyed by the lack of dialogue, I vented my sputtering frustrations to him in the library, and although neither one of us is confrontational by nature, things soon boiled over into a full-on argument that left our relationship seemingly irreparable.

Fate, however, would intervene in our divorce proceedings: the only other debater available as an alternate dropped out last-minute due to scheduling conflicts with his spring play (how ironic!). And thus the stage was set for an uneasy “one final ride” partnership. Bound together by an initial faux politeness that we just needed to stretch over the weekend, somehow, against all odds, our patchworked partnership delivered us on an undefeated streak to the semifinals at UPenn. Upon realizing how much smoother and successful collaboration is operating with basic mutual respect, team code EY was officially reformed and unexpectedly qualified for the New York District Tournaments, later landing us two tickets to nationals. On an interpersonal level, James and I grew close–nurturing a relationship formed out of necessity into one built on mutual appreciation. While it once seemed like a chore to slog through four hours of weekly practice (and nearly all twenty-four hours of our bi-weekly tournaments), I now look forward to them as opportunities not just for debate, but also to catch up with a friend. Although surely not (yet!) fully realized, our potential–finally unlocked by our demonstrated capacity for growth–has moved on from the purely theoretical. Today, I can confidently count James as one of my closest friends and confidants, the both of us now able to recognize and co-develop our unique individual strengths while supplementing each other’s weaknesses. This interdependency is reflected in our new records–debating in solo events, the two of us both hover around the 50% win mark. However, paired together, our team win rate jumps over fifteen percent higher. “Iron,” as they say, does “sharpen iron.”

On the flip side of the Dunning-Kruger effect, it’s said that experts often underestimate their knowledge in a particular subject, or have less confidence in their abilities. While I don’t think I’m a relationship or running expert quite yet, I am sure that I’ve learned to act with more thoughtfulness and tempered expectations. In an ideal world, my running career would’ve yielded much more fruitful results–perhaps I’d even be a star preparing for a meet at Van Cortlandt Park right now instead of remaining the velociously challenged nerd that I am. Or, my relationship with James could’ve been effortlessly smooth from the start; the two of us sharing a unified mind. However, life rarely unfolds according to the script we write for ourselves. In both cross-country and with James, I was misled by my skewed perception of things, wrapped up in amateur fantasies rather than reality; unaware that with others, as with the self, conflict is oftentimes needed for growth and intimacy.