The Night I Almost Didn't Apply

It started on a boring night. I was scrolling around, looking for competitions in my area (nothing serious, just killing time) when I came across a listing for a BCG competition.

I read it twice. Then I closed the tab.

I'd done hackathons before, sure, but nothing like this. This felt like a different league. The kind of thing where you assume the "real" applicants are somewhere else, more qualified, more prepared, more something. So I sat with it for a while, half-convinced I wasn't the right fit, before I finally talked myself into applying anyway, quietly, without telling anyone, just in case nothing came of it.

A few weeks later, I got an email. I'd been accepted.

My first reaction wasn't excitement. It was suspicion. Me? Out of thousands of applicants? I remember reading the email three or four times, waiting for the catch. I didn't let myself get excited yet. I told myself I'd believe it once it was real. So I went through the process: interviews, coffee chats, more waiting. And somewhere in the middle of all that, it actually hit me. I'd gotten in. I called my parents immediately. Hearing how thrilled they were for me made it feel real in a way the email never had.

The Conflict I Didn't See Coming

Here's the part I didn't plan for: when my midterm schedule finally came out, one of my exams landed on the exact same day as the competition.

I almost withdrew. My first instinct was that it wasn't fair to take a spot from someone who could give the event their full, undivided attention if I couldn't. Looking back, I think that instinct wasn't really about fairness. It was the same voice that made me hesitate to apply in the first place. A quiet suggestion that I hadn't really earned my seat at the table.

I mentioned the conflict to one of my interviewers, half-expecting to be told to just pick one. Instead, she reassured me there was a way to make both work. That conversation was the push I needed to stop looking for a reason to back out.

Walking In

The morning it started, I woke up early, got ready, and made sure I got there on time. Walking into the venue, the first thing I noticed was the office itself, genuinely one of the most professional spaces I'd been in. Everyone around seemed to actually like being there, and I remember thinking, I would love to work somewhere like this someday, or something close to it.

The second thing I noticed was the jet lag. People had flown in from other countries for this. Around 20 to 40 of us total, and it was surreal just standing in that room. A few of the participants had come from genuinely prestigious universities, and that fact alone was intimidating in a way that had nothing to do with any one person, just the sense that I was surrounded by people who'd probably had a very different runway to get here.

I was scared, honestly. There was this creeping feeling that everyone else was smarter, faster, more ready than I was, and a real curiosity about whether I could keep up. But instead of shrinking into that feeling, I did the only thing I know how to do in those moments: I put myself out there. Small talk. "Hey, how's it going." Trying to find people I clicked with. Eventually, I found a group.

Mentors were stationed by topic area, and it was on us to seek them out if their focus matched what we wanted to build. I remember feeling genuinely stoked going into that part. Everyone was friendly, ideas were flying around, and there was this shared excitement of we're about to build something. I ended up gravitating toward a frontend and UI/UX role for the project.

The Part Nobody Tells You About Hackathons

The real challenge wasn't the ideas. It was time.

It was a two-day hackathon with hotels included, which sounds nice until you realize what it actually means: almost nobody slept. I remember walking through the hotel late at night and seeing people still coding at 2 AM, laptops open, eyes half-shut, still going.

And in the middle of all that: my exam. It landed on the morning of day two, 9 AM sharp. So while most teams had the full second day to build and refine, I had to leave the venue, drive to my university, sit through my midterm, and then get back in time to regroup with my team. Thankfully the venue was only about 30 minutes from campus, and I made it back on time. I remember the exact feeling driving back: this adrenaline of wow, this is actually happening, equal parts exhaustion and excitement.

Then came the part I was dreading more than the exam: the presentation.

Our mentor had been clear about this from the start: the pitch was practically half the project. People needed to feel something for what we'd built, not just understand it. I'm not someone who loves being up in front of a room. I knew there was a real chance I'd stumble over my words. But I also knew that if it came down to it, I'd get the message across regardless, stutter or not.

When it was time to present, I almost didn't go up. But looking around at my group, I realized I was probably the least scared person there, if only by a small margin. So I stepped up. Not because the fear disappeared, but because I wanted to prove to myself that I could put myself out there when it mattered.

Where It Landed

We placed 4th.

Good enough for me, more than good enough, honestly. Those two days felt like a lifetime of memories compressed into 48 hours. Looking back now, it almost feels like a dream, the kind you have to remind yourself actually happened.

BCG Platinion posted their own recap of the event on LinkedIn, worth watching in full:

But the placement isn't really what stuck with me. What stuck with me was almost not applying. Almost withdrawing over the exam. Almost not going up to present. Every turning point in this story had a version where I talked myself out of it before it even started.

So that's what I took away from it, more than anything.

Never count myself out before I even try.

Being in a room full of people who think and build and push the way you do is refreshing in a way that's hard to explain until you've felt it. I don't want to spend the next opportunity like that convincing myself I don't belong there. I already know now. I do.