The Heartbeat Metric

On the third day of college marching band camp, I "died" right at the feet of my hyper-competitive roommate.

I was born with a congenital heart defect. My resting heart rate is naturally slow; at its worst, it drops to twenty beats a minute.

I had originally tried to get a medical exemption from camp, but the Band Director held my scholarship over my head:

"Either you march on that field, or you lose your funding."

To make matters worse, my roommate, Chloe, had decided she was going to be the "Iron Woman" of the brass section.

When others took water breaks, she yelled about endurance;