It’s been a month since ICDC and I’m still trying to figure out if it actually happened. You’d think placing 2nd internationally would hit me with some kind of instant clarity—like, “Wow, I worked hard, I won, now everything makes sense.” But nope. It still feels like my brain is somewhere between the hotel lobby Starbucks line and the awards stage, replaying things in random bursts.

So, naturally, I’m dumping it all here.

The Surreal Blur

ICDC is like the Olympics of high school business, but louder and with significantly more blazers. Everywhere you looked, someone was chanting, trading pins, or sprinting through the convention center with a Chick-fil-A bag. I basically lived off three hours of sleep and one bagel a day, yet somehow my body decided that was fine.

At the time, I didn’t process how surreal it was—I was too busy surviving. But looking back, the whole week feels like a highlight reel: the flashing lights of opening session, the hallways jammed with competitors, the endless Starbucks line that genuinely could’ve been an event of its own.

The Exam (Stress in Scantron Form)

Ah yes, the infamous exam. 100 questions, 90 minutes, and about 80 ways to convince yourself you’ve failed before you’re even halfway through. I remember staring at one question on “intrapreneurship in oligopolistic markets” and thinking, this is it, I’ve peaked, my brain is officially broken.

Walking out, I was convinced I’d tanked it. A month later, it’s funny, but in that moment? Pure dread.

The Roleplay Gauntlet

Here’s what no one tells you until you’re there: it’s not one roleplay. It’s two prelims and, if you survive those, a final one.

• Prelim #1: Pure nerves. My notes looked like they’d been written mid-earthquake, my voice cracked at least twice, and I left thinking, Okay, not great, but maybe passable.
• Prelim #2: The caffeine hit. Suddenly I was throwing around hand gestures like a CEO delivering a TED Talk. The judge’s face said, “Do I clap or call security?” but hey, I rolled with it.
• Final Roleplay: This is the one that still replays in my head. The stakes were so high that I kind of blacked out mid-pitch. Ten minutes of pretending to know everything about a fake business problem, and somehow it worked. Apparently “convincing confidence” counts for something.

The Awards Ceremony

If the roleplays were stressful, the awards ceremony was another level. Imagine thousands of people, blaring music, and your stomach doing Olympic-level gymnastics. When they called my name for finals, I swear I forgot how to breathe.

And then—second place. SECOND PLACE. I walked across that stage half in shock, half just praying not to trip. It’s the kind of moment you think you’ll remember in crystal-clear detail forever, but honestly? My brain just fuzzed out. The only thought I vividly recall is, “Please don’t fall in front of 20,000 people.”

What Actually Stuck

A month later, the medal is shiny, but what I keep circling back to aren’t the awards. It’s the tiny, in-between moments:

• The late-night pep talks with teammates who were just as nervous as I was.
• Laughing until I cried over inside jokes that would sound insane out of context.
• Meeting people from places I’d never been and realizing DECA is basically its own weird little universe.

The “win” is what shows up in headlines, but the people and memories? That’s the part I actually carry with me.

Still Processing

Here’s the part I didn’t expect: winning didn’t magically solve anything. It didn’t make me suddenly wiser or more prepared for what’s next. If anything, it left me with more questions—like, how do you celebrate something huge without letting it define you? How do you take that energy and use it to keep growing?

I don’t have answers yet. Maybe I never will. But I do know that ICDC proved something I didn’t realize about myself: I can handle ridiculous pressure, think on my feet, and even surprise myself. And that’s bigger than any plaque.

The Brain Dump Wrap-Up

So yeah, a month later, I’m still processing. ICDC was chaotic, stressful, overwhelming, and completely unforgettable. The blazer is back in my closet, the medal sits on my shelf, and my brain is still somewhere in that convention center, replaying it all in fragments.

And honestly? I kind of hope it stays that way.