Slate's Bizbox
brains!: A special issue on neuroscience and neuroculture.

Brain-Gym ShowdownCan a Slate reporter hold his own at the local neurobics club?

By Max Linsky
Updated Wednesday, April 25, 2007, at 7:25 AM ET

Click here for more from the Brains! special issue.

(Continued from page 1)

Eva 3, Max 1

Eva takes the first turn in the next game, a simple counting exercise in which groups of images—hearts, stars, butterflies—pop up on the screen and you have to tally how many there are of a given two shapes. She does well, getting 92 percent of her counts right.

My hands are clammy as I grab the mouse. I move patiently, double-checking every answer before I click. I'm in the Neurobics version of the Zone. Perfect score. The comeback is on.

Eva 3, Max 2

The screen is split in half for the sixth game, with similar pictures on each side. We have to figure out if they're identical or not—think Photo Hunt, but easier and with less nudity. Eva goes first and does well, missing only two. Concentrating fiercely, I block her out as I work through the session. I will not be distracted. I will not be denied! Again, I ace it. I love Neurobics.

Eva 3, Max 3

For the deciding battle, we settle on a pattern-recognition exercise similar to the numbers game, only with shapes. Slane takes the first crack, calmly moving through the puzzles with only one error. The computer gives her a score of 96 percent.

I've actually done this workout on one of my earlier trips to the gym—a fact I've conveniently neglected to mention—so I'm feeling confident. But I'll need a perfect score to win; get one wrong and we tie, two wrong and I lose. I coast through the first dozen. And then, in a move that will haunt me for years, I click a rectangle instead of a triangle. I finish strong, but the damage is done.

A draw.

I'm exhausted, my brain sweaty after the 90-minute marathon. Eva says she feels energized. I want to cry.

I also have that craving I always get after a good workout. "Hey Eva," I say, as she pulls her stole around her shoulders. "Can I buy you a beer?"

She looks back at me as though I've read her mind.

"Of course."

VIEW AS SINGLE PAGE
Print This ArticlePRINTDiscuss this in The FrayDISCUSSEmail to a FriendE-MAIL
Share on FacebookPost to MySpace!Share with MixxDigg ThisShare with RedditShare with del.icio.usShare with FurlShare with Ma.gnolia.comShare with SphereShare with Stumble Upon
Max Linsky is the editor of Creative Loafing in Sarasota, Fla.
Illustration by Alex Eben Meyer.
Join the Fray: our reader discussion forum
What did you think of this article?
POST A MESSAGE | READ MESSAGES
Washington Post