On July 12, I ran the Ilkley Half-Marathon, my fifth half-marathon in 15 months. I was running with one of my best friends on a bright, breezy day. I’d recently run 24km, and a 7km race in personal best time.
Everything, in fine, pointed to a straightforward, enjoyable race, and shaving a few minutes off of our goal time.
Ninety minutes later, I was huddled next to a bin, wracked with cramps. When I could stand, it was to take mincing steps towards the nearest portaloo, gritting my teeth.
“Yer going the wrong way, love,” carolled a passing runner.
Yes, quite. But at that moment, retracing the course was the lesser of two evils.
My friend stuck with me, and we finished the race before the cut-off, having covered about 24km in three-and-a-quarter hours. A handful of participants trickled in after us, all in their 70s.
Testing Truths
Passing runners and spectators had cheered us through the last few miles: “c’mon then! You’re doing great! Not far now!”
Their intentions were good, but I bristled a little. I’m fit, really! I run all the time. I’m just having an off day. Having an off day was awful. My friend’s chance at a PB was shot; I was in pain; the race was an embarrassment.
The turtle creep didn’t reflect my capability, training or typical performance but, to the sympathetic onlookers, it looked like the best I could do.
Those slow kilometres gave me ample time to ponder the arbitrariness of tests: physical, intellectual or other.
Conventional education is obsessed with assessments. Although, thankfully, standardized tests are no longer held sacred, most students’ learning journeys still involve layers of testing, from weekly quizzes to high-stakes entrance exams.
Whatever the stakes, they are almost always higher for sensitive, gifted, twice-exceptional and neurodiverse learners. These students are likely to suffer from the inherent artificiality of exams, the attendant pressure, and the fear of disappointing themselves, their parents or teachers.
Where Testing Falls Short
Logistical Choices Can Have Material Consequences
Perhaps the biggest drawback of tests, whether a half-marathon or an SAT, is that they are – by definition – non-routine. While I run 17-23km most weekends, I only pay a fee, travel, and participate in an organised race three or four times a year. This means, through no fault of anyone, those occasions carry more psychological weight, which translates into physiological reactions like increased cortisol and adrenaline. My body has to manage novelty at the moment I most need it to behave predictably.
One of the factors at Ilkley was a 10:30AM start. Most half-marathons start between 8-9AM, which is also when I start my training runs. My body couldn’t figure out why it was just setting off when it should have been on the home stretch, and my digestion – asked to reset itself by a couple of hours – declined to cooperate.
Something analogous can happen to exceptional students in test settings. Exams for A-Levels, GCSEs or IB, make take place outside of standard school hours, and last for up to two-and-a-half hours. Sensitive students are more likely to be affected by changes in routine, and that psychological sensitivity can (as with running) have physiological consequences that affect exam outcomes. The demand that students sit quietly in the exam space, and requirements to use certain materials, may also disproportionately impact students who have additional sensory/self-regulation needs, like walking while thinking, or wrapping up in a favourite blanket.
Students who have been diagnosed as neurodivergent or twice-exceptional may have accommodations such as extra time, but time alone doesn’t compensate for the combination of disruption and demand.
Educators and parents can support exam success by addressing logistics step-by-step. Crafting a test-day plan that accounts for everything from wake-up time to breakfast food to what-to-wear can also create a sense of routine and safety that counterbalances the inevitable uncertainties of the occasion.
Positive Changes Can Have Unanticipated Consequences
In the weeks prior to the half-marathon, I was taking medication for microscopic colitis. Overall, it had improved my digestion and wellbeing, but a change is a change. My old race-day routine didn’t work in the new normal.
The same is true in educational settings, and students with asymmetric profiles, including the gifted, twice-exceptional and neurodivergent, may move forward in one area, and simultaneously stall or regress in others.
For example, an autistic student who gets immersed in a new special interest may shoot ahead in that subject, but lose ground in others that are less of a focus. Or a student who struggles with social connection may strike up a friendship, which takes up emotional and regulatory bandwidth that might otherwise be available for academics. Instances like this should be a cause for celebration, but the shadow of exam pressure can create anxiety for students, parents and teachers.
Whatever the situation, the grown-ups should focus on the child’s holistic growth, even if that means sacrificing some points on an exam.
However, as with the Ilkley Half-Marathon, some dates are set: show up, do your best, let the result be what it is. My 3-hour-plus race isn’t indicative of my real ability, it’s information about how I felt on a particular day. While important exams can feel do-or-die, the reality is, there is always another chance, or another approach. One test, no matter how critical it feels at the time, doesn’t determine the outcome of an education, much less of a life.
Performance Doesn’t Equal Capacity
In our data-fixated, results-driven culture it’s easy to forget that performance doesn’t equal capacity. Performance is the outcome of a particular effort on a given day in a distinct set of circumstances. It isn’t reliable information about what a person can do, or will do in another setting.
In November 2025, I ran a sub-two-hour half marathon. Would anyone have guessed that as they watched me hobble towards the finish in Ilkley in July 2026? Probably not, which is neither their fault, nor my failure; it was an occasion where performance was a poor measure of capacity.
This is as true in the classroom as it is on roads.
Tests are an easy-to-use measuring device. The question we must remember to ask is, what do they measure? They measure an individual’s ability to fulfil the demands of a specific novel task in unfamiliar conditions, at a specific, arbitrary moment in time.
These performances are then measured against inflexible standards, some of which are so culturally embedded they may be invisible to all participants. For example, an autistic student might be penalized for a ‘wrong’ answer based on an accurate literal interpretation of an ambiguous question, or an undiagnosed dyslexic might be marked down for non-standard spelling.
There is a place for exams in education, just as there is a place for races in running. But exam results should never be the only, or most valued, marker of a learner’s skills, knowledge and progress. Some exceptional learners test well; others do not. Assessments should, insofar as possible, be tailored to the student, rather than the student forced to adapt to the assessment. In real life, most tasks are more flexible, time-agnostic, collaborative and amendable than exams. If the goal of education is to prepare students for “the real world,” rigid, artificial test conditions are counterproductive.
My unfortunate day at the races wasn’t, in the end. I had a wonderful few hours in the sunshine with a dear friend, moved my body more than 24km, and gained perspective. It was a stepping stone to growth, which is what every assessment should be.
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FAQ: Exam Support for Neurodivergent, Gifted and twice-exceptional (2e) Students
What accommodations actually help neurodivergent or twice-exceptional students during exams?
Extra time alone often isn’t enough, since it doesn’t address the underlying disruption of an unfamiliar setting. More meaningful accommodations include remote exams that let students work in a sensory-friendly environment, and breaking exams into parts — for example, letting a student sit Section A of an A-Level one day and Section B the next.
How can parents and educators prepare a student for test day?
Address logistics step-by-step well before the exam: extend regular classwork to build stamina for 90–120 minute focused blocks, practice mechanical tasks like filling in answer sheets, and build a test-day plan covering wake-up time, breakfast, and clothing. A predictable routine counters the uncertainty of the occasion itself.
What should happen if a student goes through a major change — good or bad — right before an exam?
Where possible, adjust schedules around the change rather than around the calendar: postpone a test after a disruptive period, or build in time for further study and resits. When dates truly can’t move, the priority is the child’s holistic growth, even if it costs some exam points in the short term — there’s almost always another chance or another approach.
Why might standardized tests be especially challenging for gifted or neurodivergent learners?
Tests measure a narrow thing: someone’s ability to meet a novel task’s demands, in unfamiliar conditions, at one arbitrary moment — then measure that against inflexible, often invisible cultural standards. An autistic student giving a literally accurate answer to an ambiguously worded question, or an undiagnosed dyslexic marked down for spelling, can be penalized for traits that have nothing to do with their actual grasp of the material.
Does a bad test result mean a student can’t master that subject?
No. Exam performance is what happened one day under specific conditions. Even for neurotypical students, it is often a poor measure of subject mastery. Ideally, students should be assessed across a range of formative assessments, which take place as part of the learning process, and summative assessments, which measure progress at significant points. Whenever possible, seek opportunities for portfolio or project-based assessments to supplement standardized tests, as these give exceptional learners an authentic space to demonstrate their skills and knowledge.