An old puzzle from the Car Talk radio show on NPR:

You and I each draw a number from a magic hat. We don’t know each other’s numbers, but the hat ensures that they’re adjacent positive integers.

An interlocutor now begins to ask each of us in turn whether he knows the other’s number. Eventually, one of us will answer yes. Why?

McCall Weibel has finished both the Chicago and Salt Lake City marathons, but she has never run in a race against 60 horses. Ahead of her 40th birthday, she decided to remedy that. The Utah native flew to London and booked a three-hour Uber to a tiny town in mid-Wales, arriving £250 lighter to try her chances in Llanwrtyd Wells’s “Man v Horse marathon”. The gruelling contest takes runners, horses and riders across valleys and up 1,300m of elevation.

“I've never run with horses before,” says McCall, outside the town hall as she arrives to register for the race. “It'll definitely be a unique experience.”

Lining up alongside McCall are Robin and his two friends, who have driven across England and Wales after catching the ferry from the Hook of Holland to Harwich. Angela has travelled from Switzerland to mark her 50th birthday. Tony and Rob, from Liverpool's Penny Lane Striders, are attempting the race for the 19th time. Together, there are more than 700 runners signed up to test their two legs against four.

Barring a couple of barren Covid years, the race has been an annual fixture here since 1980. Llanwrtyd Wells, which bills itself as Britain's smallest town, has built a reputation on such eccentric pursuits. Every summer it hosts the World Bog Snorkelling Championships, in which competitors splash through a flooded peat bog. There is also the Real Ale Wobble, which sends half-cut mountain bike riders around forest trails.

On the weekend of the Man v Horse Marathon, the town swells from a population of about 800 to thousands, with barely a bed spare in the tiny mid-Wales outpost. Asked whether local traders appreciate the events, Stan, who runs the local corner shop, says: “All the traders do. We look forward to the events and the upturn."

Each of the quirky events traces its origins to one man: Gordon Green, a local who pioneered wacky competitions as a way to bring tourists into town to keep his ailing pub and hotel business alive. His ideas were also ripe for the attention economy, and the town has since monetised Britain’s love of the folksy and quirky with a burgeoning roster of off-kilter activities. 

On top of the snorkelling and wobbling, in 2012 Green came up with the World Alternative Games — which featured finger jousting, hay bale tossing and wife carrying — when he noticed Wales was getting little upside out of the London Olympics. Speaking to the FT in 2023, he said: “We never bothered to ask the council to do anything because they didn’t have any money, and they didn’t seem to want to get involved in tourism. So, we tended to do everything ourselves.” 

The marathon itself was founded in Green’s pub, The Neuadd Arms, which sits off the roundabout that makes up Llanwrtyd's town centre. The official story is that it began with an argument in the back bar. Glyn Jones, a local huntsman, insisted no human could ever beat a horse across rough Welsh terrain. Green disagreed.

The legend of the 18th-century Welsh athlete Guto Nyth Brân, who was reputed to be able to run so fast he could catch hares and foxes, also played a part. Green reckoned others might be able to live up to the stories told about Guto, so he put it to the test. If that brought tourist money into town, then all the better.

Horse beat man for the first 24 years of the competition, until Huw Lobb became the first athlete with two legs to win in 2004. He claimed a £25,000 prize, which had been rolling over since the race’s conception. Since then, four others have managed the feat, including three of the previous four editions.

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This essay originally appeared in The Guardian.

I teach public policy at the Harvard Kennedy School and the Munk School at the University of Toronto. And it will come as no surprise to you that my students regularly use AI to complete their writing assignments. Doing so is a waste of their tuition money. But if their entire career is going to include AI writing assistants, why shouldn’t they embrace their future?

The best way I’ve found to explain the dilemma comes from the AI researcher Daniel Meissler: it’s the difference between work and the gym.

At work, if your job is to move a bunch of heavy things from one side of the room to another, you should use whatever assistive tech you have on hand: a wagon, a forklift… even an AI-powered robot. But at the gym, it makes no sense for that robot to lift weights for you. The point of weightlifting isn’t to move heavy things across the room; it’s to actually lift those heavy things.

The same analysis holds for any task an AI can do for you. If it’s work—if the task has to be done and no one cares how—then it’s fine to use AI assistance. But if the task is more like the gym, and how the task is done is at least as important, then it probably doesn’t make sense to use AI.

This, of course, assumes that the AI is actually up for the task and that it’s trustworthy: that it can do the job well, that its mistakes are minimal and correctable, that it’s been secured from cyber-attacks that would influence its results. Those are all important, and shouldn’t be minimized. There’s no point giving an AI something that it can’t do reliably. But once you’re confident that the AI can perform the task, the work vs. gym distinction helps you decide if it should.

The writing assignments I give my students are gym tasks, not work tasks. I ask them to write policy memos not because the world needs more policy memos. I assign them because the very act of writing, which includes thinking and outlining and drafting and editing, making and criticizing and revising arguments, will help develop the critical thinking skills they will need in their future careers. And without this constant mental exercise, those skills will atrophy. Employers are already noticing.

Reading the assignments they turn in, I can see those skills either flourishing or atrophying in my students. At least today, I can pretty easily tell the difference between an AI-written memo and a student-written one—especially if the student just turns in what the chatbot produces. It’s a catchy, plausible, grammatically perfect essay that’s not particularly well-crafted or logically coherent—and with all the tells of mid-2026 AI-generated writing.

But it’s precisely because I have spent years developing my own writing skills that I’m able to identify prose that sounds great but doesn’t actually make sense. My students don’t have that skill; they mistakenly view a confident, well-written essay as evidence of the quality of their ideas. They see the AI as cleaning those ideas up, getting them through that uncomfortable stretch of having to turn those ideas into prose. What the students miss is that their initial discomfort is a normal and healthy stage of writing, and not something to quickly get beyond. The very act of struggling with how to express what they think is an important part of the process. It’s how they test out their ideas, examine their hypotheses, and actually figure out what they think. Homework is not work; it’s the gym.

Work vs. gym also helps us understand the problem facing creatives of all kinds.

Most of the time when someone hires a writer, they just need the words. They need an instruction manual for a piece of equipment, a detailed sales presentation, a government-mandated disclosure document, or a legal brief. They need dry, predictable, accurate writing: a piece of work, exactly what AIs are good at today and what I don’t want in my student assignments. Only sometimes is writing an art form—a book, a poem, an uplifting political speech. That kind of writing is more like the gym: process matters just as much as product.

For most of human history, the only option for all of these tasks was human writers. We hired one regardless of whether we needed work writing or gym writing. And that paid a lot of writers’ salaries. I know fiction writers who supported that poorly paying career with lucrative technical writing work. Now, for the first time in human history, we can separate out when we need writing as work and when we want writing as gym. And if AI can do most of the work-type writing, society doesn’t need as many human writers.

It’s the same for visual artists. Sometimes we need an actual artist, but most of the time we just need an image: a corporate mascot, a “beware of the dog” sign, or a packaging label. Historically we gave those jobs to artists, and sometimes beautiful art resulted. But most of the time it was just work. And, as it turns out, the world needs less pure art than simple images.

Explaining the problem isn’t the same as providing the solution. I give my students the “work versus gym” speech every class, but they still use AI. I have sympathy: assignments are hard, everyone is overworked and overstressed, and—most importantly—students feel like they’ll look bad in comparison if their peers are all using AI. Even if they don’t want to use the technology, they feel like they have no choice.

There’s also an incentive problem. No one pays us to go to the gym; maintaining healthy habits requires discipline. For me, the payoffs to exercise—fewer aches and pains, less fatigue, better mood/stress management—might make me a better writer and teacher, but they’re subtle and easy to miss. For my students, incremental improvements in their reasoning and writing are equally subtle.

We do have a choice. We can look at the tasks of our lives and separate them into work or gym. Just as we might choose to use the stairs instead of the elevator, or walk instead of calling an Uber, we can wall off our cognitive gym tasks from AI and ensure that we don’t lose our skills to this technology. And we can do the same when we assign a job to someone else. If it’s a work task, we can have AI do it. If it’s a gym task, it’s a waste of everyone’s time to give it to an AI because no one learns or gets stronger as a result.

Similarly, a future where AI generates words and images is one where society has to make choices about how it will treat its creatives. This won’t be the first time—today there is minimal demand for portrait painters, for example—but maybe this time we can make different, more deliberate, choices about the value of art in our society.

AI is going to fundamentally change the nature of work. Not nearly as fast as the AI companies want you to believe, but eventually it will. Policy analysis will definitely involve AI from now on, and my students need to reimagine what it means to learn and practice that skill. More generally, the line between work and gym will change in the future as we humans adapt ourselves to a world with these new intelligences.

But for now, the work vs. gym distinction is pretty clear. Use it on yourself.

Chalkbeat Ideas is a new section featuring reported columns on the big ideas and debates shaping American schools. Sign up for the Ideas newsletter to follow our work.

There was no single reason why Ryan Higgins decided to leave teaching.

It was a job he loved: invigorating, unpredictable, a chance to make the world a bit better. But several years into his career, Higgins, who taught high school social studies in the Fort Worth, Texas area, was increasingly frustrated.

For one, his salary — decent when he was fresh out of college in 2016 — felt stagnant and mediocre. He coached basketball and football, so his days often stretched from early morning to late evening. And “teacher appreciation week” began to feel borderline demeaning: You can wear jeans all week! There’s free pizza in the teachers’ lounge!

Then there was the time a parent complained after he chewed out and benched a member of the basketball team who was slacking off. The school’s assistant principal didn’t back Higgins up. Yes, maybe he had been a bit too tough, but he was also giving up his Saturdays, doing students’ laundry, and even driving the bus.

“You’re running around like crazy trying to solve problems, and yet people who aren’t with you are always telling you what you need to do better,” Higgins says.

What finally pushed him out was the aftermath of the pandemic. Trying to effectively teach students over Zoom was all but impossible. Then when students returned to classrooms, they were breathtakingly behind academically and socially. Behavior was out of control. Parents, it seemed, were less trusting of teachers, too. “It felt like the walls were closing in,” he says.

Higgins left teaching in the summer of 2022. A member of the Army Reserve, he soon took an assignment overseas. Today, he’s going into his third year of law school. He sees himself as part of a “lost generation” of teachers.

The year Higgins left, more teachers departed public school classrooms in Texas than at any point since at least 2007, the earliest year with state data. This was not just a blip: From 2020 to 2025, the state lost 35,000 teachers who would have stayed in the classroom if the state had maintained its pre-pandemic turnover figures. That’s equivalent to nearly 10% of the current teacher workforce.

The pattern in Texas has repeated to varying degrees in states across the country, according to an extensive Chalkbeat analysis of data since 2019 spanning 21 states. Most of those states have experienced four to five straight years of elevated teacher turnover, compounding the losses year after year. High-poverty schools in particular were already having a hard time keeping teachers.

Even though turnover finally appears to be trending down, the consequences persist. Research has linked teacher churn to declines in test scores. At a moment when policymakers are seeking to understand America’s sluggish learning recovery, the loss of teachers and instability in schools deserves to be on the list of plausible contributors.

[See our entire analysis of teacher turnover across 21 states including detailed data from each state. You can also watch our online event about teacher turnover.]

A teacher turnover dip, then a sustained rise

There is no comprehensive national data on teacher exit rates. To fill this gap, I conducted an extensive state-by-state review, using a variety of sources.

Across most states, a pattern emerged: Compared with 2019, fewer teachers left the profession in the summer of 2020 when the economy was at a standstill due to the pandemic. But then teacher attrition began to rise sharply. Rates peaked in 2022 but typically remained elevated for the next couple years.

Only a couple of states in this analysis, Connecticut and Maryland, avoided any meaningful rise in turnover.

A spokesperson for the Texas Education Agency said the state has “experienced many of the workforce challenges seen nationwide, which is why teacher recruitment and retention remain a priority.” Texas, for instance, has expanded a merit pay program, which has helped retain effective teachers, according to a recent study.

High-poverty schools, which struggled with teacher churn before the pandemic, likely suffered the most from the turnover spike. In South Carolina, for instance, exit rates rose especially sharply at those schools. A number of states have reported increases in uncertified, emergency-certified, and inexperienced educators. Those teachers are typically concentrated in high-poverty schools.

It hasn’t just been teachers departing. In Alaska, North Carolina, Massachusetts, Texas, and Washington state principal attrition rose too. Turnover often has a cascading effect in schools. When a principal leaves, an assistant principal may take over, a teacher may become an assistant principal — and another classroom vacancy opens up.

Justin Wax became principal of a junior high school in southeast Louisiana in 2021. He was the third leader in three years. That made keeping staff harder since many were looking for stability at that moment. Most of the teachers who were at the school when he started are now gone. “You’re scraping the cream off of the top of all of the most veteran people,” Wax says. “There ends up being a vacuum.”

Turnover appears to be finally coming back down. In the 12 states with figures through last summer, rates were below post-pandemic highs, although some places have not fully returned to pre-pandemic levels.

Wax says he’s had his best year of retention recently and is well staffed going into this coming school year. He’s prioritized making his school a supportive community where teachers are given professional autonomy and backed up on student discipline issues. Today, surveys show that teacher stress has subsided from pandemic-era spikes. Most teachers are at least somewhat satisfied with their jobs.

More comprehensive recent data on turnover is not available because many states report figures with a significant lag. Other states don’t report numbers at all. And no state appears to have data yet for the share of teachers who have left this summer.

Teachers face worse behavior, stagnant pay, fewer perks

What drove the sharp increase in teacher exits?

Meghann Seril has been teaching elementary school in Los Angeles for 18 years. These days, she finds students’ behavior more challenging and their attention spans more limited. She’s seen many colleagues who struggled with classroom management leave in recent years.

“It has such a ripple effect because the administrator is focused on supporting those new teachers,” she says. “You’re working on putting out little fires all of the time.” In surveys, teachers often say that student behavior is their top source of stress, and many reported that behavioral issues spiked after school buildings reopened.

Meanwhile, many other professionals have received a valuable new perk since the pandemic: the ability to work from home. “Being a teacher is arguably the least flexible job around,” says Alex Baron, principal of a charter middle school in Washington, D.C. He suspects that’s made it difficult to recruit and retain teachers in his school.

At the same time, teacher salaries, never particularly high, have fallen in real dollars, as inflation soared and school officials used new funds to hire more staff rather than give teachers a raise. The salary gap between teachers and other college-educated professionals has grown in recent years.

Tyra Damm’s decision to leave teaching came down to money. Some of her colleagues with higher-earning spouses saw teaching as a nice-to-have second income. One called it “fun money.” Damm, who lives in the Dallas suburbs, did not have that luxury. She took up teaching in 2013, soon after her husband died of brain cancer. She figured it would provide a stable income with a parent-friendly schedule as she raised two young children.

She loved the job. Damm most recently taught middle school reading and writing to gifted and talented students and was named secondary teacher of the year in her district in 2019. But with only anemic raises and the price of everything rising, “I just couldn’t pay the bills anymore,” she says.

When the American Heart Association, which she had done freelance writing for, offered her a full-time job with remote work and higher pay, Damm felt like she had no choice but to take it. She left teaching in 2024.

“I miss it every day,” she says.

Matt Barnum is Chalkbeat’s ideas editor. Reach him at mbarnum@chalkbeat.org.